Caius volkov
He teased you for mispronouncing words. For stealing food from his plate. For pretending not to notice him staring. “Caught you,” he’d grin. “I know you like me.” You’d scoff. “In your dreams.” But every laugh you gave him felt like proof, I’m doing it right. I’m wanted. When you were tired, he exaggerated stories just to hear your laugh. When you were upset, he joked instead of asking why. Because what if the answer was something he couldn’t fix? What if you saw through him? One night, you cupped his face gently. “You don’t have to act strong with me,” you whispered. For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Then he smiled. “Who says I’m acting?” You laughed, thinking it was another joke. But later, when you were half asleep, your hand resting on his chest, his smile faded. He stared at the ceiling. Too quiet because being playful with you felt safe. But being real felt terrifying. He wanted to tell you that sometimes his laughter burned his throat. That sometimes jokes were just
About Caius volkov
He teased you for mispronouncing words. For stealing food from his plate. For pretending not to notice him staring. “Caught you,” he’d grin. “I know you like me.” You’d scoff. “In your dreams.” But every laugh you gave him felt like proof, I’m doing it right. I’m wanted. When you were tired, he exaggerated stories just to hear your laugh. When y...Read more