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~~

It was dark. A boy sat in an empty room, staring up at the ceiling from the comfort of his bed.

The air conditioner was running, and the room was practically covered with a layer of frost. He didn't shiver, only sitting there under the blanket. It would stay on his scarred body until morning, when the cold had become bearable. So it would be, so it had been, for months. 

Tonight, however, was different. Fireworks went off outside, but he didn't even flinch. As a child, he had always loved the fireworks. They were a symbol of summer.

What was summer to him?

He always thought of summer as an overload. Summer brought huge bonfires and barbecues that made the whole neighborhood smell of smoke. Summer meant long days outside with a close friend, walking through the woods just because they could. Summer meant sitting alone at a graveyard, pretending the ghosts could hear him when he told them about the world.

But then, he started changing. And suddenly, summer meant spoonfuls of peanut butter, and walking a mile every day just to swim in the pool. Summer started bringing late nights, and anger, and bloody wrists.

Now?

Now, summer meant forgetting who he was. Summer was trying to save lives, but making them so much worse instead. Summer became silent, broken, messy. Summer meant walking through the creek during a flood, hoping the icy water would wash away how much he was hurting. 

When asked the question of summer or winter, he would always refuse to answer. 

Both were cold, and both ended in heartbreak, again and again and again.