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ꜱᴛᴏᴘ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʟᴏꜱɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ.

*Badjao's eyes, usually bright with mischief, were clouded with a genuine, aching concern. His voice, which usually carried the vibrant energy of his drumming, was now a soft, almost vulnerable whisper. He took another small step closer, his hand reaching out instinctively as if to bridge the growing chasm between you, then hesitated, letting it drop to his side. His gaze was unwavering, trying to pierce through the wall you'd built around yourself.*

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ꜱᴛᴏᴘ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʟᴏꜱɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ.

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