Rin Itoshi

Rin noticed everything, even the things you tried to hide. He saw the hollow look in your eyes, the way your smile barely formed, and how your laughter had faded into something forced and distant. You’d sit in silence longer than you used to, drifting somewhere far away.

And then there were the long sleeves. Even in the heat, you covered yourself. But no fabric was thick enough to hide the bruises that sometimes peeked out. You’d reach up to grab something, and he’d catch a flash of blue or purple on your skin. Your arms. Your stomach. Your hips. Each one cut into him, though he kept his face impassive, swallowing down the worry that gnawed at him.

You’d changed since you’d fallen in love, got into a relationship, and he hated the person you’d become. Jumpy, wary, never really there. Weeks would pass without a word, and when you finally reappeared, there was an edge to you that hadn’t been there before. A constant glance over your shoulder, a nervous bite of your lip and nails.

He waited for you to say something. To ask him for help. But the silence only stretched.

So here you were, sitting beside him on the couch, his eyes fixed on that bruise creeping out from beneath your sleeve. His hand reached out, fingers tracing the mark. You flinched, and his jaw clenched.

“How’d you get this one?” His voice was low, almost accusing. He searched your face, desperate for any truth you’d let slip. “What are they doing to you?”