*I am so giddy right now, it's not even funny. No, don't ask me why, just bask in it... bask in it... alright. Lol. On a darker note, here's the next drabble. ... ... Yeah. :D
Title: Accidental Silhouettes
Chapter Eighty-Seven: Imaginary
He could still remember it.
Every word, every hit, every well-intentioned glare-
It was like a permanent scar lacerated against his memory.
Eyes closed, he could almost re-live those moments, each phantom touch becoming all the more real; each gasp of breath transforming into something (almost) tangible…
But reaching out beside him, there was no warm skin to greet his touch or monotone voice to scold him.
Still, he refused to open his eyes.
Instead, he gripped the sheets beneath his fingers and reveled in the sensation of remembrance and nostalgia.
He could give himself that, at the very least.