It was a terribly clichéd story.
Yet I listened with a heart full of suffocating sorrow—because the crying young master from the story was right now lying calmly beside me.
From beginning to end, his voice had remained as perfectly flat and detached as if he were recounting a stranger's tragedy.
I knew better. He might seem steady and gently aloof on the surface, but underneath it all, he was still just that soft, desperate child left alone in the dark.
I reached out, gently pinching his pale cheek before letting out a soft sigh. "You..."
I didn't know what else to say. I could only pull him into a quiet, tight embrace, overwhelmingly desperate to give him enough warmth that he wouldn't be quite so sad anymore.
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