#shans.writing

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

Shigadabi + on a scar... to shut them up.

"You mean you use the gloves so as not to destroy your gamepad, but you don't use them to treat us on a day-to-day basis?"

Dabi thought he was hallucinating how much he was laughing at the situation. In front of Spinner, Shigaraki held the gamepad on his hand and gave him the unimpressed look he used when people demanded something of him. Spinner, on the other hand, was losing patience. Dabi could see him clenching his jaw at the leader's attitude.

With each minute that passed in silence, Dabi's laughter grew and grew in his chest, until Spinner gave him a bad look for the obvious amusement and Dabi ended up bursting out laughing.

"Could you at least answer?" Spinner glanced back at Shigaraki, who, to further indignation, had been distracted by Dabi's laugh.

"Uh? What do you want me to say?"

The leader of the league was not someone dangerous at the time of claiming any inconvenience. Dabi should give him credit for knowing how to listen and solve problems creatively. However, he could read from his expression that he was genuinely confused. Truth be told, he remembered Kurogiri mentioning that Shigaraki had grown up alone, so the closest thing he had to a childhood friend was that console. No wonder he treated it with extra care. Unlike them, the console could not dodge an attack caused by his bad mood.

"It's because he could kill us and replace us, but he would lose his game progress if the console went down," Dabi explained when he was able to breathe again, turning the page of the magazine on his lap as if he hadn't been paying attention.

Spinner watched in disbelief as Shigaraki nodded, agreeing with Dabi. He didn't even think about hiding it.

"You don't even care about us, right?"

The air gained weight after that statement. Shigaraki frowned this time, slowly getting to his feet. Dabi watched as Spinner crossed his arms, perhaps high nervous, but undoubtedly impassive. Dabi did not think that Shigaraki would be able to actually hurt him, but just in case he sat down better on the couch, putting the magazine aside.

"What is your problem?" Shigaraki removed one glove, then the other.

They both watched as he tossed them onto the table, a few feet away. They listened as the fabric slid down the wood, how it fell against the padded lining of one of the seats. Toga, who had been watching everything from the background, started chanting "fight fight fight" non-stop, jumping so much that she took Twice to do the same. Dabi owed Spinner nothing, but he realized that Shigaraki was in that delicious mood where it was perfect to tease him. So he casually stood up, dismissing the magazine with a sound that caught the leader's attention.

"Oh, shut your mouth. The lizard has been explaining the issue to you for an hour or so. Just tell him that he's not your friend and go on with your life. "

Toga and Twice let out a uhhhhhhh. Under the gaze of Spinner and Dabi, Shigaraki's expression became more serious.

"Why don't I decay your mouth to see who shuts up first?"

Dear heavens. That was not happening.

“You've gotten too arrogant, huh? What makes you think you can fight Spinner and me at the same time? "

Spinner echoed that. The room had turned into a battlefield in a second. He could feel Toga and Twice watching intently, as if they were ready to add to the chaos at any moment.

Shigaraki looked at them and in an unusual move, went for his hoodie. Everyone in the room's jaws dropped as they saw the leader remove it, revealing the black shirt close to his body that he was wearing below.

In the space of a few heartbeats, Dabi first noticed how much Shigaraki's body had grew in the past few months. Dabi lost his chance to speak, distracted by the shape of the muscles against the fabric, his movement as Shigaraki raised his arms and tied his hair up high with an elastic that he had worn around his wrist.

Toga was the one who broke the silence with a chuckle.

"Tomura-kun could man-handle each of you with one arm. You wouldn't stand a chance."

Dabi came to himself to realize that Shigaraki was staring at him in defiance.

Fuck.

“Didn't you say I was unable to take you and Spinner in a fight? Come on, let's find out if that's true."

"Shup up."

Dabi watched as Shigaraki walked towards him. When the two of them huddled and threw their shoulders back they were almost the same size. He watched as he raised his hands in play, waiting for Dabi's reaction.

Fuck.

"And what if I don't wan-"

It was too much.

Dabi took Shigaraki's wrist in an instant, but instead of tossing him to the side, he pulled him towards himself. He had to thank the fact that Shigaraki had excellent reflexes, because when Dabi placed the palm of that dangerous hand against his mouth, his fingers automatically drew back so as not to touch him and decay him. The room fell silent. Dabi hadn't even looked away from Shigaraki, who had his eyes wide open, not daring to blink. Dabi smiled victoriously, moving that palm so that it rested against the stitches on his cheek and not his lips.

"It wasn't that hard to shut your damn mouth, was it?"

He thought he heard the others leave the room. At least he couldn't see Spinner anymore on his peripheral vision.

It was as if he had lost his mind. To date, he hadn't had so much trouble holding back his desire, hiding the way his concentration faded when Shigaraki entered the room. He could always pretend to be reading, to be sleeping, or to just walk away with any excuse. They didn't have to stay in one room for too long. However, that gesture of removing his hoodie and tying his hair had done things to Dabi's stomach. It was an ugly, twisted, violent feeling. Dabi felt it like a hot blow to his lungs, like when he used his quirk too much and his body screamed in pain, but he wasn't satisfied. He wanted more, to be closer, to feel Shigaraki's stiffness skin to skin. That was why he had told him to shut his mouth. More than anything else, Shigaraki's voice was intoxicating. The scraping of his voice reminded Dabi of the sound of cloth tearing, of broken glass, snapped ligaments. When he spoke, Dabi had to put distance between them.

But they were trapped. While Dabi was racking his head thinking all that, Shigaraki had rested four of his fingers against his cheek, caressing the skin. One reckless move and things would end very, very bad. And yet ...

Dabi didn't move. He did not hesitate. If nothing else, the adrenaline went to his head. This was no different than standing on the edge of a cliff or holding a gun to his head. Dabi breathed in and out, savoring the pressure of Shigaraki's fingertips on his wounds.

He knew that Shigaraki was plotting something. He could see it in the lines that formed at the sides of her eyes, nothing more than little slits loaded with malice. He felt Shigaraki's fingers tug slightly on a staple. Dabi felt his world fill with shadows, or perhaps he had only closed his eyes. The next thing he noticed was Shigaraki's mouth on his, the rough edge of the scar on his lower lip and the taste of blood caused by the dryness. It didn't matter that the kiss lasted just one instant, it took Dabi's breath away.

Even more so when they looked at each other and Dabi realized that Shigaraki was blushing at the sight of Dabi's face. He did it with a smile, and before he knew it Shigaraki was speaking again.

"One to one. You'll have to do better than that next time. "

You're free to fly into another arms, but if you want.

If you want I can catch you. I'll water the flowers for you to stay. I'm not ashamed of your before and after, it's you, it's you, live in my plants, become my butterfly.

And if you want, fly away one sunset and don't come back.

And if you want, stay forever.

Please, stay forever.

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

Togachaco + …as an apology.

Toga felt like she had been running her entire life.

In the middle of the battlefield, Toga saw the moments of her childhood and adolescence in front of her eyes, passing like cars on the highway. Her feet did not stop while she went downhill, 'cause at full speed it was almost like flying. Her hands cut the enemies bodies as she passed and Toga, full of energy and purpose, danced on her descent, light body and hair waving in the wind like a flag. She ran and ran, her only hobby since she was little.

Some thought she did it to flee from the pain, to flee from the gazes of others, to flee from that world that only caused death and hopelessness in her young heart. No one knew that running like she did took something else. How did you manage to escape for so many years by yourself? When the silence becomes a guest by tour side and you risk going blind from the darkness all around you, how do you stay sane?

The answer was love.

Toga saw what they didn't. She watched the world with a heart overflowing with fervor, with the enthusiasm of a bird of prey falling from the heights, free at last. It was love for her, love for their lives, love for the figures that moved in the pavement like dancers in the greatest theater of the whole world. Toga advanced on tiptoe, enjoying the air against her flushed cheeks.

Meanwhile, Ochako screamed from afar. Toga ran and ran, killed and killed, fighting her way to catch up with the heroe.

There were too many enemies in that battle zone, but that didn't matter. More than once in her past Toga had been one against many. It was different this time tho. In the distance, she thought she could see the glow of Dabi's fire, hear the voice of Spinner in his mind. She knew that even Tomura was leaving his soul and body on that battle, for himself, for the life they shared not so long ago. She knew that Izuku was doing his best to give them a world to live in, to return to, crossing the sky like a shooting star every few minutes.

Toga would never be alone again, she would never feel the way she had felt in her parents' house again. No more helpless nights and days of hiding. This time, Toga was running for them.

Still, there's a limit to what love can accomplish.

What the girl did not see was the state of her own body. By the time she got to Ochako, it was hard not to withdraw from looking at Toga. Ochako had never seen her this damaged before. She could barely stay on her feet, she could barely hold the knives in her hands and keep the horde of villains on the line. Ochako had no words. Her mind went back to the past, remembering Toga's with her bright smile and her school uniform.

For a second, the battle around her slowed down. It was as if Ochako had been seeing everything her whole life with foggy eyes. With Toga by her side, it had become easy to breathe, easy to see the world with clarity. She knew now something she hadn't known before.

Without realizing it, some others had stopped for a few seconds —in the middle of a war, mind you— to watch them fight. Toga and Ochako moved towards and around each other in a synchronized dance, twisting behind the enemies like the bees surrounding the flowers in May. Where Ochako's foot rose, Toga's fell. Where one elbow retreated, the next came. There was no break or breach, no wasted movements, no wasted time.

Later, Tsuyu would say that Toga saw the blow coming down. It was directed at Ochako. The hero would not be able to dodge it in time. Not with how wounded she already was.

One breath. No doubt.

Toga threw herself to the attack, taking the full blow to her chest in exchange for her knife buried in the enemie's heart. And Ochako, who had been fighting until then, spun in midair to watch Toga drop to her knees in slow motion.

Toga had been running her entire life.

Now her eyes felt heavy and her mouth felt dry. Something had broken inside her, but she didn't seem to realized it. Too distracted watching Ochako coming to her side. With the sweet privilege of having her head resting on Ochako's lap, she didn't understand why...

Ochako's tears fell and slid down Toga's cheeks. Toga didn't want to see her cry. And why? Where had her smile gone? Wasn't she the one hero who wanted to see them all smiling? So why was she crying now?

“Keep your eyes open, Toga-chan. Talk to me. Help is coming, okay? Help is coming”

Help? Toga tried to get up the best she could, verifying that Ochako wasn't hurt.

She was of course, but it was nothing serious anymore. Even when they were at war, Toga forgot the state of her own body. All that existed was Ochako's gentle hands combing through her hair, cleaning with the handkerchief Twice had given Toga the dirt on her cheeks and nose.

“Ochaco-chan is... she's crying but... but I don't want to... I don't want to see...”

She was finding it hard to breathe, her lungs already failing. Ochako let out another sob before managing to compose her face to give Toga a weak smile.

“I'm not. See? Everything is okay. They're already coming.”

Yes, someone was coming. Toga could feel them in the rumbling of the earth. But she was tired... And Ochako's arms were warm, gentle. Toga was closing her eyes, leaning against Ochako's chest. She heard Ochako calling out her name. Toga, Toga, Toga. The villain's heart beat at the ryhtm of those words, dancing happily in her chest. So many years running... she had never imagined falling into Ochako's arms in the end. It made her happy. Someone she loved loved her back. Wasn't that what every teenager wanted? What more could she ask for? What more could she need?

“I want to make ... Ochako-chan smile.”

The last thing she ever felt was a hot touch on his forehead. Delicate, the sigh of a hummingbird's wings. She barely registered that it was Ochako's kiss, but her childish smile lit up on her face anyway and there it stayed. She knew it was an apology, but Toga didn't feel there was anything to forgive or apologize for.

For someone who had been running her entire life, Toga had died strangely happy.

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

Shigadabi + where it hurts.

Every morning, when Dabi went in to bathe in the common shower that the League had in its new facilities, the smell of soap and urine hit his senses. The shower had a leak, the water always came out too cold and it tasted like dirt. The floor was slippery. The handles were about to fall off. The product they were using to wash their hair was removing the black color from Dabi's roots. Also, when toweling off, he always noticed how stiff his burns were.

With the door closed and the key locked, Dabi used to stand in the middle of the bathroom thinking about all this, going over what he was supposed to do that day. With his mind filled with noise, he defied the emptiness of the room like the roar of flames.

This time, it was someone totally different who stood in the middle of that room and occupied his mind completely.

Dabi had his eyes closed. He couldn't see him, but he didn't need it at all. His hands were precise and icy, his fingertips were callused. He could feel his breath against his bare shoulder, the way he treated the wounds and spread the cream over after disinfecting them. He could feel one of his bare feet brushing against his left ankle, the tips of his white hair tickling his back.

Tomura was quite close. Enough for Dabi to warm his own body a little on purpose, tempting Tomura to come closer. The touch against his skin shouldn't be too unpleasant that way. Dabi knew that Tomura was enjoying it the way he was, even if it was because they weren't talking at all. Well, maybe. Who knows. Dabi had already spent months by his side, but his boss seemed impossible to understand. Sincere as a child, more transparent than any glass, and yet Dabi did not understand the pieces in front of him, he did not understand how they fit together to form Tomura Shigaraki.

“Tsk. Watch out there,” Tomura had forcefully pulled one of his staples inadvertently. That hadn't hurt, but Dabi didn't want to tear the flesh too much, not unnecessarily.

Tomura didn't even answer him. He continued to work without Dabi looking at him, his nails sometimes scraping against the healthy flesh of his chest, the one in which he still preserved sensitivity. Dabi was still because Tomura had warned him that in order to help him, Dabi should not make any sudden movements, he should not even think in an unpredictable way, mainly because a bad synchrony between them could cause a total decay of his physical being. Dabi, since he liked his life, did not urge to move at all. And since he liked something more than his life in that room, he didn't mind that Tomura took his time either. He hadn't even thought until that moment that someone like Shigaraki could be so gentle, so delicate in his gestures. Again, he must have suspected, for only a man of detail could have successfully guided them to where they were.

Dabi was aware that he was giving Tomura more credit than he deserved. With his eyes closed, he could fully feel the expanse of his surroundings, from the water that trickled down the walls to Tomura's bristling skin, because he must have been cold. The whole white room, small and cramped, dirty and old, gave off an icy breath. It was the silence that bit his elbows, it was the stillness that put his nerves on edge. And among that unnerving sea, Tomura stood like a beacon in the fog.

“I'm going to replace the loose staples now. Do you want to take a break before?"

Slowly, Dabi blinked and opened his eyes. Tomura was looking down at him, locks drooping over red eyes. Did he want to rest? Not really. He was too used to routine. By doing it himself it would have been faster, but... Dabi nodded, accepting the offering. Tomura leaned against the wall, folding his arms as he watched Dabi light a cigarette. They both knew that his lungs were on the brink of collapsing from smoking so much. Not that it mattered. Dabi wouldn't survive for too long anyway.

On the meanwhile, Tomura watched him smoke and Dabi glanced at him, pretending he didn't. In the moments when their gazes touched, Dabi exhaled all the smoke that had been holding in his lungs and Tomura smiled, his face disfigured by the cloud that separated them. Dabi was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet.

“A long break, then,” Tomura ended up moving closer. Dabi saw the smoke going up as Tomura prepared the bandages. He had efficient, scarred hands. “Does it hurt?”

If it hurt? No, not really. Tomura pressed a point on his neck with the index of his right hand. Dabi's eyelids dropped instantly.

“No,” Dabi felt Tomura's finger move, following the pattern at his throat. Dabi barely knew what was happening, too focused on the sensation.

“And here?” Tomura's voice filled the space, opening air gaps in the smoke patterns.

“No,” Dabi repeated. Tomura kept climbing up to his chin and with little force, he made Dabi look at him. Those red eyes scanned him mercilessly. Oh, such eyes just for himself.

Tomura used her other hand to cradle the back of Dabi's neck and Dabi pushed the cigarette out of the way. When Tomura brought their faces closer, a white curtain formed between them and the rest of the world. There was no tenderness in what they did, nor love as shown in the movies. Whatever they were doing, it was much more cruel and raw, like one thorn against another, like the embrace between fire and ashes. It was Dabi's desire tattooed on his expression, Tomura's hunger on the unsatisfied curve of his mouth. If something hurt them, it wasn't on the outside. They carried a sick animal inside that devoured them night after night, and they recognized that kind of suffering in the other when they looked at each other across the room, even for an instant.

Dabi used his free hand. He buried his fingers on the back of Tomura's hair, pulling him towards his lips. The cigarette fell to the ground. Tomura ended up sitting with his legs spread over Dabi, his fists clenched against the wall behind him, his teeth engaged against the tongue of whom he should be healing, not kissing. Dabi sat with his hands on Tomura's hips, anchoring them to reality among their madness. When they finished taking what they wanted, Dabi leaned his forehead against his boss's shoulder, breathing heavily.

It wasn't long before someone started knocking on the door, claiming that it was time for them to finish. Dabi laughed, helping Tomura to his feet and beginning to place the new staples on his body. He watched as Tomura wiped his lips with the back of his arm and straightened his hair.

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss

Togachaco + on a place of insecurity.

Ochaco never thought she would be so terrified to see Toga in the crowd.

From the heights the position of the villain was clear. Not mistake could be made: Toga was among the people, that was her hair, her coat, the shape of his face. The thought sank in and the megaphone that Ochaco had held during her speech fell against her thigh, for she was unable to speak or move. Get out of here, she begged silently. If they see you, they will hurt you.

How could they be the heroes if they couldn't protect a young women in need of shelter?

A few moments ago, while she was talking about how heroes deserve to be saved, the mere image of Toga crying had made her hesitate. She had been thinking about it ever since, in Toga's words. What was a hero? What was a villain? Wasn't them humans after all? Ochaco had had a long time to reflect on her stupid decision to let Toga go that day. And then Deku was gone too, as if everything was starting to fall apart without her being able to prevent it. Ochaco could only go after one and she owed it to Deku, she had to put him on her priority list.

Ochaco's lips parted to scream something, but that was when the crowd decided to act. They have seen it. They have seen her.

Ochaco would not get to her in time. They were all angry. The three strongest heroes were present, the AU professors, her classmates. Ochaco's heart beat a thousand times and a thousand more as she gained momentum and canceled her quirk so she could take the advantage of the gravity sinking in. As she fell, she gave little thought to risk. I must arrive, I must arrive, I must–

But Toga was faster. In a second she made her way through the crowd, reaching Izuku.

They would hurt him. Ochaco knew that they would not kill her, but thinking of Toga hurting made her feel the same nausea as when she felt when she overworked herself. Didn't she owe Toga an apology too? She had taken so long to see how lonely Toga was, how much she was suffering. It had been all on her face that day. Ochaco had always seen her as a threat just for being different, and now she was paying the price for her arrogance by having to see that dangerous show.

Toga didn't hit Izuku. Something broke in Ochaco when she saw how the villain extended a handkerchief towards Deku, so that he could wipe the tears from his face. By sheer luck perhaps, Shouto got to them first. She didn't know why, she didn't think about it instantly, when she saw that Shouto created an ice barrier so that no one could touch them but left a space for Uraraka to pass, she ran faster. Ochaco heard in the background the roar of the people, the sound of the pro-heroes and the teachers, of her classmates, and what could she do? They were against the clock.

She wished she could make it all float it.

She wishes she could stop time.

When Ochaco reached the ice dome, she fell to her knees and felt the cold of the wall closing in behind her. Everything happened in a matter of seconds, so fast the others couldn't react. Soon the three students were in front of a badly injured Toga, with the handkerchief in Deku's cheek and an unnerving smile on her lips. Ochaco later learned that Shouto and Deku had had their own revelations about the villains during the war. But in that moment, Deku let Toga wipe his tears away while Shouto quietly reinforced his wall of ice.

Ochaco knew that the agitation and fear that she had felt when she came down must be etched on her face. Toga was shaking slightly, her eyes rainy.

“I thought I would see Izuku-kun die. I came to help if necessary, but I didn't know that Ochaco-chan would make him cry! It was reckless to approach, but I have a handkerchief and– ”

"You are hurt," Shouto stopped her.

Deku nodded, thanking in a whisper as he gently pushed Toga's hand away, using the handkerchief himself.

Ochaco frowned when she saw where the blood was coming from. Something had cut Toga on the side of the waist. Her uniform was dirty and ruined. Her skin was covered in scratches and bruises. It was simply...

Ochaco looked up, meeting Toga's catlike pupils. She had been watching her all this time, in silence. She seemed curious, yet distant. She was probably thinking about the conversation they had that day, the last time they saw each other.

"You need to come in with us."

Toga pulled a knife from her belt at that and Ochaco frowned. The heroine only reached out her hand to pull the girl's wrist and make the knife stay right next to her own neck. She could see Shouto and Deku's surprise and concern out of the corner of his eye, but they didn't have time for that. Toga was hurt. And very conveniently, they were three heroes willing to help.

“If you're going to cut me, do it now. When Todoroki-kun take down that ice wall, I'll be the only thing standing between you and the pro-heroes, ” she paused, inhaling, “ because I don't want to lose you. And you do not deserve to die, or suffer as you do, or be sent to Tartarus. I'm sorry I didn't see you sooner, Toga-chan. You were right to scold me. I'm sorry I didn't see before that you weren't the enemy and that we weren't doing things right. But if you let me ... "

The wall was cracking. Outside she heard the people yelling at them to take down the ice wall. His friends must have been scared, his parents were in the crowd too. However, Ochaco knew they could wait. She was doing perhaps the most important mission she would ever have in her entire life. There were only Toga's eyes, her surprise, the way she slowly removed the knife and returned it to her lap.

"... I can help. You don't have to hide or pretend with me, okay? If you want my blood, I can give it to you. But we will have to go in to heal you first. And you have to help us find Shigaraki Tomura and stop him, or your friends and my friends will all suffer. I just want to see us smiling, all together. Do you think you can do that? "

At first, Toga's reaction was to put a hand to her mouth. She looked from Izuku to Shouto and back to Uraraka.

"Do you want me to betray my friends?"

And there was something so silly about the idea that they hadn't realized until now that Toga was just another girl like them. Something so blind, so obvious, that Ochaco smiled. She extended a hand to Toga, standing up.

It was Izuku who answered.

"No, we want to protect them."

"And bring them home," Shouto added, finally letting the ice melt.

When the crowd regained their vision of the three students, Todoroki and Midoriya found themselves standing again, flanking Toga as if they were ready to face anyone who wanted to take her away.

And Toga ... Uraraka clung to his hand, both girls side by side.

Toga wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her coat. They all watched when Uraraka leaned down to kiss her cheek, thanking her for trusting them.

Toga smiled, wide and shiny.

“Now can I be friends with Ochaco-Chan?"

It was under her tongue, the power to cut, on her fangs, the power to give and take life.

She's the knife. She has stolen herself form a collection of spoons, a house round and shiny, full of distorted reflections.

And she travels through the night, a shooting star on a city full of noise, she travels in the silence of the dangerous, the silence of the consciousness.

And she runs away. A knife running from guns, for she can cut and heal, but guns can't. Guns can't heal.

Now your head is on fire, your lungs won't keep up. You think of him every night, and then someone else comes around. Some environmentalist saying he's gonna take the gasoline out of the water. You don't want it. You wish to burn forever and remember who poured so much hatred in you.

But his touch is soft on your waves, just one finger riding over your skin, until you're shinning from the sun reflecting on your surface.

He sits along the shore, he doesn't deep in your waters yet, he's waiting for you to calm down. He doesn't ask what you hide in your depths or why. He sits, he looks at the sky, you look at him and reach slowly to his feet. You meet him for a second, in a space where he is going and you're feeling brave.

When they take him away, you're too busy thinking about the man that poured oil until you felt black and sticky. You don't notice his absence. He comes sometimes, but he's far away.

And then you're dying a little, people trying to save you, and you think of the hands that once upon a time graced your ups and downs, and you realize he's been gone for the longest time and you call his name.

And you think he's trapped, you think he's not gonna come. It takes some time, you rage over the beach and the skies rage with you, the wind, the stars. Give him back, our boy, give him back.

Finally, he comes.

When you calm down, you notice you're cleaner than before. You're in awe. How can his mere existence make you bright blue, and not some shade of bruises and cuts? He's there and he's sad and you're sad too, so you rush to meet him, you rush because those knees are falling and the whole world around you rushes, time stops.

He doesn't fall. He doesn't fall. You don't know what he does, you're a little too disturbed. He starts cleaning you once more, even when he's tired. His hair is white now, you want to take him far away. He cleans you and you desire, like never before, for him to lay over you while you both drift.

And so you do. He let's you around him, gently, lets you move him right and left, rocking him with the tenderness of a newborn feeling, someone you don't want to break.

For you mind was on your father and how he break your heart, but now you see the boy with the hand on his face sitting on the bar, playing with his drink, and you don't feel like a failure.

You feel like an ocean, ancient, wise, a force of nature capable of wrecking ships for him.

Ask me to come along, you think.

Like in your dreams, he turning your way.

Your heart beats.

He says your name.

I'm the pulse he moves,

his fist and nails.

I'm the one covered in blood,

in scars and wounds.

I ain't his right, no.

I am the (one who's always) left.

I am

the hand

that dreams

of a severed