š men who yearn but get nothing !
ā” featuring. enjin, zanka, tamsy, jabber
He hides it behind that smirk of his ā the kind that makes people think he doesnāt care about anything.
But you ? You ruin that act just by existing.
Youāre talking again ā about something dumb, something small that made you laugh earlier ā and heās trying not to listen. Really trying.
Except he does. Every word. Every inflection. The way you gesture when you talk, the way your eyes light up. Itās maddening.
When you trip over your own feet, he sighs ā loud, exaggerated ā but still catches your arm before you fall.
āSeriously woman ?ā he mutters. āYouāve got a death wish or what ?ā
You grin. āYouād miss me if I died.ā
He freezes. Just for a second. The words slip under his skin like a knife.
He lets go of your wrist too fast, like your touch burns. āYeah, sure. You wish.ā
You donāt notice how his fingers linger mid-air, empty now. You donāt see the tremor in them, the way his jaw tightens like heās swallowing something sharp.
When you walk ahead, still talking, he stays a few steps behind ā eyes lowered, voice barely above a whisper.
āā¦Yeah. Maybe I would.ā
He says it so quietly the fire almost swallows it whole.
And when you turn to call his name again, heās already smirking ā mask back in place, like he never said a thing.
āāāā ąØą§ āāāā
His love feels like violence ā not because he wants to hurt you, but because he doesnāt know how to stop fighting the things that scare him.
And you scare him more than anything ever could.
You catch him watching you sometimes. His gaze burns, sharp and searching, but the second you meet his eyes, he looks away. Always.
Like heās afraid youāll see whatās buried underneath.
You tilt your head softly, eyes wide with that quiet, innocent confusion that always gets to him.
āWhat ?ā you ask, voice gentle, curious.
āNothing,ā he snaps too quickly.
He exhales through his nose, half a laugh, half a warning. āMaybe youāre imagining things.ā
āYouāre terrible at lying, Zanka,ā you say, smiling at him.
That smile ā soft and knowing ā drives him insane; the way you do it so easily, like you see right through him. His brows knit, irritation flashing as if to drown what heās actually feeling.
āThen maybe stop trying to figure me out.ā
You blink, surprised by how sharp his words sound. The air between you shifts, heavier now.
āIām not trying toāā
āYeah, you are.ā His voice drops, quieter but harsher somehow. āYou look at me like thereās something worth finding. There isnāt. Youāll only end up disappointed.ā
You freeze for a second, words caught in your throat. Thereās so much you could say, but you donāt.
Not when he looks at you like that ā like he already regrets ever letting you close.
For a moment, it almost feels like he hates you. And maybe thatās easier to believe than the truth.
āFine,ā you murmur, forcing a small smile. āWhatever you say.ā
You turn before he can see the way your face falters. He doesnāt stop you.
When youāre gone, silence presses against him like a weight. He stands there for a long time, staring at the empty space you left behind.
He tells himself this is what he wanted ā distance, quiet, control.
But it feels like losing something he never even had.
His hands tremble. He digs his nails into his palms just to feel something real.
He hates the way he talked to you. Hates how your voice cracked, how your smile didnāt reach your eyes.
But more than that, he hates himself for wanting you. For thinking, even for a second, that someone like you could ever want him back.
He takes a shaky breath and mutters to the dark,
āGood. Maybe now sheāll stop looking at me like that.ā
But the words taste like blood ā and he knows heās lying.
Because heāll keep watching you from a distance, aching for something heāll never have the courage to reach for.
āāāā ąØą§ āāāā
Heās quiet about it ā painfully, beautifully quiet. The kind of yearning that builds slowly until it fills every space between his words.
Youāre working beside him, your knee brushing his under the table every so often. He pretends not to notice, though every touch sends a spark through him.
āThanks for fixing that earlier,ā you say, offering a soft smile. āYou always know what to do.ā
He shrugs, eyes still focused on his work. āHabit.ā
āStill,ā you insist, āIād probably mess everything up without you.ā
He finally looks at you. Thatās his mistake. Because your eyes are too soft, too bright ā and for one terrifying heartbeat, he forgets how to breathe.
You tilt your head. āWhat ?ā
He shakes it off quickly, returning to his tools. āNothing. Youāre clumsy, thatās all.ā
You laugh, pushing his shoulder lightly. āYouāre such a liar, Tamsy.ā
He lets out a soft huff of air that could almost be a laugh. Almost.
āMaybe,ā he says, voice low. āBut it keeps you safe.ā
You donāt ask what he means. You donāt see the way his hand lingers near yours, not quite touching ā afraid that if he does, heāll never be able to stop.
āāāā ąØą§ āāāā
Everyone thinks he flirts because heās shameless.
They donāt see the way his smile falters when youāre not looking.
They donāt hear the quiet in his voice when the laughter fades.
āHey, sweetheart,ā he drawls when you walk by, leaning lazily against the wall. āYou trying to make my day better or what ?ā
You roll your eyes. āYou really donāt get tired of that, huh ?ā
He grins. āNot when it makes you smile like that.ā
You laugh ā bright, easy ā and it kills him every time. Because he knows you mean it in the way you laugh with everyone else.
Not the way he wants you to. Not the way that keeps him up at night.
You walk off, humming to yourself, and he watches you go.
The grin stays on his lips until youāre out of sight. Then it slips away ā slow, quiet, like a wound closing too late.
Later, he finds you asleep near him ā head tilted, lashes resting against your cheeks, breathing steady.
Thereās a calm to you that heās never had, never will.
He sits beside you, close enough to hear the rhythm of your breathing, far enough that youāll never notice.
āAlways runninā circles around me, doll,ā he murmurs. āDonāt even know it.ā
He laughs softly, but it sounds tired.
You shift in your sleep, your shoulder brushing his arm, and he stops breathing for a moment.
āYouāre gonna kill me one of these days,ā he whispers. āAnd Iāll thank you for it.ā
The words hang heavy in the dark, too fragile to survive the night.
He looks at you ā the peace on your face, the softness heāll never get to touch ā and it burns more than heāll ever admit.
Youāll wake up in the morning, tease him like always, and heāll grin like it doesnāt hurt.
Because thatās what heās good at ā turning heartbreak into silence.
He drags a hand down his face, voice barely a breath.
āGood thing youāll never know.ā
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