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Carefully you took his face into your hands, gently rubbing circles with the pads of your thumbs on his temples. Visible concern overtook your face, which you knew in turn worried him, but you couldn’t help it. Whenever the tangled knot of pressure tightened to the point of snapping within him, he dissociated himself. He always did in his youth, and he continued to now. You hated seeing him like this, regardless of him insisting privacy.
“Hanzo,” you moved your head in the down direction he was facing, so that he was forced to see you, “look at me.”
He was hesitant. Silent. Still. Frustration was evident in his features as he fought whether or not to look at you directly, and his fingers curled tightly in his palm the longer you were so close to him. Hanzo stood there, dominated in his profound sadness, refusing to speak. Fatigue engraved his sorrowful expression, despite his efforts to remain unaffected. It was foolish of him to believe you wouldn’t notice.
“Hanzo,” you repeated, meeting his tired umber eyes for just a moment, “Please.”
It was heavy, the weight that was on him, and he verbally could not express what was clouding his mind. Whether it was because he could not find the exact words, or he was attempting to rid his mind of it altogether, he was uncertain. He lowered his eyelids as you rested your hands on his cheeks, most upset with how things had transpired, what he had done. He was unsure what compelled you to do this, nor why he was not rejecting the situation.
He would stumble in the pits of his mind, struggling to find his grip back to reality. The depths of his inner turmoil engulfed him, and more often than not it would defeat him. Hanzo suffered in silence and refused to speak of it to anyone, and would distance himself for the better, in his mind. Gloom welled up from inside of him, eating his words and thoughts. Your attempts at relieving him, to add any ray of sunlight in his mind, still seemed cold.
“It's OK, Hanzo.”
You kept your eyes on him, refusing to have him leave your sight. Hanzo didn’t believe your statement, and you knew that. Regardless who commended him, who assured him in a positive sense, he would dismiss. Though, now he simply remained quiet, as if waiting for you to either release him from your hold or continue talking. The dark shadow that cast over his life and every step he took was overwhelming; and you could not understand.
The unseen, silent assassin that kept ebbing his mind became more and more efficient with each passing day. The parasitic illness would not leave its host, and it happily fed on him, ravenously so. While you hadn’t the answers, you refused to leave him alone. No matter how many times he’d try to withdraw into himself, no matter how many times he’d tell himself how he did not deserve to be on this Earth, you would fight him.
No matter how many times you would have to repeat it, you would. No matter how long it took, no matter how persistent you needed to be. He deserved to be here, and he deserved to heal.