imagine james surviving and growing old, having smile lines and still too bright eyes and telling harry all about his first love, telling tales of a boy named after a star not many see, of a boy who held his hand and sang songs in french in the dead of night, of a boy who smiled and stole his heartbeat, that one day began to match his lovers, of a boy who’s star shone a bit brighter the year he turned 19, of a boy he never stopped loving, a boy he never will.












