Ys is waitin’ for us at the bottom of the stairs, hands in her pockets, eyes big and wide. And as I walk toward her—Fuck, you know what? I see it. That other world. Where I’m not me, but she’s still her, cos she’s fuckin’ perfect. Where she’s barefoot in the kitchen, and there’s toy cars fuckin’ everywhere, crayon drawings on the wall, kettle always on, fire always lit. And it’s enough for me. Don’t need the whole fuckin’ world to know my name. Don’t need to be remembered by no one but her and them two boys.
That was probably the cutest thing he’s ever said
