Trigger Warning:

- nightmares

- self-disgust

- talk about suicide

Another nightmare disturbs my sleep.

And I know I will not return to sleep soon.

It would be futile.

I glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand: November 1, 2035, 12:10 a.m.

"Happy birthday to me," I mutter wistfully.

So I decide to take a midnight bath.

Maybe I'll do some other things while I'm at it.

Hanada-sama gave me some 'gifts' before having the chauffeur drop me off at school grounds. For appearances, he said. And he was right. Because it would seem strange for the ward of a conglomerate businessman to not receive any presents on her birthday. I wonder which box contains cake topped with ground tree nuts. Sixteen years old now, eleven years living with the Hanada name, and Hanada-sama still does not know my likes and dislikes. Honestly, it's astonishing how unaware people can be.

Still, I grab the first box and take it with me into the bathroom. All I know is that it carries a dress.

Hot water runs from the tap, filling the bathtub. With it, my old friends - self-hate, guilt, agony, and despair - arrive. A toast to them all on this occasion! The water is a balm for my joints, but my emotions are poison for my mind. I lost my composure earlier today. Had I just kept my mouth shut, I could have avoided everything that ensued. Today was my fault. My brazenness has certainly raised their suspicions of me. Be careful, Selene. You cannot afford another mistake.

Speaking of mistakes …

I glance at the gift box resting on the sink counter. What kind of abomination did Hanada-sama give me?

After draining the tub and drying myself, I saunder toward the counter. The box is tied with a ribbon. Despite my ego, my curiosity is piqued. But so is my cynicism. Hesitantly, I unravel the ribbon and open the box. It contains a nightgown. Very different from the ones I usually wear. While the ones in my closet are plenty suggestive, this one is the most seductive yet. Ravishing, is the better word.

Midnight black satin hugs my curves like a second skin. It fits so perfectly that my cheeks tinge pink. It reaches my ankles, so when I step forward, the fabric outlines the shape of my leg. The blush darkens. More interesting is the jade black lace embroidery on the sweetheart neckline. More appalling is the fact that the gown is strapless. I'm so used to wearing dresses with full sleeves or long gloves with dresses that have short sleeves that a gown such as this is a novelty to me. For a moment, I feel beautiful. I relish the moment with a spin.

But the joy fades as quickly as it came. A passing glance at the scars on my arms remind me why I wear those dresses and gloves. I sigh as I hold them close to me. There is also a white robe accompanying the nightgown. I wear it above the dress, only to gasp. My face burns a cherry red. The robe is diaphanous organza, revealing tantalizing hints of the allure beneath it. Somehow, the teasing is more tantalizing than the gown itself.

Again, the embarrassment disappears rapidly. Hanada-sama must have another client he is trying to negotiate with. And this is what I wear to appease him. Of course, what other reason would there be? God forbid I wear a sexy dress and feel powerful.

I start to untie the knot at the front of the robe when a knock interrupts me.

I pause, deciding whether the sound was a reality or the product of my imagination.

A second knock follows.

Definitely reality. But who the bloody hell is knocking at my door at twelve in the morning?!

For a moment, I hesitate. The logical part of me reasons that it would be an excellent idea to remove the dress now, while the polite part of me urges me not to keep my visitor waiting. Unfortunately, my polite persona wins. Sparing a moment to hide the box and my old clothes in the closet, I grab a pair of white kid gloves and a black shawl to wrap around my shoulders with a knot before peering through the small eyeglass. All I see is a silhouette. But the shape seems familiar to me.

Cautiously, I open the door as much as the chain lock will allow me. From the gap, I ask who it is.

"It's me," the silhouette speaks. "Shouto."

"Sh-Sh-Shouto-kun?" My fingers stumble over the chain to let him in. "For you to see me this late at night … what happened? Is everything all right?" He stands at the threshold, struggling to answer my question. "Come inside," I invite, stepping aside to let him pass.

But he doesn't. Instead, he frowns at the ground and declines. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. You must have been sleeping, and I disturbed you. Impulse brought me here. I should go. Leave you to rest."

"Come inside," I repeat, firmer than before.

He does not protest this time. Slowly, he crosses the threshold. His fingers over the light switch, but at the last moment, he removes them. The darkness and the glimmer of moonlight from the slightly parted curtains color everything in a subdued, mysterious yet magical hue. He takes shelter in it. So do I.

I pull out my desk chair for him. "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?" He refuses both and opts to sit at the foot of the bed. Rather, he slumps. He raises his knees, crosses his arms on them, and rests his head against. A posture of futility and exhaustion. Feelings I know all too well. Given the rumpled state of his night shirt and trousers, he really must have been acting on impulse alone. "Do you know I tried my hand at some more culinary techniques? I brewed some cappuccino some hours ago and left it to refrigerate. Would you like to try some? I need someone who with good skills in the kitchen to evaluate the taste."

"Sure," he whispers.

So I do just that. Pouring two glasses of cappuccino, I also add two scoops of vanilla and chocolate ice cream for sweetness. After putting in a straw in each, I pass one glass to him. For a moment, I debate sitting beside or in front of him. He takes a sip and sets the glass in front of him. Beside, it is. "How is it?" I ask.

"It's good. But next time, you should only put one scoop instead of two."

"Really?" I take a sip myself. "I think it needs one more."

He stares at me with amazement, and I burst out giggling. But laughter is contagious. A few chuckles emit from him, too. "You're a mad, sweet addict, Selene. There is no such thing as too much sugar for you, is there?"

"Not at all. Because there is one sweet I love more than ice cream: Black Forest Cake."

"For the love of God, is there no end to your addiction?"

"No. Because sugar is cathartic."

Sugar is cathartic. Those words echo in our minds. Catharsis is what we both need. And that is why he is here. Clearly, he cannot bring himself to tell me, so it falls to me to take the initiative. Taking our empty glasses away, I return to sit in front of him this time. The white glow of the moon illuminates his face. He's holding back his tears. I have my suspicions why.

"Is it about your father, Shouto-kun?" He nods. "Does this have to do with your behavior lately?" Again, he confirms my doubt. I reach for him, grasping his hands in mine. Letting my presence remind him that he is safe. "I will listen."

Rubbing soft strokes with his thumbs, he recounts everything. The spark of doubt ignited by the comparison a boy made from the license exam; weekly training with his father that only fueled those suspicions; desire to talk to someone about his predicament; fear of what doing so would mean; creation of his deteriorating sense of identity; the noumu attack from earlier; his father's hospitalization. Most importantly, his suicidal urges.

He chokes, "There were so many times I wanted to escape. And what better escape than death? It's selfish, permanent, and foolproof. You were right when you said that each time the despair returned stronger. I kept trying to tell myself that I have a mother, siblings, friends, and a dream to live for. That I had you as a reason to continue living for. But logic doesn't win against emotions every time, does it?"

Remorse fills me. How did I not notice that he was hurting this much? Shame on you and your failures at friendship, Selene. "Did you act on those urges?" I ask, trying to stay strong for his sake.

Shouto-kun's long silence tells me everything. Then, "Twice. Once with apple seeds; the second with an injection of air. But I couldn't bring myself to carry through with it either time."

I inch closer to him. "I'm sorry, Shouto-kun. You were in pain, and I was ignorant. Everything you are feeling is partially my responsibility."

He gazes at me with misery and confusion. "Why are you apologizing? All the things that happened were my fault."

"No. It's not. You did nothing wrong. But my fault was not trying harder. That day when I made you promise to take care of yourself, I should have been more considerate. As your best friend, it was my duty to support you. And I left my duty partway." The distance between us lessens even more. "Let me make up for it. Take what you need from me."

Shouto-kun brings my hands to his face. It's astonishing how his cheeks fit perfectly in my palms. But this is not the time to be taken aback. For a while, neither of us says a word. We do not have to, either. My nonsensical patterns on his skin and his grip on my wrists says plenty. At some point, we have shifted positions immensely. His parted legs and raised knees around me give me better access to him physically. I could hug him at this angle. After a while, I tuck the wayward strands of bed hair behind his ears and comb through the rest. His grasp drops from my wrists to my forearms. We are close enough to hear each other's inhalations and exhalations.

Then, "I'm a cowardly hypocrite." His sudden statement catches me off guard. I raise my eyes to meet his, the question apparent in mine. "I hold people and myself to double standards." My silence gives him permission to continue, as my touch assures him that I am listening. "My father and I … I choose to disassociate myself from him, but I can't. Blood and a bond of anguish and trauma link us inextricably. For a long time, I forgot about that. And now - when our relationship has become more apparent than before - I don't know what to do.

"I had the mindset that I was going to be different from Endeavor. That I am different from him. But that isn't true, is it? Besides our flame abilities, in terms of personality and ambitions, we are alike. Dad was bitter toward All Might for decades; I was bitter toward him. As a result, Dad's ambition was to surpass All Might, and mine was to exceed him. Like father, like son. Albeit opposing motives, we're dedicated, strategic, stubborn, and determined to be the best. Hell, we even come off as standoffish to others. Yaorashi pointed out as much." Although, Shouto-kun pulls me closer as if to subconsciously disprove just that. "Sometimes, we become friends with those who are like us. Other times, we resent those for the same reason. I hated my father. So much. For everything he did and everything he stood for. The public praised him for his accomplishments, while I scorned him for his deeds at home. I promised myself that I would never do the things he did.

"I did my best. Meeting Mom after so many years, developing a healthy relationship with my siblings, communicating with children, creating friendships and teams." He curls a loose tendril of my hair around his index finger. "Spending time with you." Then he lets go. "Today worsened all that. It hit me that just like all our other similarities, we shared this one too: the belief that we were undefeatable. Death exists every second, but humans ignore its existence blindly. I'm ashamed to say that I did, too, even though I met Death face to face countless times since coming to U.A. Today's battle compelled me to acknowledge its presence. For the first time, it hit me that I could become fatherless. That the legacy Endeavor spent his life building could disappear on the day his wish came true. I was afraid for him. In spite of my loathing, I did not want my father to die, solely because he was my father.

"On one hand, he has committed too many sins to receive forgiveness. On the other hand, I want him to redeem himself, even if it takes him his entire life to do so. Just recently, I have accepted that I am not invincible and cannot repress everything inside me. But accepting is different from understanding. Because understanding requires me to know what to do with that realization. That is precisely what I don't know how to do. I can't even go to a therapist because of my trust issues and status.

Shouto-kun's tears run free with his words. A flood wreaks havoc and damages everything in its path until its fury subsides. My best friend is crumbling under the weight of his emotions. He is a flood destroying himself. I am the only thing that can save him. "But you trust me, right?" I ask as I slip my hands from his hair to his jaw. He nods immediately. I whisper, "Then trust me on this."

I lean forward and kiss his left cheek.

A long press of the lips on soft skin. I don't know what overcomes me to make such a bold move. Sympathy? Comfort? Love? All of the above? My trauma consists of the mistreatment of touch, and I let Shouto-kun initiate physical contact most of the time. This kiss is a drastic leap. Yet I find myself unable to regret it. A sharp inhale fills his lungs, but he does not pull away. His response fills me with courage to keep going. "You are similar to your father, not the same," I murmur near his ear. I lean back to kiss his right cheek next. "You are sweet, caring, and humble." He closes his eyes when my lips touch his right one. "You are a phenomenal hero." His forehead. "You recognize your mistakes and flaws, and you attempt to correct them. You are not prideful. That's rare. A precious, beautiful rare." Finally, I brush the burnt red skin around his left eye. The scar he is ashamed of. The scar that is the physical manifestation of his dark childhood. The scar that I love him with, not in spite of. He tenses at the sensation, warring between letting me continue and hiding away. I will tell my choice to him. Pressing my lips against the red eyelid, I let them hover there. Once is not enough. Each pulse against his eyes is my conveyance of how special he is to me. My hands are stained with blood, and my heart is rotten to its core. But still, you are a treasure I hold dearest to me. My moon to this blossom of the dark.

Tears slip from behind his eyelids. His fingers trail from my forearms to the elbows and finally to the upper arms. Our breaths quicken. Yet I never stop kissing him. Between every kiss, I whisper a sentence. "It is all right to feel conflicted. Your pain is justified. Your confusion is not misplaced. Forget about hypocrisy, cowardliness, and double standards. Do what you want. Punish him if you think he is irredeemable; make him repent and change if you think he is not. You are Todoroki Shouto, son of Endeavor, not Endeavor himself. As many characteristics you share with him, you are not him. While I cannot speak for your friends, but I can speak for myself.

"Our lives are more parallel than we realize. So my perspective may provide insight. I befriended you. I cherished you. I enjoyed your company and your discussions. Your artistic talents, your love for mangas, your ambitions in life, your cluelessness, your jests, your presence … Shouto, I embraced you for you. Not for your family. You doubt your own worth. But thanks to you, not once have I slit my wrists since we first met. I am alive today because of you. To me, you are the greatest hero to have existed, Shouto."

When I let go, he opens his eyes instantly and stares at me with an unrecognizable tempest of emotions. I open my mouth to speak again, but he interrupts me. "Say it again," he orders.

"Say what again?"

"My name. You called me Shouto. Say my name again."

Oh. I did. Twice. No more -kun or any other honorific. The realization threatens to make itself known as a burnish on my cheeks, so I turn my head away. "I-I apologize. Slip of the tongue."

But he places a finger under my chin and returns my gaze to his. It's like a magnet. I cannot draw away this time. "Please," he begs with an urgency that seems as though he will die if I do not comply. "Please say it again."

Hesitation fills me. I stammer, "Sh-Sh-Shouto." Such lack of formality is a little shocking after having spent more than a year with it.

"Once more."

"Sh-Shouto."

"One last time. I'm begging you."

"Shouto."

He chokes out a sob and rests his forehead against the slope of my shoulder. The action catches me by surprise, and I emit a soft yelp. I don't know how to respond. His clutch is like a vise, brimming with desperation and … relief? He whispers, "You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear that." My breath catches at the admission. Slowly, Shouto's clasp eases, and he rests back. He looks directly at me. "I'm sorry. That was selfish of me. All of this was. I should have waited for a better, more suitable moment to confide my feelings to you. Instead, I spoiled your birthday."

No. Please don't say that. I wipe his tears with my thumbs. "Actually, I don't mind the inopportune time. I'm glad that you told me now rather than later. You are more important than a day that commemorates the fact that I have not died in the past year. The fact that you remembered the date is more than enough. As for disturbing my sleep, I was taking a midnight bath before you knocked."

He chuckles, "That explains the fragrance. You're not wearing any flowers in your hair, but a floral scent is still coming from you."

"And you must have come here in a hurry. Your hair was messy," I jest in return.

Both of us giggle at the remarks, but the reprieve is short-lived.

"I really want to make it up to you," Shouto persists. "Ask me for anything."

In that case … I summon the courage, but my anxiety hinders it. My voice belies my trepidation. "Exactly one year ago, I sought forgiveness from you. For ending our friendship on bad terms. To make up for my sin, I offered to resume our relationship and become a better friend than I was. You told me that once you believed that I had redeemed myself, you would accept my apology. So, all I would like to know is … if it is not too presumptuous of me … I mean, I will understand if your answer is no …" With every diversion, my confidence ebbs. I mumble, "Perhaps I should ask at a later time."

"Have I forgiven you or not?" he finishes my thought without hesitation. Slowly, I give my affirmation. I brace myself for the inevitable 'no' that will leave his lips, when his response catches me off guard. He laughs. An innocent, amused sound escapes his throat. Like silver bells. By my shoulders, he pulls me closer. "I forgave you a long time ago. I should have known that this would eat at you. Forgive me for not telling you sooner. And forgive me for lashing at you like that. I had reason to be angry at you, but I did not have the right to back you into the wall and scream at you. You almost started crying because of me, and I hate myself for that." The memory brings with it shame. I deserved your scorn. My mouth opens to tell him that as much, but he presses a finger to my lips to hush me. "Do you remember that the lapis lazuli pendant would be the sign I had accepted your apology?"

He removes his finger to let me speak. "Yes?"

Shouto smiles softly before lifting a familiar indigo color to my level. His gaze never leaves mine. It is so intense. I break away first, focusing on the trinket dangling from his hand.

The last time I saw the pendant, it was a single teardrop embedded in silver laying. It has changed since then. There are seven teardrops instead of one. Seven inlaid in silver, oriented in a circle, with the points facing outward and the curves inward. Gold veins thread through the deep blue of the stones. And the stones encircle a pearl so white, it could rival moonstone. Upon a broader look, I hold my breath. One perception reveals the petal organization of the lapis lazuli around the pearl stigma. The other perception captures the glory of the night sky: the yellow of the stars amongst the blue of the cosmos; the moon in the center of it all.

"It is a blossom of the dark," I whisper in utter awe.

"Because it is what you are to me."

My eyes dart toward him for an explanation. He adjusts his grip to rest the flower in his palm and stares at it. Though the flower is miniscule in comparison to his hand, its weight seems to be infinitely greater. "It's a strange analogy," he says. "Not many understand it. There is a proverb that a flower that blooms in the dark can survive only in the dark. If you pursue the light, its heat will burn you up in the end. It's pretty dreary if you think about it. And for a long time, that was how I felt. Alone. Desolate. I hoped that I could grow accustomed to the loneliness and pain because I couldn't share them with anyone. Who would understand?" Then Shouto reaches out to touch my cheek. He brushes away a stray tear. When did I start crying? I never noticed. "But you did," he continues. My attention returns to him. I cling to every word. "Hanada Selene. Hanada, meaning a field of flowers. Selene, meaning moon and moonlight. Literally, your name meant moonflower. Maybe that's why you felt like kindred.

"I was withering under the lack of hope when you came. You arrived with the subtle, gentle rays of moonlight, bestowing your light on this desperate blossom. I had forgotten that there was more than one kind of light. Sunlight - with its fire and temper - chases the darkness away, but moonlight - with its serenity and understanding - embraces the darkness and coexists with it. Moonlight does not burn, it heals." He weeps again, but for a new reason this time. My silent tears also join. I'll wait for him to finish, and then I'll tell him. "You had no reason to, yet you still went out of your way to comfort me. To help me heal. For that, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. And this necklace is only the start."

He opens the clasp, letting the indigo trinket swing and twirl in the air. "May I?" he asks.

I smile tenderly. "You may."

My breath hitches when he leans forward. The press of cool silver tickles me from beneath the shawl. His proximity makes me all too aware of the sensation. I hear the sound of the clasp locking again, and I wait for him to withdraw. But he does not. Rather, Shouto hovers by my ear and whispers, "I love it when your hair is down." And he removes the clutch that was pinning my hair up. Pearlescent white tresses descend, falling to a pool by my waist. I feel a familiar tinge of pink climb up my face, so I avert my eyes. Shouto finds my reaction amusing. He adjusts the pendant above my heart and hooks a finger under my chin, tilting my face toward his. "Beautiful," he murmurs. I want to believe he is praising the jewelry, but he is not looking at the gift. The light pink burns to scarlet. "Ethereal. Mysterious. Magical. Everything beautiful."

I swallow audibly before speaking. "There is something I have to tell you, too."

"Go ahead," he replies instantly, still entranced by my features.

"First, thank you for the present. It is lovely. It must have cost you plenty, and I promise to cherish it. Second, about your analogy …" Shouto breaks out of his reverie. I watch the expressions play across his face. He thinks that I am about to say that he was too forward with it. That's not true. Not at all. Before he can let the humiliation consume him, I say, "That was how I thought about you, too!" Confusion crosses his features. He waits for me to elaborate, so I do. "Like you said, the meaning of my first name is moon. However, I never thought of myself as moonlike. Because like you already know, I have my fair share of trauma. I, too, thought of myself as a bloom destined to remain in the dark forevermore. There was no way I could be the object wilting and the object nourishing simultaneously. So when I met you … when we became friends and started spending time together … when I got to know you and you learned about me … I started feeling safe. You had a light inside you that I desperately craved. I couldn't agree with you more about sunlight and moonlight.

"The darkness of our pain will never go away completely, and the moon accepts that. You were my moon, Shouto. And you still are."

Shouto gasps, "So both of us were blossoms of the dark seeking tranquility from the other. And neither knew the other felt the same."

"Yes."

"We're such idiots." And then he cups my cheeks and rests his forehead against mine. Instinctively, I freeze at the suddenness, but slowly I ease into his touch. There is nothing belying the intent to hurt. Just look at the parallels. On one hand, there is the punishment from Hanada-sama, which I cannot wear without feeling ashamed. On the other, there is the treasure from Shouto, which truly makes me feel precious. My hands find their way to the slopes of his shoulders. Now more than ever, I wish I could take the gloves off. I can hear our heartbeats, beating in a rapid tandem. Our breaths, which are even quicker. I can touch the pulse point of his jugular and his chest, the physical manifestation of both signs of life.

Shouto raises his head just enough to look at me clearly. The sliver of light peering between the curtains hits his face just right. I can see the ocean of unnamed emotion brimming in his eyes. One eye the turquoise of water, the other eye the grey of storms. Both the windows of the soul of the magical boy I love. He slides one hand into my hair, emitting a soft sound of surprise from my mouth. His gaze drops to my lips and closes partway as mine widen. His other thumb grazes the skin, and my lips part around it like it is the most natural thing to do. Considering what I feel for him, it is. Shouto drops his other hand to my neck, tilts his head to the side and bends closer, millimeter by millimeter, giving me every chance to withdraw. My hands clench into fists, clasping the fabric of his shirt in a deathlike grip. Only a centimeter separates our lips now.

There is no doubt what he wants to do. I should stop him. Push back gently, divert the situation, tell him no. But, I don't want to. Because I know with every fiber of my being that if Shouto wanted to kiss me, I would let him without any resistance. I would reciprocate it with as much fervor as him because his touch is a balm that I can never have enough of. Because I trust him, and I love him. And it is precisely this love that will destroy me.

It is a bitter pill to swallow. Visceral agony racks me as I turn away from the kiss. However, the need for his touch is just as potent. I need my moon. Before he can register my refusal, I hug him. Hard. Shouto hits the wood of the foot of the bed. But I cushion the impact. His back muscles contract and relax under my palms. His heartbeat and breath are more than just sounds to me. I feel their alternating motions through the shawl and dress.

For a moment, he stills from shock. I am about to move back and apologize for my brazenness when he finally reacts. Shouto's fingers dig into my back. He's trembling, and whether it is from ebbing magic or horror, I am not sure. But he holds me as though I am the only solid thing in the world. The shawl and the dress serve as no barrier for the heat and possession that seeps from him into my skin. Shouto draws me closer to him, leaving no gap between our upper bodies.

Tonight has changed our relationship forever. Perhaps I will regret it in the coming morning. But for now … I want to let myself forget everything except him.

My tears take no name of stopping, so I bury my face in the crook of his neck. I grasp the shirt material in that same deathlike grip again. As though I would die without him, which is undoubtedly true.

Though, it is his kiss that will kill me first.

His lips press against the pulse point of my jugular. An audible gasp leaves my throat. All bouts of crying forgotten, I open my mouth to ask when he places another kiss at the same point. Another sharp inhale follows but quieter than the one from before. I … I enjoy his kisses. Possessive, obsessive, fixating, worshipping … as though he reveres me like no other. A promise that he will never hurt me. His praises between every kiss confirms as much: "My moon. My moonbeam. My moonflower. My moonlight. My moonshine. My moon goddess. My blossom of the dark." It is selfish of me, but I crave more. Shouto's lips are nectar. Addictive, intoxicating, sweeter than any cream or cake in the world. Greed, gluttony, and desire flourish inside me as I tilt my head to give him better access to my neck. More. More. More. I almost moan when he understands my request and grows more passionate with his kisses. In another world, where I was not a killer and touch always meant safety, I could fall asleep to his embraces and wake up to his caresses. I could return those gestures, too. A wonderful fantasy with a wonderful boy.

Shouto's legs bracket my hips as he stops kissing my pulse in favor of leaving a trail of silent apologies and adorations with his lips up my throat and across my jaw. Quietly taking all that he wants and giving me all that I need. Does he love me, too? Does he not? I cannot think properly. His doting is intoxicating as it is rejuvenating. I want more. I never want to let go. My fingers release his shirt in favor of threading through his hair and tangling the strands I had combed back earlier. My actions elicit a breathy sigh from him, which I savor as my perfect victory.

Shouto traces the shell of my ear to its point.

I feel him grin against it as he plays with the faerie structure.

"Why do you hide your ears with silver shells?" he susurrates.

I hesitate before answering. "Because they are not humanlike. They are aberrant, just like the rest of me."

"They are magical, just like the rest of you."

And he places a kiss on my earlobe.

"Happy birthday, Selene."

"Thank you."

Thank you for giving me the most magical birthday of my life.

Citations:

"Cardan's fingers dig into my back. He's trembling, and whether it is from ebbing magic or horror, I am not sure. But he holds me as though I am the only solid thing in the world." - The Queen of Nothing by Holly Black

"A flower that blooms in the dark can survive only in the dark. If you pursue the light, its heat will burn you up in the end." - Bungou Stray Dogs by Kafka Asagiri and Sango Harukawa