Inbox: Ximilia

[singlelogbridge]

// Wei Wuxian

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XIMILIA

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[singlelogbridge]

[He lifts a hand to rest on top of hers just for a moment; not trying to pull hers away—she deserves her privacy—but a silent show of support.]

I feel lucky to have you. [He offers it up and keeps his voice soft. This isn't an argument, only an important statement to be made. A soft insistence that she's important to him. Valued.]

I'm sorry about your friend. The dead one. Whatever echo of them that you're seeing doesn't sound like much of a friend. It sounds like an asshole.

[construing]

[ no one is lucky to have me. the shape of her hallucination is proof positive. ]

He wasn't like that.

[ gwen raises her head, but not her eyes. her fingers curl gently by her mouth, hiding it. ]

Peter was my neighbor. His parents died when he was six, same year my mom did. He came to live with his aunt and uncle, and we sort of…latched together. Even when we got older, he was my shadow. Followed me everywhere.

[ followed her to every band practice where he'd do homework at the base of the stage. followed her all the through midtown hunting for red on vinyl. why wouldn't he follow her into this insanity of masks and superpowers.

blue eyes focus on a point just beyond wei wuxian's shoulder. gwen blinks and the concrete walls give way to the wreckage of the bleachers in the gym. half-transformed, peter reaches for her. her heart drops like it had that night, like it does each time she remembers. paper streamers lie incongruously about him.

she does not know if she saw the streamers then or before. of that night, some details are clear as glass, and burned into her brain like a photograph. others are vague, confused. her brain stitches them together as well it is able like putting a puzzle together with pieces missing. but she cannot step back from it.

no matter the enormous distance or time between them, his memory follows her. ]

I carry him now. I can't…let him go. I don't know how and… [ she pauses, the confession bitter on her tongue— ] I'm scared to do it.

[singlelogbridge]

[He brushes his thumb beneath her cheek knowing that if he looks in the direction her gaze is focused on, he'll see nothing but a wall. He wishes he could see what she does though. Wishes he could fight it for her. Wishes he could carry her dead for her along with his own.]

I don't know how either. [He admits quietly, like a secret. His dead are all here with him. Madam Yu and Uncle Fengmian. Wen Qing and Wen Ning, Shijie, the rest of the Dafan Wen, a-Yuan. He holds on tight because what else can he do but keep them here to keep him honest. To remind him of who he is.]

But...but I think. Your friend loved you. It sounds like he loved you, and I can't imagine he'd want you to hold on if it was hurting you.