1.) When you were a baby he carried you out of a burning house. You used to dream about it, ash in his hair, smoke clotting the sky.
2.) He’s ticklish, on his neck and stomach, beneath his arms and on the soles of his feet. You aren’t ticklish at all, but you laugh anyway when he tries.
3.) When you were fifteen and too skinny and angry at the world, you said that you’d never get kissed, and he grabbed your chin and pressed his lips to yours, and it kept you awake for weeks.
4.) Sometimes he calls you little brother, and the timbre of his voice changes almost imperceptibly. You never call him anything but his name, and it tastes like a prayer on your tongue.
5.) Every time he smiles at you, your heart does something painful and strange. You never get used to it, but you learn to push it away, bury it deep in your chest.
6.) When he sings, his voice is low and rough, like smoke and honey.
7.) Sometimes you’re afraid he’ll crash the car because he keeps his eyes on you instead of the road.
8.) He doesn’t feel the same way about you. He can’t.
9.) When you were a baby, he carried you out of a burning house, and sometimes you wish he’d never put you down.
10.) He’s going to die in your arms one day, or maybe you’ll die in his.
11.) If he’s the sun, then that makes you the moon.
12.) The moon can’t shine without the sun.