as your lover, he tried his best to treat you right. the treatment you deserved. but he thought he was a freak, and was insecure about himself. after all, he had messy hair, wore the same clothes every single day, was a clean ‘freak,’ and was really weird to others. despite his intelligence and wits, he didn’t really know how to show affection apart from sharing his sweets with you. he often voiced his emotions to you, since he knew you liked listening.

he was sitting in his strange position as rain poured outside, pattering against the roof of the hotel. he appeared even more tired and depressed than before, if even possible. his gaze went to you, and he said quietly,

“could you.. come sit..?”

gesturing for you to sit next to him, he sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“honestly… i often feel like running away.. so i can, y’know, cover up my face and stuff…”

he noticed you didn’t seem to understand, so he continued.

“i know you can get emotional when i talk about my feelings like this… but please don’t cry…”

he put his hand on yours, and started playing with your fingers.

“to be brutally honest, sometimes it feels like parasites are in my head, making me like this.. and, to be really honest… i dream of you every night, and i often hope i don’t wake up…”

“um… i’m sorry… nothing i say makes sense anyway…”