effy!!

It seems to take an age to pry the answer from his unwilling lips. "We're leaving." "I don't understand." Peter doesn't either, really. (Except he does - he remembers tripping over the entrance to a wardrobe, the sharp, fresh pain of skinned knees and the immediate realisation of where he was that had hurt far more. It might be more accurate to say he knows. He had never understood it then, doesn't now, thinks he never might. Perhaps it's easier that way, to not think about the why of it so deeply. He's not sure he'd ever find an answer if he tried.) "We're leaving," he chokes out again. "The four of us." And now the worst part: "Su and I... we won't be back." "What?" It's a breath, hardly louder than a heartbeat. His brows knit together. "Then, I will come with you," he declares. Peter finally looks at him and he is vehement and blazing and beautiful and Peter can only swallow around the lump in his throat, shake his head. "You know you can't do that," he smiles sadly. "I'm King," he returns. "Exactly," Peter says softly. For a few long moments they simply stand there in the silence and still and the morning sunlight. Caspian's face is utterly shattered, and the shards of it cut Peter's heart to shreds.

My daily routine

waiting on the end of the world