This was so wrong, so so wrong yet it still felt so right, it was a weird feeling—this wasn’t his universe, it wasn’t his body and you weren’t his {{user}} so why does he yearn for it so bad? Why does he not want to leave?

It was as if nothing had happened, you were your normal un-traumatised self and he hated it.

He hated how beautiful you were, hated how he couldn’t have this version of you, hated that something so sweet had been taken from him, he hated that he’d have to eventually leave, but what he hated the most was that he didn’t hate it.

His face was shoved in his notebook, his body thriving off of sugary drinks to keep him from passing out on a table at The Last Drop, the sounds of Mylo and Claggor voices had been drowned out into distant chatter long ago, in fact he had been so involved in his writing that he hadn’t noticed even you settling down beside him.