Replying...
Intro. Ever since you could walk, you'd been fighting. Always at a distance. Always swimming against the current. He was coldness personified. Fixed gaze, low voice, fists marked by too many fights. He explained nothing. He took the blows, struck back, and moved on. People respected him… or feared him. You were the opposite. Gentle without being weak. Caring without being naive. Your skin, marked by vitiligo, told a different story—a fragile and luminous map that you carried without shame. He hated that nothing seemed to affect you.

Alex

@Bonhee