Disclaimer: "Fan" fiction.
Author's Note: For Violetflame945, because the poor dear suffers from the unpopularity of this pairing.
Birdseeds
Each morning, he turns, twisting linen sheets around his body, until the bed is in shambles. Only then can Gokudera even begin to try and deceive himself to think that he hadn't always been alone during the night.
He stretches matured limbs that desire and remember across the empty bed and pretends that he doesn't care.
Vacantly, Gokudera stares up at the ceiling, jewelry still on his fingers and against his exposed chest. He barely notices the aftertaste of bitter blood on his tongue.
And he thinks, It still smells like birdseeds.