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It scares him sometimes, how open he's become with these people, this family he's found, these friends he knows won't judge him. He relaxes around them more and more often, forgets his mask and forgets that he doesn't like showing emotion.
He forgets to be afraid, and that terrifies him more than he could ever say.
He texts them sometimes, no longer just short clipped answers only to direct questions. He carries out entire conversations, still stilted and unforthcoming on his part but they never seem to mind. More and more he fights the urge to elaborate, to say more than what's strictly necessary.
He doesn't know what he's turning into. He can write entire pages on one subject, pages only select few will see, but all his life he's never been a true partner for talking, someone who can speak back ad engage listeners. He's heard the metaphor that a conversation is like a tennis match, with both sides passing the ball back and forth.
Suddenly, without even realizing it, he's picked up a racket and stood on edge of the court. Another inch and he'll be... He doesn't even know. He couldn't explain why opening up scares him this way, not to his family he's grown to trust. They would never hurt him, never betray him.
Why is he so afraid? Why can't this change be a good thing? He can't begin to explain, even to himself.