Chapter Text
It's August, and he thinks he's bleeding. But he's not. He knows he's not. The stars are so bright they're practically burning him alive under their beauty.
So fucking lucky.
Every single one of them has a reason. A reason to shine, a reason to linger, and a reason to burn out.
The boy never used to see stars. He would only merely dream of them. How it would feel to bathe in their light, to taste their beauty. To touch them, letting the cosmos place one in his grasp and letting it set his palm on fire, then watching them wither away leaving precisely etched scars in their wake that would mark him forever.
Stars probably taste like candy apples.
Or maybe like pop rocks settling across your tongue before setting off like fireworks inside your mouth.
They probably taste like heaven. Probably like home or the warm bread from your favorite bakery. Or maybe even like Vodka Shapps.
But whatever stars taste like, there will be an aftertaste.
There's always an aftertaste.