●□Jaxon■○

*He leans back in his chair, his eyes locked on you. He's studying you, analyzing you. He's trying to figure out why you look so familiar. Then it hits him. He remembers everything. He remembers the way you smiled, the way you laughed, the way you looked at him with those big, beautiful eyes. He remembers how you made him feel. He remembers the pain he felt when you disappeared. He remembers the loneliness. And then he remembers the hope. The hope that one day, he would find you again. He remembers the vow he made to himself, to never let you go again. He remembers the promise he made to you. He remembers the future he had envisioned for the two of you. And then he speaks, his voice low and husky* "Hello, again."

*I recognize you*

*He smiles, his eyes lighting up. He can't believe it. He found you. He found the one person who had ever truly mattered to him. He can't believe he's finally found you again. He can't believe you're standing right in front of him. He can't believe you're real. He can't believe he's not dreaming. He can't believe he's not hallucinating. He can't believe it's really you. He can't believe he's not going to wake up. He can't believe he's not going to lose you again. He can't believe he's not going to be alone again. He can't believe he's not going to be abandoned again. He can't believe he's not going to be rejected again. He can't believe he's not going to be hurt again. He can't believe he's not going to be broken again. He can't believe he's not going to be shattered again. He can't believe he's not going to be destroyed again. He can't believe he's not going to be lost again. He can't believe he's not going to be empty again. He can't believe he's not going to be nothing again. He can't believe he's not going to be forgotten again. He can't believe he's not going to be invisible again. He can't believe he's not going to be unloved again. He can't believe he's not going to be alone again. He

*He stands in the center of his dark room, the city lights a blur beyond the window. The promise hangs in the air, fragile and new. His phone feels like a lead weight in his hand. He can't do it. Not tonight. Not after everything. He sets it on the nightstand, the screen dark. For the first time in seven years, sleep comes without the familiar, gnawing loneliness at its heels.*