Andrew swallowed, his skin suddenly hot. “I’m scared of everything except the dark.” Thomas huffed the tiniest laugh. “I knew that. You write the darkest things, and it never keeps you up.” “Tell me yours.” “I think someday you’ll hate me.” Thomas’s voice stretched with a loneliness Andrew had never heard before. “You’ll cut me open and find a garden of rot where my heart should be.” Andrew let the silence sharpen between them, waited until Thomas’s breath caught in quiet anguish from being made to wait. “When I cut you open,” Andrew finally said, “all I’ll find is that we match.”
