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He is yours.
He is a lightning rod, but you do not care. He is a beacon for blights and curses to assail onto you, your family, your neighbors, but you do not care.
He is yours.
He is not the same, you know that. He is not Hikaru, who could never love you the way you loved him. He loves you in a strange way, in a way that chills you to the bone with how easy it is to lose yourself in it, to let him consume you and draw you so far into him that there will be no escape from what he is–what you and him are.
He is yours.
He doesn’t seem to hold value in things that should matter, like the lives of others–the safety of your mutual friends. He only sees you, but he sees you in such a way that’s blinding, that makes you feel for once like you aren’t alone. He doesn’t care about the part of you that you know the old Hikaru would’ve wrinkled his nose at–maybe even laughed or retched if Hikaru had really decided to twist the knife. He adores you in a way that makes the way you love…almost seem normal…okay, even.
He is yours.
He is yours, but you can’t love him. He is not the one you love, even if he’s yours. He gives you a level of devotion that the real Hikaru never would’ve and you lap it up, but there will always be the knowing that this isn’t real. He is not real, he is an improbable specter, he is a harbinger of doom. He, at times, feels like a reflection of a world where your feelings could ever be seen in Hikaru–hell, in another boy. He is a false glimmer, an idea that you aren’t alone in loving someone differently than anyone else in this town, so small the world seems to close in faster around you by the second.
He is yours, and sometimes it almost feels okay. He still seems like Hikaru, your friend, and even Asako–who knows–was happy you told her about how you loved him–Hikaru, that is.
He is yours, but you do not love him. He is someone you can obsess over, whose face is a capsule of memory, whose every touch, every draw closer to his core, is a twisted thing you covet for yourself because of his face–because he makes you feel like Hikaru is still here, that there was a world where he could’ve loved you back.
He is yours, and he is making you shed the careful layers around your heart that you spent years building up. He seems to love you so much, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He cannot know how hard it is to even begin to look the feeling of loving him–Hikaru, not whatever is left–in the eye. He is someone you don’t know if you will ever love in the way you loved Hikaru, quietly and desperately and with a roiling feeling in your stomach that there was something rotten at your core that made you look at Hikaru like you did. He doesn’t know that Hikaru would’ve thought the closeness gross, the ways you two close especially, utterly obscene.
He is yours, and he doesn’t know that he shouldn’t be. He thinks it the most natural thing in the world, when you can barely stomach the idea that you take pleasure in being around him–in being with him in any and every sense
He is yours, and you can’t find it in yourself to give him up, even if you will never love him like you loved Hikaru.
He is yours and no one has ever been yours before, not truly, not in a way where they’ve seen the parts of yourself you try so hard to keep in, and still have wanted you.
He is yours and the evidence is on your skin, a mark creeping across your wrist that you find yourself running your fingers across without even thinking.
He is yours.