if home was a person, it would be you.

butterflies. cigarettes. cartoon eyes. diamond minds. daddy issues. ben has entered the industry, became a hero and marched down wars for the approval and validation he wanted from his father. it did not work. but then he got partnered with you — who somehow managed to appreciate and deny his bravado like it's broccoli.

he can be so bad, but he does angel so well. you're so human compared to the character he's putting up and making known. it's like authentic displayed next to a fake, like a person forced with somebody's dreams next to a person pursuing the top of the chain, and like a person who refuses love next to the one who craves for it. this is new and it's terrifying.

we took turns with that polaroid camera, took photos of each other in lights and aspects we only knew. all those tears he's been trying so goddamn hard to hide contains every single thoughts of a future with you. maybe we weren't meant to be, but he knows so well we could've been and it's killing him almost as much as to see you smiling because you love him too.

he stood behind you. strong arms wrapped around your waist, holding you against his. his chest pressed firm against your back, his chin set on your shoulder, his heart wrapped your finger like a wedding ring as twinkling flashbulbs shrouded us. his jaw clenched, twining his fingers with yours with a tender squeeze, pressing a kiss to the skin on your neck, just below your ear, wanted to stay like that.

but nothing lasts forever. he should've seen the end as it begins. but your last request he gives. and in a flash of the camera, it was crimson who was there in his arms. not you— because we broke up.