Work Text:
”that's plastic,” he remarks,
pointing.
but she's shaking her head and saying,
”food.”
and of course she's right,
she’s always right.
and he laughs accordingly
because he doesn't know how to be wrong
and all he cares about is the fact that it feels like he’s
dying.
now she's kissing him,
or at least what's left of the boy
that he once was.