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Some days, nowadays, he'll call it what it is: not hunger, not lust, not dying. Take away the words, the names, and it's just one, wanting the other.
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tothemoon's writing is so dear to me, like it's so ... raw? genuine? i'm going to throw myself into incoming traffic but it's so, so INTIMATE it makes me want to cry. i need to study each and every one of their fics.... waow...
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When he was younger, he'd make a game out of sleepless nights. Atsumu would think, how cool of me, to be the only one awake at this hour; to be the only one to see the world in the night. He'd wander the hallways of his house and pet with strays in the street. The sun would come up, just over the hills, and ten-year old Atsumu would say he was the first to meet its light.
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