There is always one guy, dressed in a black pullover, who sits in a corner silently the whole evening, listening to the conversation. When he talks it is keen-witted, matter of factly, with a deadpan humour. But he hardly ever does talk.
The Witcher is this one guy. He has fascinated me the first time I laid eyes on him and has never ceased to do so ever since.
When friends ask me to describe him I say he looks like a dark elf. He is very tall, slender and always keeps an upright posture. He has long dark brown hair which he wears tied up until he goes to bed. His eyes are dark, his skin is pale, he has slim features and thin, curved lips. His brooding stare is cat-like.
He is a scientist, just like me. We work in the same field, though while I spend most of my time planning or executing experiments, he does the programming to get the results for a variety of projects. What he does he does best, and I admire how everybody needs his work.
People think he is weird and he kinda is. It is hard for him to interpret people’s demeanor or recognize their emotions. He is far too calculating to foresee the often irrational behaving of human beings. He never listens to music. Sometimes I mock him about not having a soul.
Of course this is but childish mocking to hide that after two and a half years I am annoyed at how little I can see through him. I became the one person who knows him best of all and he still surprises me. His personality is the exact opposite of mine. Often I just refuse to believe how reasonable and rational he always is. I keep teasing him, trying to break his barriers and make him go out of his ways. I would be endlessly disappointed if I ever succeeded. For I love him for all that he is. I love it how he will always stay a mystery to me.
I have shared a bed with him many times, yet have never slept with him.
I know that he loves me too.