His whole life, he was taught.
Everyone was taught, but he'd like to think he learned more.
He had an eye for things like that.
He was taught, he'd learn.
He was beaten, he'd learn.
He was traumatized, he learned, he killed.
He learned not to cry.
He learned not to look back.
He learned not to forget, not to feel.
He learned to hunt - to kill.
Then they came.
One was protection, one was… strange.
One was fiery hot, but was cold,
The other had a bite, but didn't seem to mean it all the time.
Very strange.
They asked for someone, but he came along.
He was better.
He was stronger.
He was taught, he learned.
But she was there with him for the rest.
They worked together well, and yet not.
He made a comment, she bit back.
She was pretty aggressive,
Yet he was unfeeling.
She said she didn't care, he didn't need to.
He couldn't; not after everything that was done to him.
For once, he admitted he was wrong.
One day, she broke.
Her life's story, her desires, all to him.
She cried.
He couldn't really stop himself.
He pulled her close,
He whispered sweet nothings.
She hugged him,
Cried some more.
She calmed down, but held on.
A shake.
Another shake.
She considered for a second if she was cold.
A drop on her dried cheeks.
Another.
He was crying, too.
He told her.
She held him closer.
He was suffocating, she let go.
He suffocated more, she touched him.
First lips to lips,
Body to body,
Skin to skin.
He let out a breath.
They both learned something that day:
He learned he cared,
She learned that he could cry, too.