When she goes to sleep he is right next to her with his arms around her waist, snuggling into her shoulder.
When she wakes up he is not there. There is no warmth surrounding her, no head against her shoulder. The bed is cold. The sheets do not smell like him. She does not live in a fairytale. She lives in real-fucking-life, and he does not.
It isn't that he was never there - in life, that is. He was alive, once. But that once upon a time was not last night.
If you bury your face into your pillow at the correct angle, you can almost pretend that you are not crying. You try that for about a minute. Then you turn around and look at the sky through tear-filled eyes and let yourself go.
Leader of the hunt, are you not? Not in this moment. In this moment you are weeping for a boy, for someone you once felt romantic love for. Someone who is gone.
You are not very sure when everything went wrong. But you are sure that you regret that moment.
That moment only. Not any of the others before that. Only one. You loved him before that. You did not love him afterward. You do not know what you feel now.
What you do know is that you are missing a boy named Luke Castellan.
That is all.
