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You like them.
You love them, even.
You spend so much time with them.
You’ve grown to love the parts of him that you never liked about yourself.
His messy bits of hair. His nervous hand fidgeting that you find adorable.
Oh, stardust, you think, as you picture in your head what their face looks like when they laugh. A smile that overtakes their face.
You love them so, so much.
But they will never love you like you love them.
Because they love someone else, differently.
You know how he feels about the Fighter. How he feels about himself. How you felt about the Fighter once, too.
But, for some strange reason, that the universe wanted, you can’t feel like that about anyone anymore. Not for your Fighter, your Stardust, your anyone.
[...]
You wish you could be a part of it, somehow. They probably wouldn’t want that. You butting into their relationship like that.
You wish you were a priority. You wish someone felt about you the way you do about your stardust.
You wish you could come first, for someone, anyone. Especially your stardust. But you’ve accepted that this isn’t how it could be.
You long, you yearn, for a partnership, with someone, with anyone. But you know deep down that you don’t want it with just someone. “Just someone” couldn’t like you the way that you are, anyway.
It’s ironic, isn’t it? How even another self couldn’t love you the way you wanted?
You can’t really blame him though, can you? You’ve changed identities in a way that your stardust hasn’t. Fundamentally, you’re the same, but at the same time, you’ve changed. You’re different, now.
You wish you didn’t feel like you had to have this.
You wish, you wish, you wish, for something to fix you.