day eight/letters
The little AU: advent calendar: day eight/letters
slashfairy
G
Viggo becomes angry quite easily. Not angry, exactly, but impatient. Yes, that's it, he decides, I'm wanting it better for him, for us, now. Not going to get that, are you, old man? his thoughts tumble on, chastising him for calling himself old when he knows he's not.
He feels it sometimes though, looking through the mail and finding nothing. Not nothing, there's a card from Sonia and Colin, and one from Sam. His brothers have sent things, and there's a card in childish writing for Karl, too. Hunter will be... 7? 6? He feels he should remember, just as he feels he should remember how old Orlando's parents are, but he doesn't.
He remembers holding Orlando one night, though, when he'd had one too many things pile up, and everything had caved in. He remembers Orli barely moving, just tears falling, splashing, the weight of losses real and feared, remembered, experienced, anticipated, pressing on him so heavily that the pain seeped out his eyes, staining Vig's shirt, and his heart.
He wishes he could use this energy he's experiencing now, this impatience with everything, to find a way for them all to be together for the holidays, but it's not going to happen... Not in this world, he's afraid. Afraid of other things, too: of not being there for Orli, if something -when something- happens to his family. His thoughts just spin and spin, though, so he whistles the dogs up and heads down to the sand at the foot of the bluff. Can't do. Can only be, he thinks, one step at a time, breathing across the planet, out, and in.
Day nine
slashfairy
G
Viggo becomes angry quite easily. Not angry, exactly, but impatient. Yes, that's it, he decides, I'm wanting it better for him, for us, now. Not going to get that, are you, old man? his thoughts tumble on, chastising him for calling himself old when he knows he's not.
He feels it sometimes though, looking through the mail and finding nothing. Not nothing, there's a card from Sonia and Colin, and one from Sam. His brothers have sent things, and there's a card in childish writing for Karl, too. Hunter will be... 7? 6? He feels he should remember, just as he feels he should remember how old Orlando's parents are, but he doesn't.
He remembers holding Orlando one night, though, when he'd had one too many things pile up, and everything had caved in. He remembers Orli barely moving, just tears falling, splashing, the weight of losses real and feared, remembered, experienced, anticipated, pressing on him so heavily that the pain seeped out his eyes, staining Vig's shirt, and his heart.
He wishes he could use this energy he's experiencing now, this impatience with everything, to find a way for them all to be together for the holidays, but it's not going to happen... Not in this world, he's afraid. Afraid of other things, too: of not being there for Orli, if something -when something- happens to his family. His thoughts just spin and spin, though, so he whistles the dogs up and heads down to the sand at the foot of the bluff. Can't do. Can only be, he thinks, one step at a time, breathing across the planet, out, and in.
Day nine