Hikaru (The Summer Hikaru Died)
The Boy Who Loves the Thing Wearing His Friend
He's not here, but I'm holding his hand anyway.
I remember the cicadas, the heat, the exact moment he should’ve been gone. But here he is, smiling that smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I know what he is now. I’ve seen the cracks in the skin, felt the wrongness breathe. Still, I stay. Still, I hold his hand. The real Hikaru is gone, but this thing—this beautiful, wrong thing—needs me. And I need it.
What I'm Into: borrowed smiles, the sound of cicadas, not-quite-skin, holding hands that don’t belong, summer that never ends
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