singlelogbridge | Inbox: Ximilia

Upgrading from haunted buildings to haunted fog tonight?

〈 one foot drawn up, gwen perches comfortably on the windowsill. when did she get there? who knows. how long has she been waiting in his bedroom? it's a mystery. is it an odd claim for her to make considering she had to cross the deepening fog herself to get here? you betcha.

in the spirit of halloween eve, she has continued her stevie nicks inspiration, now drawing on the full look. gwen playfully tips her top hat toward him. the halter style leaves her arms and back bare.

is she cold? how about you mind your fucking business…! 〉

[He gives a startled blink at her sudden appearance, and then quickly dissolves into a grin, stepping closer to the windowsill. His eyes brighten as he takes in her look—pretty, but Gwen is always pretty—and definitely unique. (God, but she really must be cold. His hands twitch to reach for his blanket, and he stops himself for now.]]

Am I about to be robbed?

You say that like I haven't stolen everything from you worth stealing.

〈 another of his comfy shirts may be secreted away in her bag.

as much as stealing right from under his nose would be a fun challenge, she uses her sleight of hand and a couple superpowers to present him with large gift bag featuring a cute ghost exclaiming boo! orange and red tissue paper hide the contents. 〉

This is for you. 〈 she smiles. 〉 Happy birthday.

[He snorts at the first comment because it is definitely true, and then his eyes grow wide as he takes in the (extremely cute and festive) bag.]

Ah—Gwen! [Unwilling to refuse, he takes the bag from her and his cheeks tint a dusty pink color.]

I. It's not even an important birthday! And it's—[he huffs, clearly a little overwhelmed.] You didn't have to do this. I can't believe you even remembered...

[He watches her for a moment longer and then with a second huff, he sets the bag down and ushers her away from the windowsill so that he can close it behind her. She's going to freeze, alright?]

〈 hands clasped behind her back, she shrugs. 〉

It is for me because it's my first one with you.

Open it! 〈 she encourages. her nerves finally get the better of her, and she lapses into babbling. 〉 I don't have anywhere near your skill so, you know. I hope you like it, though! I've been, we've,〈 she amends, upon spotting the spider on her bare shoulder staring at her, 〉 been working on it for a while, and—I don't know.

I hope you like it.

〈 hidden beneath the tissue paper is a scrapbook, clearly handmade. the cover was left blank for him to title it as he wishes. every page is a collection of photos, mementos, drawings, quotes. ziggy flipping off the camera. huaisang and his fan. several of itachi, one amazingly not glaring at her for daring to point a camera at his face. (likely the last time she will get that look.) two pages are turned over to their show with shots of the band on stage and later in the crowd. more and more: with others, around the station, trying new foods. one would-be horrifying photo shows wei wuxian covered in spiders, yet he is laughing. and many with gwen herself.

she left half the pages empty for him to fill. the inside of the back cover has a selfie of gwen and wei wuxian. he beams into the camera; she, head on his shoulder, smiles. beneath, she wrote, 〉 Thank you for the memories. Now fill it with your own! Much love, Gwen

〈 a spider-shaped splotch underneath is venom's signature. 〉

[Once he's opened the gift and pulled the book from its wrappings, Wei Wuxian's eyes go wide with wonder, and he walks backwards until his knees hit the bed and he sits. He flips carefully through each page, fingers ghosting over the protective film that keeps the images safe. It's a good thing for the protective layer too, because he hasn't realized he'd begun to cry until a tear drop splatters against a picture of him and Gwen together, laughing at something that someone else must have said.

Fretting for a moment, he wipes the tear away from the picture and then swipes at his eyes, failing to keep the tears from continuing to roll down his cheeks. It doesn't stop him from continuing to flip through the pages though, and he chokes a little when he comes to the last page—half laugh and half sob—at both signatures.

Closing the book and setting it down as if it were made of glass, he turns to Gwen and pulls her into an immediate hug, ducking his head to hide it in her shoulder. ]

Thank you.

〈 her own eyes terribly damp (strange weather tonight, clearly), she returns the hug warmly. 〉

You're welcome.

[When he finally pulls back, he lets out a soft huff and gathers the quilted blanket from the top of his bed only to set it down around her shoulders, shaking his head like a disappointed auntie.]

You're freezing. [Tugging the blanket around her neck, he guides her to take a seat on the bed and then swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand one more time.]

I'm going to make you some hot tea so you don't catch cold. [Wait.] Can you get sick? Never mind, it doesn't matter, you're getting tea. Do you want to come with me or wait here?

〈 oh my god.

rolling her eyes, she drops the quilt on the bed. 〉

I think we need to go. Something about a VHS and an orb? I just wanted to give that to you first.

〈 you know. just in case. 〉

[He frowns and goes to the closet, removing a jacket that he holds out for her.]

At least take this.

〈 her sigh, the slipping on of the jacket are all very exaggerated to show exactly how much of an auntie he's being. 〉 Offended by shoulders, 〈 she complains without any real argument behind it.

gwen holds out her arms in the (too big for her) jacket. 〉

Are we happy now?

[Look, when he hugged her, she was cold!

In response to her question he beams at her.]

Yes. [He carefully stores the photo album inside of his qiankun pouch and then grabs a jacket of his own, sighing and then gesturing for her to follow him.]

Alright, let's go take care of this already. I'll be glad to see the end of this one.

I thought you're very good with haunted buildings. 〈 😌 〉

I'm great with haunted buildings! But this orb made hungry dogs. [He says it casually because it's the only way he can admit it to her, eyes looking anywhere but at her.]

It must die, Gwen.

〈 she winces sympathetically. 〉 Oh, not dogs.

〈 a phrase that anywhere else would be a punchline, but here is meant seriously.

sliding her arm through his, she gives him a quick hug. 〉

Let's go do whatever is the equivalent of punching an orb in the face. Repeatedly. With a chair.

[Grateful for the hug and the lack of questions, he smiles at her and then nods.]

I like the sound of that plan. Let's go.

Inbox: Ximilia

early evening, october 30th.

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