𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐌𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮
𝙀𝙧𝙞𝙘 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘈𝘴 𝘌𝘳𝘪𝘤’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥. 𝘛𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺.
𝐚/𝐧: 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘰𝘯𝘦-𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐’𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘚𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦’𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰. 𝘈𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘌𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘐’𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝐰𝐜: 1.5k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝙢𝙙𝙣𝙞, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵(𝘪𝘴𝘩)-𝘌𝘳𝘪𝘤, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵-𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥
You hadn’t planned anything that day. Just stopping in for a bite, alone. It was morning, a bit chilly out. It was overcast, but it hadn’t rained.
It was your day off work, and perfect weather so why not take advantage of it? You got your usual, two pancakes, strawberries on the side with syrup.
You did it every once in a while just to treat yourself, but you noticed someone new working there. His hair was buzzed but also grown out a little. He was quiet, kept his head down. Friendly.
He ended up being your waiter ironically enough.
There was a quiet tension within him, the kind that seemed to pull you in rather than push you away.
You felt there was something more to him, considering he was new and you had never seen him before.
You noticed as he didn’t keep his head down so much whenever he came by your table. And he’d attempt to smile. Just a soft one. Again, friendly.
After that, you began going there more often even if it was just for a cup of coffee or something small.
He noticed as you did.
Eventually, you were bold enough to ask for his number. Nothing romantic but just to possibly talk more with each other outside of the diner.
He was surprised you asked but he gave you it anyway.
From then on you would talk most days. Sometimes even meet up at places to just walk around with one another.
You both started to share a little more of your personal lives. And you had learned that the diner wouldn’t have been his first option, but they had a spot for him and he thought it’d be a nice change since he had gotten out of prison.
As well as his experience in prison. His dad. The therapy sessions for anger management. How he struggled with it still.
You could tell he was looking for change, and you just so happened to be a part of it. Without even knowing.
It was a Friday, you had just gotten off work. And you knew Eric would be getting off as well so you decided to walk to the diner to see him.
The walk wasn’t far but it was a little ways.
As you were just getting close, just about around the corner to the entrance, you hear punching behind in the alley.
You weren’t sure who or what was going on but with curiosity, you went and checked it out. Moving slowly.
By the time you had looked, the sounds stopped. Only to find Eric kneeling on the ground, his back facing towards you. Hands shaking in his lap.
He hadn’t noticed you were there yet.
You suddenly spoke softly, “Eric..?”
Alarmingly, he turned around, seeing you there. You looked concerned.
You were.
“Shit,” he said abruptly. “I didn’t mean to.”
While a bit confused now, you kneeled down beside him to level with him.
“What happened?” You asked gently.
He didn’t look you in the eye, keeping his head down like he always did, never with you though.
He raised his slightly shaking hands as he spoke.
“This.”
Looking at them, the bloodied and bruised knuckles.
“Hey, it’s okay. Did someone hurt you? What did they do?” You asked.
He was silent for a moment, filled with disappointment in himself. Not just for letting his anger get to him but for you having to see it.
“That guy was just..” he paused, breathing in. “He just started saying shit. I tried not to let him get to me but I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“It’s okay Eric.” You said, reassuring him.
“No, it’s not.”
He put his hands over his head.
“I don’t want you to think of me like this. As this angry person who can’t control themselves for the life of him.”
He felt as if he had relapsed, like he was still the same person he was before. Like all the progress he was making meant nothing, and you saw it.
You gently put your hand on his back, rubbing it lightly. He flinched slightly, feeling himself become a bit warm inside. The feel of your touch against him. In the state he’s in right now, when he needs it most.
It finally made him lift his head up. Looking up at you now.
His eyes were red, not teary though.
“I don’t think of you like that.”
You paused for a moment.
“Things happen. But you’re not who you were before. I know that.”
Hearing you say that almost could’ve brought him to tears because you didn’t run away. Nor did you leave. You stayed. With him.
“I didn’t mean to mess this up.”
You looked at him softly before speaking.
“Eric, you didn’t mess anything up. It’s okay. I promise.”
He didn’t know what else to say. It was beyond surprising to him that you were this willing to stay even after that. Most people would’ve turned and walked away. You were different.
He just smiled. The kind that said more than words ever could. Which then brought you to sit him against the brick wall as you sat next to him.
You both stayed silent for a moment. Still taking in everything as he calmed down.
Unexpectedly, he gently grazed his fingers on yours. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right. You were a bit confused by the action, not sure what it meant.
But you knew it meant something special deep down.
He didn’t grip nor pull. Just touches. And it's probably the most tender thing he has ever done before.
Neither of you had spoken even after the given moment of his hand touching yours. You both still stayed there a while longer.
Noticing his still bloodied and bruised hands, you decided it was time to get him bandaged.
The walk home wasn’t tense, but quiet.
Once arriving at your place, you sat him down.
Your place was lit with small lamps here and there. Windows scattered in every few places. It smelt of something sweet from a candle.
It was pleasant, a lot nicer than any place Eric had ever been or stayed at.
He glanced around, noticing how organized you seemed. How your place was so well kept together. Unlike him.
“You live here?” He asked, like he was surprised.
“Yeah. Alone.”
You came back into the room where he was sitting, getting the ice pack placed on his hand.
He slightly flinched at the cold feel on the half open wound.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Maybe, but I’m used to the feeling.”
He seemed unfazed but you could tell it still hurt deep down, festering at him.
You kept your eyes down on his hand, watching the bruises and blood on it. Gently moving your fingers across his sore knuckles. Making sure not to apply too much pressure.
He looked up at you, unsure of the way you were touching his hand. Like he didn’t know what to make of it.
“You want something to drink?” You asked.
He looked up, caught off guard by your fingers on his hand.
“I’m good. Don’t wanna stay long.” He said plainly.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
You felt the unease in him. There was something to it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It made you curious, wanting to explore but you didn’t dare to even try. Not yet.
He glances at your hand again, then around at your place. His gaze lands on the candle flickering in the distance. The sweetness of it, the way the room seemed to breathe.
“Feels different here, y'know. Safe.” He said quietly.
He said it like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean more than it did. But you could tell it did.
His eyes stayed on the room, not you. Silence settled until he spoke again.
“Thanks.” He said.
“For what?” You asked, brow furrowed.
“Staying.” He shifted, almost uncomfortable admitting it. “And.. all this.”
His voice was calm. Unguarded in a way you’d never heard him before. But you knew he meant it. Eric never knew what to do with words or emotions at times, but you knew when he meant them.
You smiled softly.
“It’s no problem. I understand.”
Your words struck his ears alarmingly. Harder than he could admit. 𝘐 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥. Something he always dreamt of, craved for, someone to say to him. Not even just saying, but meaning. Truly understanding.
He slowly laid his hand over yours.
It said everything he couldn’t. That sudden shift within him said even more though. That he was trusting you, and maybe, for the first time, trusting himself. Letting someone see him for who he really is, not just what he displays.
For a man who only knew how to fight, the smallest thing—letting you touch him, letting you stay without pushing you away—feels like the bravest choice he’s ever made.
And tonight, it’s the only one that mattered.
