Intermediate Goods

piece → it's you (it will always be you.)

(A/N: This is a little something I wrote about 8 months ago, when I was struck with "inspiration" at like 3 am. I'm actually really happy with it, as I am with most things I write when I should be sleeping. There was supposed to be a second portion, but I never got around to finishing it.)

♤

He is thirteen when he realizes he loves her.

And not the love he's felt for his dog, or for his new baby brother, or even for his mother, who gives the sweetest kisses he's ever felt.

No, this love he feels is sudden, and vast, and he feels like it's eating him alive. He feels like he can't breathe when she laughs, the sound carrying away in the wind, taking away his much needed oxygen with it. He feels like his heart is skipping so many beats when she speaks that it may just skip out of his chest and into her open palms.

Or maybe it already has, and he's dying, his insides are rotting because he's too in love with her to try and take his heart back.

When the dust of the battlefield settles, when the war for his heart has begun and ended, it will still belong to her. It will always belong to her.

He tells his mother that he loves his best friend, but she laughs, thinking he means it in the way that he loves her.

But that is not how he means it, not even close; so he turns to his old school notebooks, catching his feelings for the girl he loves on paper, hoping to make some sense out of it after.

And that's how his writing career begins. With her. Because it seems as if almost everything in his life has started with her; and he'd be a fool to think that these things won't end with her.

Her, with the name of an ancient Princess, a story locked away in the pages of classical literature. Her, who's namesake is now said to lie in both a galaxy and a constellation. Her presence is permanent among the stars, so it only makes sense if this physical aspect of her is permanent in his life, too.

He is thirteen when he realizes he loves her, and it comes to him so suddenly he might as well had been hit by a tsunami instead.

She was practicing for her dance recital in his backyard, twirling to an invisible beat, mouthing the count as she moved. It was hard to do her jumps and spins on the soft grass but somehow she faired, her hair curling around her head like a halo, making her appear as if she were an angel as she spun to a stop.

Her arms were extended above her small frame, like she was reaching tp the sky. For a moment, he thought she had the power to pull the sun down with her bare hands.

Maybe she was the sun instead.

She kept her pose for a long moment, breathing heavily, and all he could do was watch as she slipped back into reality, and out of the dimension she escaped to when she danced. She always slipped away when she danced, into another world, and he wished more than anything that he was able to go with her.

He knows he is a goner when she asks him how she did, hope shining in her heterochromia eyes, and all he can do is stammer out a shaky 'amazing', instead of the proclamation of love he wanted to give.