You always were something else, weren't you? Those eyes, too brown for your own good, and that old jacket that you loved to death - falling apart, but you didn't care.

You were something enviable, something alive - something that I never was. That I couldn't really ever touch.

You were a bonfire, and I wasn't even a spark. I was hardly a coal, barely even warm.

That was always the difference between us, always the thing that drew me towards you - and I suppose, looking at it now, that it was inevitable. That it would always end up like this.

Because you - your heart's too big, too impassioned for the fragile body it's in. You throw yourself into danger like it's another one of your video games, like there's no way you won't come out of it unscathed.

Looking at it now, of course we'd end up here - you, in a hospital bed, and me, on the outside.

But I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. I guess, really, I'm being melodramatic - something you always used to tease me about, brown eyes wide, mouth twisted up in that grin.

So. Let's start at the start, then - not the start of the story, not really, but the start of our story.