[Will had been very nearly ready to fall asleep himself, lulled by the sound of the waves and the exhausting that comes from...having to change to and from a squid. But then Peter (weird, the name had come back to him at some point during the long stillness) jolts awake and away and Will sort of flings himself the other direction in shock. The sound he makes is half-gasp, half just indignation.]
( His first instinct is a sort of fear — not of the boy necessarily, just the presence of a stranger. And unbeknownst to him, Will successfully coaxing the dominantly-demon half of him to sleep sort of.... helped free the Peter half a bit more. This is mostly Peter now, and of course, Peter always reacts to things with fear first.
Except as he's staring widely into those big brown eyes staring back at him, that fear immediately flutters. There's something warm, something soft and comforting, about the younger boy. Not... not like "Grandma." For Peter, "Grandma" is a scary word.
But this.... He gasps softly, searching the other boy's face. )
[Well...a complete lack of recognition is an improvement from "Grandma", right? Will definitely isn't disappointed that he no longer registers as a safe, soothing presence. Shut up.
The question gets a moment of thought, and Will absently picking at a loose thread in the shapeless robe he's wearing.] I...maybe? I think so. It's kind of fuzzy, but...but I think we knew each other. Before. [He doesn't mention what had happened moments before. It doesn't seem -- right, just then.]
(Before? That's right, there was a.... Before. Something before this. And this boy.... he...
Peter's wide eyes slowly move to Will's cheek, staying there for a long moment like he sees something, even though there's nothing there. But... there was once, wasn't there? Smears of colour, cold wet paint — and he thinks he remembers what it feels like to cup his hands against the boy's face, reassuring him quietly against his upset— )
You were.... crying. ( He says it quietly, more gently. He somehow knows what "crying" is. His heart remembers: gives a weird, unpleasant little throb. )
[Will blinks a couple times, the instinctive reaction one of denial. He almost shakes his head, almost denies it, that old insidious voice in his head hissing, boys don't cry, boys are tough, toughen up, be a man. He hasn't heard it for a long, long time. He can't even really remember who it belongs to.
It passes, though, like a twinge of pain from an old injury. Will lets it go, relaxes back onto his heels and manages a little half-smile.] I -- maybe. Do you...remember why? [He can remember now, vaguely -- sadness, loss, a sense of saying goodbye, a finality to it. Why?]
( Peter watches the little shifts in the boy's face, something that settles into a faint sort of smile. Is the boy upset? Or happy? It's hard to tell, but he finds himself wishing, hoping that the boy isn't upset. It... hurts to think of him upset. )
I can't.... I can't remember, but— ('but I know I was with you', is what whispers inside of him.
And then, a thought, one that feels like the right one, even though he doesn't want it to be. )
[Somehow, even then, the prospect of making this still-strange boy upset with his words is unthinkable to Will. He frowns, biting at his thumbnail in thought.] I think...I was sad about...leaving somewhere.
Like. It felt like I was moving away. And it was making us both sad.
( It's a deep relief to hear, Peter settling back a little, sitting on the sand. The thought of hurting this boy, somehow, feels so incredibly wrong. Like maybe it's something he's always been afraid of deep down.
He's listening intently to the words, because he doesn't understand and yet it all feels familiar, an odd paradox of sensations. The boy was sad about... leaving. Was Peter sad to see him go....? He thinks maybe he was and swallows, a weird lump swelling up in his throat, like something in him is becoming so painfully aware that there was an amount of time he wasn't with the boy.
The question comes before he can stop it, in a quiet, breathless little sound. )
[There's that old, usually-silent voice in the back of his head, the one that sounds an awful lot like Lonnie Byers, that hisses say no, you don't need that, be a man, man up, damn it. Will has to shove it away with some effort and remember -- it's okay to need that. It's okay to crave that closeness, softness, comfort. It's okay.
So he nods, managing a little, quavering smile.] Mmm-hm. It's okay.
( It still doesn't make any real logical sense, but Peter's being led by something much deeper than that, a place of emotion, of innate feeling — something that comes from his spirit. He can't even remember the boy's name but he thinks he needs him close. Whether to offer him comfort or to be comforted, or maybe it's both.
The permission comes with a wavery smile, and Peter swallows again, hoping the boy isn't afraid of him. But somehow, he doesn't think he is. So he slowly moves to him, his arms opening to slide around the boy. At first it's cautious, but then it's warm — Peter relaxing into the sensation of the younger body. (Maybe younger than he remembers? Or maybe as young as Will was when Peter first met him those few years ago; it's like he's aged backwards, a little). This fact is somehow accepted, Peter exhaling softly as his eyes flutter closed. )
[The hug is tentative at first, but it moves quickly into warmth and recognition and remembering, as the whole host of memories about who this is and what they've been through suddenly come flooding back. Will catches his breath a little, shakily, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.]
Yeah. I'm -- glad you're here too, Peter. [The name slips out too easily, relief and sadness tangled up in the word.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reddosmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
countryclub2021-08-09 05:25 pm
no subject
I'm-- nothing! Doing nothing!
no subject
Except as he's staring widely into those big brown eyes staring back at him, that fear immediately flutters. There's something warm, something soft and comforting, about the younger boy. Not... not like "Grandma." For Peter, "Grandma" is a scary word.
But this.... He gasps softly, searching the other boy's face. )
...Are you.... Do I know you?
no subject
The question gets a moment of thought, and Will absently picking at a loose thread in the shapeless robe he's wearing.] I...maybe? I think so. It's kind of fuzzy, but...but I think we knew each other. Before. [He doesn't mention what had happened moments before. It doesn't seem -- right, just then.]
no subject
Peter's wide eyes slowly move to Will's cheek, staying there for a long moment like he sees something, even though there's nothing there. But... there was once, wasn't there? Smears of colour, cold wet paint — and he thinks he remembers what it feels like to cup his hands against the boy's face, reassuring him quietly against his upset— )
You were.... crying. ( He says it quietly, more gently. He somehow knows what "crying" is. His heart remembers: gives a weird, unpleasant little throb. )
no subject
It passes, though, like a twinge of pain from an old injury. Will lets it go, relaxes back onto his heels and manages a little half-smile.] I -- maybe. Do you...remember why? [He can remember now, vaguely -- sadness, loss, a sense of saying goodbye, a finality to it. Why?]
no subject
I can't.... I can't remember, but— ( 'but I know I was with you', is what whispers inside of him.
And then, a thought, one that feels like the right one, even though he doesn't want it to be. )
.....Was I making you sad?
no subject
[Somehow, even then, the prospect of making this still-strange boy upset with his words is unthinkable to Will. He frowns, biting at his thumbnail in thought.] I think...I was sad about...leaving somewhere.
Like. It felt like I was moving away. And it was making us both sad.
no subject
He's listening intently to the words, because he doesn't understand and yet it all feels familiar, an odd paradox of sensations. The boy was sad about... leaving. Was Peter sad to see him go....? He thinks maybe he was and swallows, a weird lump swelling up in his throat, like something in him is becoming so painfully aware that there was an amount of time he wasn't with the boy.
The question comes before he can stop it, in a quiet, breathless little sound. )
Is it okay if I— if I hug you?
no subject
So he nods, managing a little, quavering smile.] Mmm-hm. It's okay.
no subject
The permission comes with a wavery smile, and Peter swallows again, hoping the boy isn't afraid of him. But somehow, he doesn't think he is. So he slowly moves to him, his arms opening to slide around the boy. At first it's cautious, but then it's warm — Peter relaxing into the sensation of the younger body. (Maybe younger than he remembers? Or maybe as young as Will was when Peter first met him those few years ago; it's like he's aged backwards, a little). This fact is somehow accepted, Peter exhaling softly as his eyes flutter closed. )
I'm glad you're here.
no subject
Yeah. I'm -- glad you're here too, Peter. [The name slips out too easily, relief and sadness tangled up in the word.]