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NOTE: I am forever backtag friendly and absolutely open to doing things from past events that won't really have an effect on things at any given time. For example, if you'd like to do something with Peter aged down or when he was his spider dream guide, etc.
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Peter is surprisingly...mobile. Slow but trusting. He doesn't ask directions, although surely he's just used to the route down to first class quarters by now, right? Surely it's not just a blind trust that Will can't bring himself to believe he's earned...?
Will's key turns in the lock, a false signifier of safety and home. Or that's what it's felt like, until now - Will doesn't trust this room the way he does the ones back in his real home, but with Peter following himself...he can almost believe it's a safe place. That it's a nest to hide in.
Will's heart rate kicks up at the question. He makes a concerted effort not to look at the coffee table, on which sits a book that was gifted to him by Molly before she-- ]
I wouldn't have taken a stranger in as a roommate while I was married. [ Will swallows. Locks the door behind them, turns on another lamp. ] And I can't...bring myself to take one now. [ Will would rather be directly alone, than reminded of how lonely he feels around other people he can't be close to.
The fact that he's found possibly the only possible way to sate loneliness on this ship is occurring to him, right now. ] Come on, it's just-- right in this room.
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Though it isn't something he's dwelling on just yet, for the moment still only just coming down from all of it. He's looking almost dazedly around the room β almost identical to his and Louis's β yet... emptier. Something to it is emptier. Could it really simply be the absence of a suitemate? The fact that Will and Will alone stays here, and they're returning to the space that was sitting here without him for however many hours? His cousin's room isβ cold-feeling.
It's an odd... heaviness, an odd energy to the air. Peter nods just as hazily at the words, moving with him to the next room, and slips to Will's bed, not as tentative as he'd usually be, moving clumsily down on the luxurious space, unsteady. His fingers finally release from his cousin's clothing as he does so, detaching himself β he sits, upright but precarious, eyes wide and betraying his daze.
'I wouldn't have taken a stranger in as a roommate while I was married.'
Peter's head turns to look up at the man, the words slow to sink in. Heavy to. It feels like cement, gradually filling up and up. It's a simple statement on the surface; to the pair of them, it's something much more. It's.. past tense. Married.
A small, aching reality presented in a form that almost feels tangible.
'And I can't...bring myself to take one now.' ]
You don't like strangers? [ It's soft, not questioning, not demanding. Even almost curious in its softness. A strange thing to ask at this moment, maybe. But Peter doesn't know. He hardly knows anything about Will. ]
I don't... I don't like them. I didn't want to room with anyone. But because I'm seventeen... [ It trails off. Because he was only seventeen, they'd assigned him to someone. Surely the natural thing would have been to stay with Will, but... had either of them even considered that? ]
My roommate's kind though. He's... kind.
[ Peter's voice is so quiet, it's almost like an afterthought, his eyes still dazed. Like a child quietly sharing their thoughts at perhaps an inappropriate time, he lets them spill, ineloquent. His hands rest in his lap. Compared to the fretting, tense thing β with soft growls rippling his throat β he's become quite docile. ]
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With Peter in it, the echoes of their voices feel different. Will hasn't actually spoken out loud in this space before, which is something he realizes with some surprise and shame.
'You don't like strangers?' It's so simple but damning. Will's first reaction is to feel caught, looking up at Peter like he's startled. ] ...No. [ Putting up walls now doesn't feel fair. Is this entirely Will's own decision? He thinks...he does want this. Whatever it's tentatively growing into.
Watching Peter sit in his bed and slide under the covers, ones that might just barely still be warm from Will's own body heat from before, aches. It doesn't feel wrong or too much, but it hurts in a way Will can't find a word for. ] If you ever change your mind about the kind roommate, you can...stay here. Whenever you'd like. [ Too much, maybe, but Will sees an open door and can't help but enter. Or is he begging Peter to be the one to come in?
Will hasn't thought about this large bed having sides to it before, usually sleeps directly in the center where it becomes something that he can hardly reach the edges of - his own version of a nest - but now he carefully goes to the side Peter didn't enter from. He pulls the sheets away enough to join Peter, sitting up in the bed still. Thankfully, the room service here means there's enough pillows for-- far more than even two people need. ] Is kind-- the most reassuring thing your roommate could be?
cw: religious themes / ideation of Hell and Heaven
He stares over at Will as though he's never quite seen him before. For a moment. And then, it... passes, slowly, gradually, like Peter's realising something. Whatever that may be goes unspoken, and perhaps the boy isn't even fully aware of it. But he's learning, in this strange situation that seems to have fallen into their laps, more about his cousin than he's ever known for all seventeen years of his life.
The offer... resonates in his mind. What it means. What it's saying. A place to come to, if he wants β or, more importantly for him, if he needs. And Peter's eyes grow wider, surprised by that offer, after what frightful things he's divulged to Will. Even if... his cousin had said he was not afraid of him. Peter wasn't expecting this, an invitation into his space. 'Whenever you'd like.'
It loosens something coiled tight in the younger's chest, and he dips his head suddenly, breaths soft and shaky. The wet film over his eyes returns, and he blinks against it, fists the covers still split on either side of where he's sitting up in Will's bed. ]
He'sβ patient. With me. With what's... wrong with me. [ The reality of this hurts. It hurts because he'dβ skirted around his deep darknesses when explaining them to Will, had explicitly avoided betraying them for what they are: something unholy. He's...
Evil.
Isn't he? He's briefly wondered it, but timidly. Flinching back from the prospect like it hurts to think about, because it.. does, it hurts, and it frightens him, wounds him with how much it frightens him. His soul is surely damned, and if so, that means he must be damned for Hell as well. Doesn't it? It meansβ he'll not see his family again, even in the Afterlife, if there is such a thing. ]
He's not worried to be near me. [ Another shudder ripples through him, something deep and dark and wet, unpleasant. Peter's arms slip around his torso, hugging himself as though cold, shoulders hunching upwards. ]
...Do you believe there's a Heaven? [ Almost whispered, Peter stares down at the fabric of the luxurious bedspread, lids heavy, half-opened. He should feel terrible asking Will something like that. After what's happened. Guilt does gnaw at him, again, creeping its way from the deepest trenches of his gut, but out of everyone left in his world, it's only the opinion of his cousin that Peter wants to hear from on this sort of matter. ]
cw: religious themes / ideation of Hell and Heaven
Outside the boundaries of Will's awareness, something shifts; he'd never been religious as he truly is, back home and back in Deerington. That means that this fabrication of himself, even if it might have been more historically accurate to shift his views...hadn't. Will is only as devout as he'd been back home.
Inside the boundary of Will's awareness, he hears the plaintive allegory in those words. In that question. In the metaphor of Heaven. Will swallows like the weight of it's suddenly resting on his sternum; he can feel the dread in Peter's voice like it's snuck into bed with them. ] I...believe that I could think of a better reward for me than living forever in a house I didn't build.
[ Blasphemous. If Peter were older, or had more social power than Will, Will wouldn't risk saying it. But this isn't like shocking a relative at a dinner party so they'll stop talking to you. This is Peter, afraid of something Will can't quite connect to, that Will isn't sure he even believes in, and Will feeling finally certain that the worst possible outcome isn't true.
Will shifts closer. Not enough for their knees to touch, even though Will crosses his legs and widens his stance that way, but it's enough that on a mattress, the movement is both sound and sagging motion. It's not easy to miss, and Will feels self-conscious followed by the rush of having been allowed to the last few times he's just reached out.
He carefully stretches his hand over to rest on Peter's shoulder. ] Is it actually heaven that you're worried about?
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 β 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. ]
IβI 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 β 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?
cw: continued ideation of Hell and Heaven [ sleepover menu: hot cocoa and....existential despair ]
And some of the ways in which he's structured himself to bear the load of so many minds and drives is...a perilous honesty. Probably not useful for bedtime stories, to announce that the classic idea of Heaven sounds more like a prison to you.
It's just never sounded personalized enough, private enough, to be appealing to Will.
Afraid of not going. Will was expecting the cut-and-dry Catholic answer - just afraid of going to Hell, afraid of eternal punishment. This is...more nuanced. Will's expression pinches, eyes on Peter's face. ] So this isn't just fear of not being good enough.
This is a fear of being...wrong. [ Peter said it earlier, 'Something's wrong with me'. Will assumes he's thinking of himself when he mentions Hell, even if 'what if they just disappear' sounds like it could easily be worry for his recently-dead parents.
Will shifts again, and this time he isn't afraid of letting his knee nudge Peter's. His hand moves over to Peter's other shoulder, his opposite one from Will's side, brings them closer together in a half-hug. Every movement is a careful thing, waiting for a sign Will ought to stop exploring boundaries they've never acknowledged before. ] I'd like to think something that powerful and infinite wouldn't punish people for being...confused. Or afraid. [ And this, right here, is where a switch is beginning to happen in Will...because this is wishful thinking. This is reassurance, triggered finally by catching on to Peter's worries (or so he believes) and from...sharing those worries, just a little. ]