He does not miss him.
He doesn't miss the violin. Or the way he would shout at the tellie while they watched movies. He doesn't miss his hair, the way it would flow through his fingers. Or his eyes, transparent but seeing so much. He does not miss the late night conversations where they would say absolutely nothing at all.
He thought he would miss him. In the beginning, when the absence was a deafening empty space always with him.
But he doesn't. Not really. Not ever.
But he was like smoke. Rough. Hazy. Addictive.
Sometimes John just wants to breath him in.
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Fanfiction"Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."
