He missed him. He missed him so bad, it hurt.
In such a short amount of time, Komaeda had found his way into Hajime's heart, settled in—and then burst out, leaving nothing but blood and tattered flesh in his wake.
You were so kind.
He wasn't sure how Komaeda did it, but the sirenlike quality of his words made sure that Hajime hung on to everything he said. It was perfect when they were friends, on good terms; his voice was like music to his ears.
It was horrible when Komaeda changed before his very eyes. Instead of butterflies, his lips spewed daggers.
And much like daggers, they drew blood. They left scars.
Hajime had accepted the physical ones. But the mental ones?
Not so much.
He had a bite of ambrosia, and it poisoned the taste of everything else.
draconicsparkle
eater-of-hopes-and-dreams

hometoursandotherstuff

cowpokeprose
lovelysuggestion
runningwolf62
