Heyya I hope you are dong well! I have a request in mind if you don’t want to do it that’s okay! :D
Can you do gachiakuta boys + reader when reader didn’t have any education so she didn’t know how to read or write so the boys help her out? Stay safe and god bless!🌺
── ❨ ⸝⸝ 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑. ❩ gachiakuta boys helping you on your writing & reading
ೀ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 - could be a little occ if you squint, pet names (just mamas, ma and mama), and fluff
ೀ 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 - rudo┆ enjin ┆tamsy┆zanka┆corvus ┆august┆ gris┆ follo┆fu ┆zodyl┆jabber
𝐑𝐔𝐃𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐂 -
usually corvus likes to send other cleaners mission details if he ever left due to any emergencies issues. and today was one of those days.
and rudo noticed it during something so simple that it almost made him feel stupid for not realizing it sooner.
you were holding a folded paper with the mission details, staring at it a little too long, your brows pulled together like you were trying to fight the letters into making sense.
it wasn’t even complicated stuff. just basic instructions. left side. storage unit. meet at dusk. and still, you hesitated.
“what’s it say?” you asked, trying to sound casual, like you just didn’t feel like reading it yourself.
rudo didn’t answer right away. he just watched you.
the way your eyes moved over the page but never really focused. the way you kept glancing at him instead of the paper. during practice it happened too.
when someone wrote your name down for rotation, you waited for them to call you instead of checking the list yourself. when signs were posted, you followed where everyone else went.
“you don’t know what it says,” he said quietly.
you shrugged, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “i just get confused sometimes.”
he stepped closer, lowering his voice so no one else would hear. “confused… or you can’t read it?”
you went still. that pause was enough of an answer.
you didn’t look ashamed. just tired. like this was something you were used to hiding. “i never learned,” you said softly. “never had school like that. nobody taught me.”
for a second, rudo felt something sharp in his chest, not pity, more like anger, not at you but at whoever let that happen.
he took the paper from your hands, but he didn’t sigh or act annoyed. “it says we’re taking the left path,” he explained simply.
you nodded like you understood, committing the words to memory instead of the letters.
that night, when everything was quiet, he found you sitting alone, tracing random shapes in the dirt with a stick.
he dropped down beside you without saying much. “i’ll teach you.”
you blinked at him. “what?”
“reading. writing. all of it.” he grabbed the stick from your hand and drew a simple letter in the dirt. slow. careful. “this is ‘a.’”
you stared at it like it was something fragile.
“you don’t have to act like it doesn’t matter,” he added, his voice softer than usual. “it does. and you’re not stupid for not knowing.”
you swallowed. “what if i’m bad at it?”
he gave you a small look. “then we practice until you’re not.”
so it started like that. late nights after missions. him drawing letters. you copying them, your handwriting shaky and uneven at first. you got frustrated sometimes, especially when the letters looked too similar.
you’d press the stick too hard into the dirt and mutter that it was pointless.
rudo would just redraw it again. slower. “look,” he’d say. “this one has a tail. this one doesn’t. see the difference?”
and when you finally read your first full word without help, your eyes lit up in a way he hadn’t seen before. it was such a small word. only three letters. but you said it like you’d won something.
he didn’t smile big, that sometimes wasn’t really him. but his shoulders relaxed, and there was something proud in the way he looked at you.
“told you,” he muttered. “you just needed someone to show you.”
after that, he started leaving small notes for you. simple ones. written clear and big. just so you could practice.
and you kept every single one.
𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 -
sometimes when you hung out in his dorm, it was quiet in a soft way, not awkward, just calm vibes.
enjin would be sitting on his bed, back against the wall, talking about random things like practice, the weather, or something he saw outside earlier.
you’d sit at his desk chair, spinning a little without thinking, your hands wandering over whatever was near.
that’s when you found the magazines.
they were stacked neatly inside his desk drawer, not hidden exactly, just kept there like they mattered. you pulled one out, flipping through the pages slowly. bright pictures. big titles. long paragraphs under each photo.
you stared at them longer than you should’ve.
enjin noticed. he always noticed. “you like those?” he asked lightly.
you nodded. “they look interesting.”
he smiled a little. “you can read them if you want.”
you went quiet at that.
your fingers kept turning the pages, but your eyes weren’t really moving across the words. just the pictures. the colors. the shapes of the letters that all blended together.
you paused at one page for too long, pretending to focus.
enjin tilted his head. “what’s that one about?”
you swallowed. “uh… it’s just… about stuff.”
he watched you carefully, but his expression didn’t change. he slid off the bed and walked over, leaning slightly over your shoulder. his presence was warm, not pressuring.
“do you want me to read it out loud?” he asked gently.
you stiffened for a second. then you shrugged like it didn’t matter. “if you want.”
he didn’t tease you. didn’t laugh. he just rested one hand on the desk and started reading, his voice calm and smooth, explaining the article like it was the most normal thing in the world.
after a minute, he stopped.
“hey,” he said softly. “when you look at the words… do they get confusing?”
you didn’t answer right away.
“…i never learned,” you admitted quietly. “i can’t really read.”
the room stayed silent for a second, but it wasn’t heavy. enjin just nodded slowly, like you’d told him something important and he was handling it carefully.
“okay,” he said simply.
you blinked. “okay?”
“then when you come over,” he continued, pulling the chair a little closer so he could sit beside you, “we’ll read them together.”
he tapped the page. “i’ll go slow. and if you want, i can show you what the words mean too.”
you looked at him like you were waiting for the teasing to come. it didn’t.
instead, he grabbed a pen and a scrap paper from his desk. he wrote one word from the page in bigger letters.
“this one,” he said, pointing. “try saying it with me.”
your voice was quiet at first. unsure. but he didn’t rush you. every time you stumbled, he repeated it without making it feel like a mistake.
soon, hanging out in his dorm turned into something new.
sometimes you’d sit side by side on the floor, magazines spread out between you. he’d read a paragraph, then let you try a sentence. sometimes you’d only manage a few words. sometimes more.
and whenever you got one right on your own, he’d glance at you with this soft, proud look.
“see?” he’d murmur. “you’re getting it.”
and suddenly, the magazines stopped being just pictures after that.
they became something you could finally understand.
𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 -
you used to be in his room a lot, mostly when it was late and everything felt softer.
tamsy always had that little radio sitting near the window, wires a little messy, discs stacked beside it. sometimes he’d play music low in the background while he talked, or while you both just sat there doing nothing.
you liked watching the radio more than listening to it. the way the numbers lit up. the small buttons.
the tiny screen with letters running across it like they were in a hurry to be understood.
one night, he was digging through his stack of discs, humming to himself. “hey,” he said casually, holding one out to you. “put this one on for me.”
you took it carefully. the front had writing on it. thin letters curved around the center. you stared at it for a second too long, but you nodded anyway.
“yeah,” you said, trying to sound normal.
you slid the disc into the player like you’d seen him do before. the radio clicked, then started playing something random. not the song he picked.
tamsy tilted his head. “that’s not the one.”
your chest tightened. you quickly pressed another button, pretending you just hit the wrong thing. the music switched again. still wrong.
“it’s fine,” you muttered, shaking it off with a small laugh. “they all sound the same anyway.”
but he was watching you now. not the radio. you.
you avoided the screen. the tiny glowing words that told you the track name.
you pressed buttons without really knowing what they did, hoping you’d land on the right one by accident.
he stepped closer, gently reaching past you to stop your hand before you pressed something else.
“wait,” he said softly.
you froze.
“did you… not see which song it was?”
you shrugged again, like it didn’t matter. “i just mixed it up.”
he didn’t move away. his voice got quieter. “or you couldn’t read it.”
the room felt still.
you kept your eyes on the radio. “it’s whatever. i don’t really need to know how. it’s just songs.”
there wasn’t any judgment in his face. just understanding settling in slowly.
“you don’t know how to read,” he said gently, not as a question.
you shook your head once. small. like you didn’t want to make it a big thing.
instead of saying anything else, he reached over and ejected the disc. he held it up beside you, pointing to the words printed on it.
“this says the track number,” he explained calmly. “and this is the title.”
he moved closer, shoulder brushing yours, not to crowd you, just to show you better.
“look,” he murmured. “this letter right here? that’s a ‘b.’”
you glanced at it hesitantly.
“you don’t have to shake it off,” he added softly. “it’s not embarrassing.”
you swallowed. “i just didn’t want you to think i was dumb.”
he let out a quiet breath. “you’re not.”
he pressed the correct button himself, and the right song finally started playing, soft beats filling the room.
but instead of stepping away, he stayed beside you. pointing at the screen when the title flashed again.
“next time,” he said gently, “i’ll show you how to find it.”
and he meant it.
after that, sometimes when you were over, he’d hand you a disc on purpose. he’d stand close, guiding you through the letters on the screen. letting you sound them out slowly. never rushing. never laughing.
and the first time you picked the right song by yourself, without guessing, he just smiled softly and let the music play a little louder.
𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐊𝐔 -
back when you were at the hell guard academy, things were different.
crowded halls, shouting instructors, endless drills. you and zanka were friends, though not everyone could call him “friendly.”
he was quiet mostly, sharp with his words, always noticing details. and you… well, you were quiet too, but he noticed things about you that nobody else seemed to.
like how your hand would freeze over a piece of paper, like the letters themselves were obstacles.
how you hesitated to speak sometimes, especially when numbers or complicated words were involved.
he first realized it during a class on math.
the teacher handed out a sheet of calculations—angles, distances, ratios. everyone else scribbled and murmured answers, but you just stared, pencil hovering, face tight with concentration.
zanka leaned over slightly, eyes narrowing. “you stuck?” he asked quietly.
you shrugged. “i… i don’t get it,” you admitted softly. your voice barely carried.
he frowned, not in annoyance, but with that sharp focus he always had. “show me what you’ve done.” you handed the sheet over, and he scanned it quickly, noting the mistakes.
they weren’t from laziness, just confusion, misunderstanding. numbers jumbled in your mind like a foreign language.
from that moment, he started paying attention, not to make fun, not to humiliate, but to help.
after classes, he’d find you in the corner of the library or the training room, papers and books scattered around, trying to work through the assignments. he’d sit beside you, pointing slowly at each problem.
“look,” he’d say, voice steady. “this is how you set it up. start here, then here. don’t try to do it all at once.”
you followed his lead, trying to memorize the steps. sometimes you got frustrated, your hand shaking, your voice cracking when you asked the same question twice.
he didn’t get impatient. he just repeated it, breaking it down further.
writing was harder. letters and words didn’t come naturally to you, so he made a solution.
“say it out loud first,” he told you one afternoon, tracing the words on paper with his finger. “then write it slowly. each letter. don’t rush.”
it wasn’t quick. it wasn’t easy. sometimes you left in tears, embarrassed that it took so long.
but zanka always waited, always made sure you understood before leaving.
over time, numbers and words became less frightening, you started answering questions in class, handwriting got steadier, and math, you became something you could face without trembling.
he never made it feel like a lesson. never called it tutoring. it was just you two, working together in silence or soft conversation.
sometimes he’d even smile faintly when you solved a problem yourself, not saying much, just letting the quiet satisfaction fill the space.
and looking back, you realized he noticed you in ways no one else ever did. not the confusion, not the stumbles.
but the effort. and he made sure you never felt small for it.
𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐕𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐇𝐀 -
you knocked softly on corvus’ office door, the report semiu had sent clutched in your hands.
he didn’t look up right away, fingers moving quickly through papers on his desk. the office smelled faintly of ink and polished wood, quiet except for the soft scratching of his pen.
“come in,” he said without looking up, and you stepped forward. he waved a hand toward the report. “read this for me while i finish organizing these files.”
you froze for a moment, heart thudding in your chest.
the report wasn’t complicated. just words, neat lines, official-looking stamps. but the letters swam on the page. your hands gripped it tighter.
“uh…” you mumbled, voice small.
corvus glanced up, finally noticing the hesitation. “what is it?” he asked. not impatient. just curious.
you swallowed, eyes on the report. “i… i can’t read it,” you admitted quietly, almost ashamed. the words felt heavy in your mouth.
he froze for a heartbeat, then set the papers on the desk, giving you his full attention. “you… can’t?”
you shook your head slowly, fiddling with the corner of the report. “i never learned.”
corvus expression softened slightly, the sharpness in his eyes dimming just enough. he leaned back in his chair, studying you calmly.
“so that’s why you’ve been quiet whenever there’s paperwork.”
you nodded, unable to look at him.
“it’s fine,” he said finally, voice steady, not harsh at all. “we’ll fix it. you’re not in trouble for this.”
your shoulders sagged a little, relief mixing with embarrassment.
he stood and moved closer to the desk, leaning on it with one hand. “we’ll start with the basics,” he said. “letters first, then words. i’ll guide you. you’ll get it.”
you looked up at him, unsure.
“don’t worry about this report right now,” he added. “i’ll read it myself. your job isn’t to hide the fact that you don’t know. it’s to learn.”
and that day, in his office, you realized you weren’t alone in your struggle anymore.
corvus would be the one to show you, patient and steady, until the letters on the page weren’t frightening anymore.
over the next few weeks, the office became a quiet place for learning.
sometimes you stumbled, sometimes you hesitated, but he never raised his voice.
just pointed at the words, letting you sound them out, tracing letters with his finger when you needed it.
𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐙𝐀 -
you were in august’s workroom again, the air heavy with the smell of leather, paint, and cotton.
the lights hung low, casting long shadows across the tables where half-finished gas masks and tools were scattered.
you were helping him stretch new masks for the cleaners, hands busy but mind wandering, watching his movements as he worked with precise, careful motions.
“OKAY,,” august said suddenly, wiping his hands on a rag.
“i want you to write down ideas for the next batch. measurements, adjustments, anything you think could help.” he handed you a notebook, its pages crisp and blank, a pen balanced on top.
you stared at it. the pen felt heavy in your hand, the blank page staring back like it had a voice of its own. your stomach twisted. “i… i can’t,” you admitted quietly.
august paused, raising an eyebrow, his usual calm precision giving way to a flicker of concern. “you can’t… write?”
you shook your head slowly, looking down at your hands. “i never learned. i… i don’t know how.”
he let out a slow breath, not angry, not frustrated. just quiet, as if he was taking in something new.
you nodded, biting your lip. “i didn’t want to mess it up. i thought i could just… help with the masks instead.”
august set the rag down and walked closer, placing a hand lightly on the edge of the table. “it’s fine. you’re not messing anything up. if you want to help, we’ll figure this out.”
you looked at him, unsure.
“look,” he said, leaning down so he was at your level, “i’ll show you. letters first, then words, then sentences. we take it slow. no rush, no mistakes counted.”
you blinked. “really?”
he gave a small nod. “really. you don’t have to write perfectly. you just need to start.”
so you did. august stayed beside you, patient and steady, showing you how to form each letter with the pen, guiding your hand when needed, explaining as you went.
sometimes the lines wobbled, sometimes the letters were too small or too large, but he never corrected you sharply. he just had you try again, slower.
and when you finally wrote a full word without his help, your hand shaking but letters clear enough to read, august only nodded, letting a rare, small smile brush his face.
“good,” he said simply. “we’ll keep going like this.”
after that day, every time you helped stretch masks or worked in the shop, there was always a notebook nearby.
you’d try a few letters, he’d guide you through a word, and slowly, the fear of the blank page faded.
it didn’t matter how long it took—you were learning, and august made sure you knew you weren’t alone.
𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐍 -
you were in practice with gris that afternoon, swinging your vital instrument and moving through drills, trying to keep up.
most of it made sense, but every so often he’d call out instructions and your mind would stumble over a word, freeze for a second, and you’d nod anyway, pretending you understood.
and he noticed.
later that day, when practice was over and everyone had left, you found yourself in his room.
the room smelled lavender and worn fabric, stuff leaning against the wall, papers scattered across a small desk. gris was quiet, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you as you hesitated at the door.
“you didn’t get some of the words today, didn’t you?” he asked, voice calm but not teasing.
you froze. “i… i just… got confused,” you admitted softly.
he nodded slowly, gesturing to the desk. “come sit. we’ll fix it.”
you moved closer, sitting down on the floor beside him. he pulled over a notebook and a pen. “i’ll write the words. then i’ll show you what they mean. one at a time.”
you watched his hand move, letters forming neatly on the page. “like… that?” you asked quietly.
“yeah,” he said. “and you’ll say them out loud with me. don’t worry if it’s slow. we’ll take it one step at a time.”
so you did.
the first few words were tricky. your tongue stumbled over sounds you didn’t know, your hand shook while tracing the letters. gris didn’t rush you.
he didn’t sigh or frown. he just repeated the word, traced the letters again, and waited.
“good,” he murmured after a few tries, “you got it that time.”
bit by bit, the words you couldn’t understand during practice began to make sense.
he wrote them, you said them, then you tried them on your own. each time you got one right, he gave a small nod, almost imperceptible, but it made your chest feel lighter.
by the time the night had grown quiet, you could read and say a handful of the words that had tripped you up earlier.
gris leaned back against the bed, eyes soft. “see?” he said. “it’s not impossible. you just needed someone to show you.”
you smiled shyly, feeling a little braver than before.
𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎 𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐎 -
you were sitting across from follo again, the usual quiet stretching between you.
he noticed it every time. how your words came out in small, careful doses, never more than a sentence or two, never enough to fill the space.
“why do you barely talk?” he asked finally, voice calm but direct, like he wasn’t asking just to make conversation. he leaned back, arms crossed, watching you closely.
you blinked, staring down at your hands. “i… i don’t know,” you admitted softly. “i just… never really learned how. or… maybe i’m afraid i’ll say the wrong thing.”
follo’s eyes softened, though the edge in them stayed—curious, probing. “the wrong thing? what do you mean?”
you hesitated, swallowing. “like… words get mixed up in my head. and if i say them, people don’t… understand. or they look at me funny. it’s easier to just… stay quiet.”
he stayed quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, but he didn’t.
“so it’s not that you don’t have things to say,” he said slowly, “you just… struggle getting them out?”
you nodded. “yeah. it’s… it’s easier to listen than to speak.”
he leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp but gentle. “i’ve noticed,” he admitted. “but you don’t have to stay quiet with me. not if you don’t want to.”
your heart thudded in your chest. “i… i don’t know how to make it right,” you whispered.
follo shook his head slightly, a small, patient movement. “you don’t have to ‘make it right.’ we’ll figure it out. slow. little steps. words don’t have to be perfect to matter.”
you looked up at him, unsure but feeling something light in your chest, a tiny spark of relief.
“i’ll help you,” he added quietly, “if you let me.”
and for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe staying quiet didn’t have to be the only choice.
𝐅𝐔 𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 -
you were sitting near fu during practice, the way you always slurred some words not because you didn’t know them, but because they tangled in your mouth before you could get them out.
it was subtle, barely anyone noticed—but fu did. he watched quietly, head tilted, eyes soft and careful.
“um…” he started one day, voice small, barely above a whisper. “i… i noticed… sometimes… you… um… slur words.”
you froze, cheeks heating, hands gripping whatever was near. “i… i didn’t mean to,” you mumbled, looking down. “it… it just happens.”
he nodded quickly, fidgeting with the strap of his glove. “i… i know. i… i just… thought maybe… maybe i could… help?” his words stumbled over themselves, soft and unsure.
you blinked, not sure what to say. “help? how?”
he glanced away, shifting on his feet, then back at you. “like… maybe… if you… say the word slowly… and i… i can show you how to… um… pronounce it? if you want?”
your chest felt lighter, like someone had lifted a weight off it. “you… really want to?” you asked quietly.
he nodded, a small, almost shy smile flickering. “y-yeah… i… i want to help. if that’s okay.”
so you tried.
one word at a time. he spoke first, gently, clearly, letting you hear it. then you repeated it, slow and careful.
sometimes your tongue twisted, sometimes your voice wavered, but he never got impatient. he just waited, soft eyes fixed on you, nodding when you got closer.
“good,” he whispered after one attempt, voice so soft it barely left his lips. “that… that was good.”
it didn’t take long for small improvements.
your words became less tangled, less shaky, and every time he noticed, he gave the tiniest nod or a quiet “well done.”
you started looking forward to it—the quiet sessions where no one else was around, where mistakes didn’t matter, and fu’s gentle, timid encouragement made the words feel less scary.
and slowly, the slurs didn’t feel like something to hide anymore.
𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐘𝐋 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍 -
you stayed quiet around zodyl most of the time.
it wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk—it was just him. the way he looked, sharp and unreadable, like no one could really know what he was thinking.
no expression ever flickered on his face, and it made your chest tighten every time you tried to speak.
he noticed. of course he noticed.
not just the way you hung back around him, but the way you froze around other raiders too.
how your hands fidgeted when someone asked you a question, how your voice shrank to almost nothing, how you avoided looking at the papers you were supposed to write on.
one evening, when the hall was quiet and everyone else had left to a mission, he found you sitting alone with a pen and a sheet of notes near the lounge.
your shoulders were hunched, pencil hovering over the page like it weighed a ton. he stepped closer, slow, careful.
“you struggle,” he said simply. not a question. not a judgment. just a statement.
you flinched slightly, eyes dropping. “i… i… um…” your words stumbled out in a small, nervous jumble.
he crouched down a little, voice low but steady. “with writing. with speaking. i can see it.”
you swallowed, heat rising in your cheeks. “i… i just… don’t want to… mess up.”
he was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning the page, then you. “then i will help you,” he said finally. “slowly. quietly. no one needs to see.”
you nodded, hesitant, barely daring to look at him.
so he started. one word at a time. he wrote a letter in the dust on the floor first, tracing it with his finger, then letting you try.
your lines trembled, letters uneven, but he didn’t move impatiently or make a sound of frustration.
he only waited. watched. guided when needed.
“again,” he said after a shaky attempt. “slower. careful.”
and over time, the words became easier. your voice grew steadier when speaking. your hand steadier when writing.
zodyl never smiled. never said it outright, but his presence was constant.
and one day, when you read a full sentence aloud without hesitation, he just nodded once.
no words, no praise, but you felt it anyway—approval. recognition. and slowly, being around him didn’t feel so scary anymore.
you realized he had seen all the little struggles you hid, and even if he didn’t show emotion, he cared enough to make sure you didn’t face them alone.
𝐉𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 -
you were walking back from the mission, tired, shoulders stiff, the quiet between you and jabber was longer than usual.
normally he didn’t speak much either, but today, after seeing how you moved, how you hesitated at every order or instruction, he noticed something. something more than just quietness.
“hey ma,” he said finally, voice low, cautious. “you… you didn’t really respond out there.”
you flinched, looking down at your hands. “i… i’m sorry,” you mumbled. your voice was soft, hesitant, like every word weighed too much.
he stopped walking, turning toward you, eyes sharp but not angry. “no ma, that’s not what i mean. you struggle… talking?”
you blinked, cheeks heating. “i… i… sometimes. i just… it’s hard. words… don’t come out right.”
he tilted his head, frowning slightly. “all the time? or just with certain people?”
“mostly… everyone,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “and… writing too… i… i can’t do it well.”
he stayed quiet for a moment, processing. then he crouched down slightly, to be closer to your level, like he didn’t want to loom over you.
“so… it’s not that you don’t want to communicate,” he said slowly, each word careful, “you just… can’t? not easily ma?”
you nodded, hugging your arms to your chest. “i try… i do. but… it’s hard. i don’t want to mess up.”
jabber let out a quiet breath, not frustration, just thoughtfulness. “okay mamas,” he said finally. “then i’ll help. not by forcing you, not by rushing… but… you and me, we’ll figure it out.”
you looked at him, unsure.
he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. “slowly. letters first, words next, sentences later. only when you’re ready. i’ll show you. guide you. no one else needs to know.”
you swallowed, the knot in your chest loosening slightly. “really?”
he didn’t smile—he never really did—but his gaze softened a little. “yeah. really. you’re not alone in this ma.”
and from that day, when missions were over and the dorms were quiet, he started teaching you in small steps.
tracing letters, sounding words aloud, letting you practice without judgment. sometimes you stumbled.
sometimes you froze. but he never pushed, never teased, never left.
and slowly, the words that once tangled in your mouth began to make sense.
not perfectly, not quickly—but with him there, you realized speaking and writing didn’t have to feel impossible anymore
© 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐱𝐨𝐱𝐨 | 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝
