They've been talking about him again today. In almost every corner and hallway, you can hear whispers going around. Stupid ramblings about how he's incorrigible with the way he acts, about how immature it all is, about how he may have some screws loose in his head. An incredibly sad thing is that this goes on wherever he may be. Japan, United Kingdom, Puerto Rico, Mexico, United States – whispers follow him wherever he goes. Nevermind how great he is at what he does. Nevermind how accomplished he is for someone of his stature. They could never get past the whispers.
He may act differently when compared to others. But that's what makes him who he is. People think it's weird. I think it's normal for someone like him. It's how he deals with it. What you ask? It's how he deals with who and what he is. It's what attracted me to him in the first place. The talent and the intensity he harnesses both in and out of his job. It's amazing to see up close. His intensity never wavers, even at the height of all the whispers. He doesn't hurt from them, I know, but it does me.
He never really understood why they did though. He told me it was petty, that I shouldn't pay them any mind. What do they know about it anyway? Hearing the smooth baritone of his voice saying those words made a faint smile appear on my lips before I made him understand my sadness. They'll never be able to see what I see, they'll never be able to feel what I feel – that's what saddens me.
The whispers that followed him around were there as a process of alienation for him. But it's the other way around. It's them that alienated themselves from something of awe-inspiring proportion. I hear more whispers just around the corner. I can't help but shake my head. When will they ever learn?
There are still some times when it hurts to listen to those whispers. He may not hurt from them, but I still do. What else am I to do and feel when the man I love is going in front of a firing squad for his execution that he was never even aware of? I'm not as strong as he is to be able to walk around with his head held high, pride intact and confidence unwavering. While he takes it all in to provide fuel to his fire, I scurry away to try and heal. But what amazes me even more, what makes me love him even deeper, is that for someone of his intense nature, he never looked down at me for it.
I hate it when people talk behind his back. People pretending to be his friends yet spill gory details, laced with their own sordid fantasy of what really happened, to anyone that was willing to get some dirt on him and propagate the whispers more. But then there are those that, despite finding him odd, stick by him, remain true to him and, at time, defend him. Even though they're that way, they would still never be able to know him completely.
I think the only way to do that would be to let go of all pretensions, look past his behaviour and see the soul that he possesses. Then maybe everyone else would be able to see what I see, feel what I feel, understand something that has always been so simple. I can hear the slight din of whispers just beyond the door again. He's most probably on his way back from his match. Not even seconds after that thought, he comes thru the door, breathing slightly ragged, skin glistening with sweat but with an expression that's unreadable. In the small locker room, my beloved Brandon Silvestry, known to the world as Low-Ki or Senshi, has finally graced my presence once again.
"You heard a lot again, haven't you?" he asked me.
"When do I ever not?" I retorted.
"Like I told you before, it – "
"Doesn't matter, I know," I cut off. "That assurance doesn't make it stop from reaching my ears though."
"They just don't get me like you do," he told me in his deep voice. Hearing his voice paired with his unwavering stare at me can make my knees buckle at the slightest gush of wind. Thank the heavens I was leaning on the wall. But my feelings didn't go unnoticed.
In a quick two strides of his strong and commanding legs, he was right in front of me, hands stretched out to lean on the wall to trap me. In what could be deemed a rare moment to anyone outside of our circle, he broke his character and let a smile grace his otherwise stoic features. He leaned his forehead against mine before capturing my lips in a soul-searing kiss.
"The whispers did not, do not and will never matter," he said quietly, his face only a breath away from mine. "All that matters are the quiet things that no one will ever know – no one but us."