His shoulders sag as Jesper soothes his back. Wilhelm fidgets with one of the hoodie strings, twisting it around his finger. Every time he talks about it, it feels like he's digging new holes in his heart, nails scraping deeper, red and raw, but he doesn't know how to bury the hurt either.
"I didn't even remember him until I woke up." His voice treads quietly, weary and defeated. "I don't even remember the last thing I said to him, or the last thing he said to me."
Half because his brain is fried by centuries of fake memories, half because it was probably something mundane, something wholly inadequate to what Kelson meant to him. He didn't know it was the last time. He doesn't know if Kelson even knew how fiercely he loved him, how badly he wanted to help him find a life he could actually be happy with. He thought they'd have more time.
no subject
"I didn't even remember him until I woke up." His voice treads quietly, weary and defeated. "I don't even remember the last thing I said to him, or the last thing he said to me."
Half because his brain is fried by centuries of fake memories, half because it was probably something mundane, something wholly inadequate to what Kelson meant to him. He didn't know it was the last time. He doesn't know if Kelson even knew how fiercely he loved him, how badly he wanted to help him find a life he could actually be happy with. He thought they'd have more time.