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He can be angry at you and not at you – at the same time
Sometimes it’s you, sometimes it’s what he fears he could do to you, sometimes it’s what the world has done to the both of you, sometimes it’s just the damn world. The deep frown on his face is the toned-down version of the raging war inside of him, his heavy chest a corpse-filled battlefield, his mind a violent clash of weaponry. He can’t explain it; being alive didn’t necessarily mean he had strategies for living. Peace and quiet wasn’t an option for this boy so unfairly used to noise, this boy who only knew conflict as the answer and not the way there.
Remind yourself, time and again, of your unwavering position in front of the gun. He isn’t sure if you’re an ally or just the safety. Fights with you will happen, but that’s only because the chances of him winning the one against himself are slim to none.
Try to understand that he is not the enemy, before you become one of his. Swallow your anger at his demons back down (there’s no room for them), and be his white flag. Let him ease that glare off his face at his own pace. Some days, if you’re extremely lucky, he’ll stand down, soften up, and win you the way you deserve to be won.
Don’t expect any sort of affection to come easy
In fact, don’t expect it at all. He’s a threadbare mess, barely put together by the reassuring hands of those who cared enough to do so. Most people don’t realize that he fell apart by his own terms because he hated being torn apart by others. The warmth and love you’ve always craved will have to wait; it can’t come from him already, so don’t be selfish (he’s had enough of that to last a lifetime).
Settle for the parts of him that he allows you to touch, and let him keep you grounded in his own way. He will learn you at a speed he was never sure he’d be allowed to dictate. There is always the yes or no?, spoken or unsaid, and, this far into the relationship, you momentarily think it’s because of insecurity. Remember that consent wasn’t something he was always afforded; be grateful he’s giving you a say.
Keep hands in pockets and eyes closed to the vulnerability he’s not ready to let you see and, god, please, say yes only if you mean it. All he knows are bounds, limits, don’ts, can’ts, and he’ll deal with you by those terms. All of him is yours for the taking, but let him give it to you inch by inch.
He will face away from your side of the bed
Know that he does this to protect you from the monster that he seems himself as. He wishes for you not to see how his nightmares wreck him once sleep takes over. The desperation in his breathing, the tightness along his shoulder blades, the trembling grip on the sheets, and the helpless protests all lead towards a harsh jolt back into reality; these are the signs, and yet, you are never, ever prepared.
Once, he tried explaining how you needed to stay away, how nothing good would ever come out of dealing with an evil like him. He thinks himself too damaged to keep you together.
When he wakes up, get off the bed, as stealthily as you can; don’t try to pacify his attempts at breaking free from the unrelenting confines of his devils. (The last time you tried, a bruise as dark as the night sky bloomed over your right eye.)
Instead, watch as he goes through the process of getting back, slowly wading through the motions of returning to reality. He needs to go through this alone. Resist the urge to shout – nothing good comes out of creating more noise for him to deal with. Be there for him when it’s over: when his eyes blink once, twice in the darkness, adjusting to the sight of your concerned look, when he takes a deep breath and nods, beckoning for you to come back to bed.
Don’t wrap an arm around him (so soon after not being able to breathe, it’ll only suffocate him), but gently rest a hand atop his open palm. Whether or not he interlaces your fingers together is (and should be) up to him.
His annoyance at you is cute
Tell him this. It’ll only get him more annoyed – but not really because you pointed it out. He’s annoyed at how someone like you can so easily see past the walls he’s spent years putting up.
The moment his face softens, becomes a blend of oh that’s why and amusement, that’s the moment he remembers: you’re the reason why those walls, for the most part, don’t matter anymore. This will only last for a brief moment, and the sarcastic comeback from him will only serve to remind you that vulnerability was never his strong suit in the first place.
He does not love Exy
But he does get some sort of rush out of being good at it. As much as he acts like he doesn’t care about the game, there is a stark difference between apathy and hatred (somewhere down the line, you realize that you taught him this). He shuts down goals and tells opposing teams to fuck off because nobody messes with him, you, or the people you care about.
(Really, it’s his own way of saying the Foxes are family. Thank him by not wasting his added advantage on the court.)
Driving to places is his way of escaping
It’s a lot like how you run when you need to get away for a while. Sometimes, he will leave a note by the bedside table, or by the kitchen, only saying the time he’ll get back. Most of the time, you won’t know where he’ll end up.
Worrying about him is not a good idea – this is almost like thinking his cage should’ve been more secure. Asking the others about where he’d go is worse – this is almost like not trusting him to come back.
The best course of action, in the end, is for you to stay. Don’t let him come home to an empty room – he’ll get the idea that he shouldn’t leave again, which only wrenches away the freedom he’s worked so hard for.
The rooftop is his place, and soon, it’ll be yours too
There is something you don’t understand about the rooftop’s importance, and why he always comes up here.
The first time he brings you up there, you finally get it.
There is no appeal in standing on the rooftop, but looking at everything around from that vantage point more than gets the point across. It’s the stars, bright and sharp, hung around and across the blue-black night sky. It’s the roads below, leading to anywhere and everywhere and the feeling of getting to those places all at once. It’s the cold crisp air, blowing by every twenty-something minutes or so, reminding you of the earth, alive, breathing.
It’s sharing a cigarette with him, the handprint of the burn against your lungs, the smoke billowing up into the clouds. It’s a secret for a secret, a part of his life in exchange for a part of yours. A truth for a truth; learning how to unravel the lies you each embody; reaching in and finding something so immensely beautiful, it’s unbelievable, almost dream-like.
It’s giving, and giving, and knowing which is yours and which is his. It’s letting all that meld into something else entirely.
Every kiss means something
And usually, you’re not supposed to know what the meaning is yet. Unpredictability is a feature all his own. He is a mystery each time you look at him, and kissing him is part solving and part dissolving. Part keeping afloat in the waters of this life, part endlessly drowning in his grip. Part finding stable ground to stand on, part trembling knees, shaky falls.
You love every bit of it, look forward to all the ways he’s able to beautifully ruin you. It’s the split difference between being awake and being alive. Really, this boy is the one reason your world keeps going, and also the only reason you’d stop it for.
When he lets you in, don’t destroy anything
Be careful with him, because you should know by now that he terribly, badly needs the gentleness. You are not someone that’s allowed in because there’s no other choice, but you are allowed in because you are part of the choice he, for once in his life, has been allowed to make.
Press sure fingers to his scars, and take your time in learning the story behind each one. Listen for the parts of him you are allowed to explore – his world is a strange yet wonderful territory traveled to by most but discovered by next to no one. Be the first one to tell him, and really tell him, that he's a place you'd do anything to keep returning to.
He loves you
More than he knows. More than he can admit. More than his hatred percentage entails – and he’ll grumble about increasing it each time, but he loves you.
He isn’t good at showing it though. But, god, you're bad at this too.
(And that doesn’t mean you should stop.)