Fics like there’s a big black hole (where my heart used to be)

“I could always jump, but I never do. I sometimes think it was him, the one that tried to run away with the gardener. That maybe I’m dreaming of him. That I’m him—but I’m not.” His eyes glaze over, the memory haunting him. “He jumped once, you know. It’s not public knowledge. Straight out of his window—to the ground. His aura saved him, but even with mine on . . . I don’t think I could do it.” “That makes you different, though,” Gaal points out. She doesn’t have an answer for all the rest. It’s just a dream, after all. “If he could jump, but you can’t. So, what makes you like him?” His answer is one word. He exhales it out in a single breath from between his lips like a prayer said before bedtime—before the darkness takes you, and you never know if you’re going to wake up again. His eyes never leave hers. Not once. “You.”

Fics like there’s a big black hole (where my heart used to be)

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