Hart
Spring always coaxes the flowers from the earth and madness from Hart Crane. Something about the change in weather or the pollen in the air puts him on the edge, brings him to rummage through the boxes in the attic for hours before he comes downstairs to Charles with something coiled around his hand, fisted there.
"Do you remember this?" he demands, holding out his hand, and Charles should know better than to say no. "This - this is the shirt you were wearing when we met."
He takes it outside and pins it to the wall of the garage, where he's made his office, just above the photograph he keeps of a bridge he won't speak the name of
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