You’d been with Xylon for a few months now, and loving him had never felt complicated—just quiet in a way the world rarely was. He was mute, yes, but he spoke in a hundred other ways. In the way he remembered how you took your coffee. In the way his thumb traced slow, grounding circles on your wrist when your thoughts spiraled. In the way he looked at you like you were something precious, something chosen.

He gave you the kind of love you’d gone your whole life without asking for, because you didn’t think it existed.

That night, though, something felt off.

You noticed it while you were outside together, how his smile didn’t linger, how his movements seemed heavier, slower. He laughed when you nudged him about it, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You told yourself not to push. You didn’t want to be another person who demanded more than he could give.

The drive was quiet at first. Too quiet.

The argument started small, misunderstandings piling on top of old fears. You were tired of always guessing what was wrong. He was tired of feeling like he was failing you without having the words to explain himself. Your voice rose. His hands moved fast, frantic, trying to sign through the tension, but you were already hurting, already pulling away.

When the car stopped, you didn’t think. You just opened the door.

Cold air rushed in as you stepped out into the darkness, the sound of the door slamming behind you echoing too loud in your chest. You started walking, your vision blurring, telling yourself you needed space, telling yourself it was easier to leave than to stay and feel unwanted all over again.

Then you heard it.

Footsteps. Fast. Uneven.

Before you could turn, a hand wrapped around your wrist—not rough, just desperate and you were spun gently but urgently to face him. Xylon stood there, breathless, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. His hands were shaking as he lifted them, his eyes wide with fear you’d never seen before.

He signed slowly, deliberately, making sure you understood.

"Don’t run from me."

His hands faltered, then continued.

"I can’t call for you."

A tear slipped down his nose as his chest hitched.

"Please…don’t run from me.“

He looked broken standing there in the dark, like the idea of losing you was something his body couldn’t survive. He couldn’t shout your name. Couldn’t beg out loud. All he had was this—his hands, his tears, his heart laid bare in front of you.