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Taishiro is aware of his stature. He stands a little over eight feet tall- heavy and wide, and because of that he tries to make himself approachable, dressed in yellow with a wide smile and easy greetings.
When he meets you, he tries to be careful. He’s a nervous wreck, face burning red with every touch that you place on his hand, always hiding behind him and making him feel wanted, your hand slipping into his and it always felt so small, so fragile and tiny like he was holding a baby bird in his palm and he’s glad that you were the one to initiate the relationship- as much as he pushes for courage and self-confidence, he would never have taken his own advice to make the first move.
He tries to be careful around you. Never letting himself react angrily in front of you, arguments always kept to a minimum and he’s a hero, he knows how to keep his emotions in check for the most part- at least to the public and if he pretends that you’re the public so he doesn’t lash out, then it’s a win for the both of you, you don’t see him angry and he doesn’t have to yell at you.
He understands what it means for a man to yell at someone- especially if they’re smaller and he’s heard about the panic attacks that people can have from that and the last thing he’ll ever want to do it hurt you- to scream at you and see a look of fear flash across your face. He doesn't think he could ever forgive himself if that were to happen. Taishiro knows for a fact that if you were to be scared of him, it would break his heart. He’s there to protect you, to be your literal spear and shield, and if you thought for a second that those weapons would be directed towards you, he would never forgive himself- he would walk on glass to just take the words back.
He’d walk on glass right now if he could.
He didn’t mean to yell at you, he promises that he didn’t but that doesn’t fix what he did. It doesn’t fix the way you backed away from him, hands in front of you like you were trying to protect yourself, eyes wide and fearful that soon watered and glossed over, your bottom lip trembling and it hurts.
Your mouth opens, lips moving silently and you can’t get a single sound out. You blink once and that’s all that it takes for the tears to glisten down the curve of your cheeks and drip onto your shirt.
That’s all that it takes for him to wince and look at you with a pained expression. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, hands raising to hold onto yours, “I didn’t mean it.” He lowers his hands when you take another step away from him. “I’m sorry.” He was annoyed, he didn’t mean what he said to you. Of course he loves listening to you, he doesn’t find you annoying in the slightest, he swears it but he can’t say the words, they get lost in his throat and make his face burn with shame, words stuck in his throat and making him unable to breathe, tears springing to his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeats in a whisper, brows furrowing and a frown tugging on his lips. He’s teased you before, said anything and everything in a soft teasing tone and made sure to squeeze your hands or carry you and nuzzle his face against you so you could understand that his words were only a mere jab that held no real weight to them but the words he said just moments ago weren’t empty. They were heavy with feeling, the weight of them knocking against you in a way that he will never be able to take back, the words leaving his mouth, sounding against the room in such a vile tone that it makes him want to bite his own tongue off. He was annoyed- irritated at the long day of nothing going his way and just tired to deal with your constant teasing and indecisiveness about where to eat. But that doesn’t give him the right to yell at you. And he knows that.
Always so emotional when it counts, you take a shaky breath and you’re only able to make a soft sound, a mix between a squeak and a whimper when you whine and let the tears fall, lowering your head, your hands wrapping around yourself in a what can only be seen as a comforting hug and he reacts without thinking, his large hands wrapping around your waist. He almost lets go when he feels you tense under his grasp, hands falling away until your hands claw onto his sleeves, eyes pinched tightly, tears glistening on your lashes and there are small sniffles sounding from you as he brings you close to his chest, your face hidden in his pillowy softness, hands leaving his sleeves and arms spreading as wide as they can as you grip onto the signature yellow jacket, and there’s a fleeting guilty thought about how he must reek of sweat and here he is, pressing you close against him.
Taishiro shushes you gently, cooing your name and holding you against his chest, your legs scooped into an arm and you rest against where his clavicle would be, hidden under his fat. “I didn’t mean it, I promise,” he says in a rushed breath, fear making his heart race as your cries only grow louder.
“Yes, you did,” you wail, fisting his jacket in your hand, twisting and pulling taut on the fabric. “You meant it,” you cry pitifully, hiccuping through the sounds, and despite the words shared between the both of you, you pull yourself closer to him, searching for comfort. “I’m sorry.”
He gasps softly and his eyes shine with tears. It takes all that he has to not crush you in a tight hug, to let the hard object in his throat pass and keep his tears in check. “No, no,” he repeats, shaking his head and rubbing a hand across your back. “I-” he doesn’t want to put the blame on today, it won’t make up for him treating you horribly but he has to explain himself- “I had a long day, baby, that’s all. I was annoyed-”
“At me,” you hiccup, harsh gasps that break and make you shudder for breath.
“No,” he says quickly, turning his head to find a place to sit. He walks slowly to the couch, quieting you gently, with every step. “Never at you. I just had a long day and I didn’t mean to yell at you, I swear.” He doesn’t know what else to say. It won’t fix the fat that he not only insulted you, but had also yelled. He can’t rid the image of you looking at him with scared eyes.
“But you did,” you say through a harsh breath.
He lowers himself onto the couch with a sigh and looks down at you where you hide your face in him, hands still holding onto him with paling knuckles. “But I did,” his tone is soft, closing his eyes and nodding his head. “But I did.”
He holds you in silence, rubbing his hands over your body and pulling away hair from your face, as you remain hidden in him. There have been few fights between the both of you. He can count on one hand how many times they have been serious, say the number in a single breath. But he never let his voice raise, never dare to insult you. How could he ever insult the one thing that means more to him than he or you will ever understand. Burning tears prick his eyes and he wants to cry along with you, to hold you close and whisper his apologies in the soft curve of your stomach and promise that he’ll never do it again. But that won’t acknowledge the pain you feel right now, it’ll only add to it because you can’t bear to see him sad either.
Your cries turn to whimpers, soft whines that make you curl deeper into him, knees slowly getting lost in the fat until you pull away. Your whimpers turn to hiccups where you snuffle and and loosen your hands against him, a tight grip turned soft, palm smoothing over the fresh wrinkles and sliding over his chest, until the rest above yours. You’re quiet against him and he doesn’t dare try to speak, wants to- needs to have you say the first thing and offer the olive branch so he knows that you still want him, that there’s even a chance of forgiveness that you can offer him.
You break the silence with a meek voice, words quivering and making his heart ache. “I didn’t mean to annoy you.”
“You didn’t,” he whispers back, pulling you into a more comfortable position, your head resting against his chest, hand held under you to give you a small boost. “I was just in a bad mood, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, sweetheart. I-” his voice cracks and he has to close his eyes tightly- “I’m sorry, baby. Please just tell me how I can fix it,” he says in a pained whisper, golden eyes shining under tears. “I’ll do whatever you want- we can take that trip that you wanted to take. I’ll take the time off-”
“I don’t wanna,” you murmur and he stops in his tracks, biting the inside of his cheeks, his heart plummeting. “I-” your voice cracks and he shushes you gently, bringing you close to him, and rubbing your thighs with his hand. “You scared me,” you whisper.
“Sometimes I just forget how small you are compared to me,” he says with a hint of playfulness in his voice, smiling softly when he hears you scoff out a laugh. “I’m sorry about that. I promise that I won’t yell at you again.” His leg bounces in a nervous tick and he pulls his mouth into a thin line. A shiver runs down his spine when your hand curves over his belly, soft and small over him with fingers played wide like you were trying to capture him in your palm. He covers your hand with his, the slightly calloused balls on the palm of his hand covering your soft knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he says again, keeping you close to him, hand slowly twisting until he holds yours, fingers brushing over gently, the pads of his fingers brushing over your digits, his index wide enough to cover over two of your own fingers, a sick feeling in his stomach pooling and he tries desperately to hold the sickness at bay, to not let the bile rise and spill over in acid.
“I forgive you,” you say in a quiet voice, shifting your weight on him, until you stand on your knees, your hand leaving his and placing both of them on his face, squishing softly at his cheeks. “You’re crying,” you say in something softer than a whisper, your words barely registering to him. He realizes with a slow blink that he is indeed crying, the wetness tracing down his face and marking him in unforgivable lines. “Don’t cry,” you say, wiping away the tears.
Taishiro chuckles, it's rough and bitter and nothing like his laugh. “I think I should be telling you that,” he points out, tilting his head until his face rests against your palm.
“You already did,” you whisper, leaning in and kissing away the tears, salty liquid capturing against your lips and peppering them over his teary face. “Many times,” you add, nuzzling the side of his face, your hands still against him. “I forgive you.” You pepper kisses against him, sweet and fleeting, love written and given to him with every touch, pressing yourself flush onto his chest.
“You’re too sweet to me,” he says in a wistful tone. “I don’t think I deserve you.” The sickness settles, finding a resting place deep within his tummy, crawling around and placing seeds of doubt to grow into twisted thorns and wilted flowers. “I can never be sorry enough.”
“It hurt to have you yell at me-” he nods slowly, not wanting to interrupt you and looks away from you, closing his eyes- “but I know that you didn’t do it to hurt my feelings. I know that you didn’t actively try to do that. You were annoyed and-”
“You’re too sweet,” he chuckles, shaking his head. He opens his eyes and brings a hand to his lips, his lips brushing over them in a phantom touch, his breath hot and shaky above them, as he pecks them softly. “I have to make it up to you somehow,” he murmurs. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
Your hands come up to play with the soft tufts on his head, buttercup twists pulled against your fingers, soft and bouncy as they pull back on his head and he sighs at the touch. “Think you can go late to work tomorrow? The crying gave me a headache and I want to sleep in with you,” you scratch at his scalp, eyes flickering to meet his honey ones that are still glassy. “It’s been a while since we slept in together.”
He closes his eyes and laughs softly with a shake of his head. “Heck, I’ll take the day off if you really want me to. We can stay in or go out- whatever you want.” His eyes glance down to your lips and he lowers his head, resting his temple onto your chest, his hands, holding you by the waist, a silent beg for you to play with his hair, smiling into you as you do so, messing with his hair and running your hands through it getting rid of any tangles. “I’ll do whatever you want, sweetheart.”