[ Peter gazes down at his hands now, fingers shifting, fretting against the material of Will's sheets. He's afraid of the answer ā whatever it will be. It's such a weighted heaviness to ask, a demand of his cousin that Peter immediately regrets even as he knew beforehand that he would regret it.
'I...believe that I could think of a better reward for me than living forever in a house I didn't build.'
The boy glances back up at the older's eyes, a unique colouring; Peter hadn't quite noticed before. Difficult to really pinpoint the hue of them. Likewise, it's difficult to tell what nuance of his cousin's reply to follow, how to... absorb that.
He stares, silently, intently. It isn't a clarification one way or the other, towards belief or nobelief, but rather... something else.
The ambiguity to it unnerves Peter slightly, the part of him that's still childlike ā seventeen but still so young, and all of that even further regressed by the loss of his family. That part of him seeks... certainties. "Yes" or "no".
....But certainties are no longer a luxury he can afford to cling to. Peter is changed, forever, and answers aren't something that can just easily be grasped in the palm of the hand. They slip through fingers, they change form as they do. The reply unsettles him and yet is also... appreciated. Because it isn't his cousin telling him something concrete to appease his fretful mind. This is... Will's honesty, isn't it? Even if difficult to read. Peter's still staring at him silently when the hand moves to his shoulder. The spell upon the boy breaks, he blinks, seemingly always on the edge of slipping away somewhere else. ]
...No, [ he admits, voice smaller than he means for it to sound. Here is another honesty of Will's presented to him, and the reality of the question sinks into Peter like the frosty chill of the night air all over again. But how to put it into words, what he's truly afraid of? Without saying too much? ]
I'm afraid of... not going.
[ He draws in a sigh, instead of releases one. A breath sucked inwards through his teeth. ]
IāI mean. What if... what if there isn't one? What if... when people die, they... just disappear?
[ He's thinking of his family. Of course he is ā the thought of never seeing them again. That upset stirs in his eyes, but muted: he hasn't been able to start processing their loss, not really. Peter's throat clenches. ]
cw: continued ideation of Hell and Heaven, #FunSleepoverTopics
'I...believe that I could think of a better reward for me than living forever in a house I didn't build.'
The boy glances back up at the older's eyes, a unique colouring; Peter hadn't quite noticed before. Difficult to really pinpoint the hue of them. Likewise, it's difficult to tell what nuance of his cousin's reply to follow, how to... absorb that.
He stares, silently, intently. It isn't a clarification one way or the other, towards belief or nobelief, but rather... something else.
The ambiguity to it unnerves Peter slightly, the part of him that's still childlike ā seventeen but still so young, and all of that even further regressed by the loss of his family. That part of him seeks... certainties. "Yes" or "no".
....But certainties are no longer a luxury he can afford to cling to. Peter is changed, forever, and answers aren't something that can just easily be grasped in the palm of the hand. They slip through fingers, they change form as they do. The reply unsettles him and yet is also... appreciated. Because it isn't his cousin telling him something concrete to appease his fretful mind. This is... Will's honesty, isn't it? Even if difficult to read. Peter's still staring at him silently when the hand moves to his shoulder. The spell upon the boy breaks, he blinks, seemingly always on the edge of slipping away somewhere else. ]
...No, [ he admits, voice smaller than he means for it to sound. Here is another honesty of Will's presented to him, and the reality of the question sinks into Peter like the frosty chill of the night air all over again. But how to put it into words, what he's truly afraid of? Without saying too much? ]
I'm afraid of... not going.
[ He draws in a sigh, instead of releases one. A breath sucked inwards through his teeth. ]
IāI mean. What if... what if there isn't one? What if... when people die, they... just disappear?
[ He's thinking of his family. Of course he is ā the thought of never seeing them again. That upset stirs in his eyes, but muted: he hasn't been able to start processing their loss, not really. Peter's throat clenches. ]
Or what if someone goes to Hell, instead?