For days, there was a palpable tension in the air between Piccolo and me. Our daily training sessions had become marked by silence, broken only by the sound of fists hitting the air and the echo of his stern instructions. It was as if my bold invitation had created an invisible chasm between us.
I couldn't help but wonder if I had pushed too far, if I had shattered the fragile connection we had built during our training. The realization stung, but I couldn't deny the truth: Piccolo was not like other people. He was a warrior with a heart guarded by years of solitude and self-reliance.
I tried to focus on my training, attempting to regain the concentration that had eluded me since that fateful day at the waterfall. My mind wandered less, but my heart ached more. It seemed Piccolo's rejection had only deepened my feelings for him.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the serene village, I found myself standing at the edge of a tranquil lake. The waters reflected the fading light like a mirror, and for a moment, I could almost see the depths of my own heart.
Without intending to, I spoke aloud to the silent expanse before me, as if the very elements were my confidants. "Why is it so hard to reach you, Piccolo? What are you so afraid of?"
As if on cue, Piccolo's voice echoed in my mind. "I'm not afraid of anything."
Startled, I turned to find him standing in the shadows, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on the horizon. It was as if he had materialized out of thin air, a testament to his stealth and agility.
I took a hesitant step closer. "Piccolo, I didn't mean to intrude on your solitude again."
He turned to look at me, his eyes revealing a complex mix of emotions—frustration, curiosity, and something else I couldn't quite decipher. "Why do you persist in this?"
I lowered my gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and determination. "Because I believe there's more to you than meets the eye. I've seen glimpses of it during our training. You're not just a warrior; there's a person behind that tough exterior, and I want to know that person."
Piccolo remained silent, his gaze unwavering. His green skin seemed to glow faintly in the dimming light. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him.
"Piccolo," I continued, "I don't want to change you. I just want to understand you. And maybe, in time, you'll understand me too."
His response was unexpected. Instead of dismissing me or retreating further into his solitude, he took a step closer, his presence a reassuring weight in the stillness of the evening.
"I can't promise you anything," he finally said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. "But I'll consider your invitation."
It was a small victory, but it filled my heart with hope. I knew that Piccolo's journey toward opening up would be slow and arduous, like the growth of a tree's branches reaching for the sun. But I was willing to be patient, to stand by his side, and to nurture the connection that had started to take root between us.
As we stood there by the tranquil lake, watching the last remnants of daylight fade away, I couldn't help but feel that something had shifted. The unspoken invitation had been accepted, and a new chapter in our story was about to begin.
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Fábula - PiccoloxReader (ENG)
FanfictionThis story is inspired by Italian singer Eros Ramazzotti's song "Fábula", and it's about the relationship between Piccolo, an introvert boy, and Y/N, the girl he's training, who has feelings for him. Y/N = your name
