A/N: This is basically just me venting...Based on a true story. Title from Fall Out Boy.

We were the reigning monarchs of summer.

There was a wide open area behind my house, and I was only allowed out of the house for thirty minutes at thirteen years old.

So I ran out, ran up the hill and climbed up our throne of an oak tree, waiting for him.

Same time every day, same routine. His house was on the opposite side of the hill, and it was never too long before he came out after me.

I'd drop out of the tree, slamming a hug into him like it'd been months and months since I'd last seen him, not twenty-four hours.

He'd just absorb the hug and not give anything back, like the leech he was, but he'd smile at me. He wanted to have a sinister smile, he'd been working on it for five years, ever since he was ten. He came close, but the dimples kind of diminished the effect.

He'd sit against the base of the tree, and I'd lie with my head on his shoulder, and we'd just be. I always smelled mint on his breath, and he'd put his hand under the shoulder of my t-shirt and just stroke my arm.

I never knew why, but it was the best feeling, his skin against mine, the summer breeze blowing.

I had such a hopeless and unrequited crush on that boy, on my king. But I was two years, a month, and two weeks younger—exactly. And he thought of me as a little girl, the same eight-year-old he met earlier.

I just listened to him talk, usually, talk about his new redheaded girlfriend, and how he thought Scotland should be independent, and how exactly he would kill his most recent arch-nemesis, never sparing me the gory details.

He wanted to be an assassin.

But I remembered when he wanted to be King Arthur. I never let him forget about that.

One normal day, he said he loved me.

Added an 'as a sister' immediately after. Which only crushed me a little bit.

But that's…that's enough about that.

This place, this Kingdom of Summer, was never my favorite kind of place.

I've always loved forest. And this place was open like you wouldn't believe, our throne was the only tree for miles. Dry grass, full of ticks. No way to hide from the sun.

But that's why it was so perfect. Because it was so hot, so dry, so wild, it was just filled with romantic ideas of how summer should be. Not for me, though, not really.

My romantic ideal of how summer should be was being with my king, for real. Living in a small town next to a river, wading out to an island in the middle of the water, and just lying there, lying there talking until the sun set, and the air became thick with firefly lights and the sound of crickets.

Years later, I actually drove past a small town by a river that was exactly what I imagined.

The car wasn't the VW van of my dreams, the radio wasn't playing the Beatles, and he wasn't smirking at me from the passenger seat, though, so I pulled over and cried to a Fall Out Boy song that always reminded me of him.

What happened to him?

I don't know, and I doubt I ever will.

We moved. He stayed home, home, in our kingdom forever.

He is immortalized in every oak tree, every dimpled smile, every fake Scottish accent, and every single black-haired boy I see.

He's everywhere.

He's my summer.

A/N: All feedback is massively appreciated.