Zaen drummed his fingers on the coffee table in Rosalaâs living room, sighing softly. He had his head resting in his other hand, cheek pressed into his palm. It was strange, what Zaen was feeling. It was a combination of sadness and frustration, partially because he couldnât help Terras feel any better, but also because it just hurt to see him in pain.Â
He was working on his feelings with his therapist, and they were easier to deal with these days, but it still didnât change how he felt. There was something there, and if Zaen had to put a name to the feeling, it was love. Zaen loved Terras. He knew he was in trouble the night they met, and the feelings only grew as he spent more time around him.Â
It was such a strange emotion - it was soft, and gentle yet also passionate and protective. Quite frankly? For Zaen, love was also terrifying. It was terrifying because he knew it wouldnât ever be reciprocated. It was terrifying because it required Zaen to be vulnerable, and if anyone thought Zaen wanted to be vulnerable? They were out of their mind. Zaen did literally all he could to not be vulnerable - thatâs how he got himself into such trouble before. He had numbed himself so much he had mostly forgotten how to feel⌠well, anything really. He hadnât talked about his âcrushâ yet with his therapist, and had decided to keep it a secret for the time being. Nobody needed to know.Â
Well, except for Celyssena and Rosala. Hopefully they were the only two that knew.Â
Zaen almost felt guilty. He had been almost tiptoeing around Terras for the past few weeks, keeping his tone gentle and quiet. He didnât really know what else to do - he just wanted him to be happy. Truthfully, he felt almost panicked around him because he was so flustered by how lost he seemed. Deep down he knew that there probably wasnât anything he could do, and that made him feel sadder.Â
His neck was starting to hurt.Â
He sat up and stretched, his cheek feeling hot from where heâd been leaning. They were heading to a party soon, and Zaen had things to do beforehand. He sauntered over to the kitchen rummaging around in their liquor cabinet for a flask and some vodka filling it to the brim.Â
He wasnât really drinking anymore. Or he was trying not to drink. It wasnât a good way for him to cope and he knew it, more often than not it just made things harder to deal with. But tonight he was feeling an itch, and he knew a party wouldnât be a party without him drunkenly stumbling around Dartolâs place, threatening to jump in the pool, and giving Rosala a heart attack.Â