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I can see the entirety of my life so far, laying all in front of me. I can see a thousand little moments, moments I never could've known would be mine, scrunched up in to sacred things, peering back into my face. They make me hopelessly smile. They warm me up. My moments. Our moments.
But god, they take up so much damn room.
"Keep...keep...keep...toss."
I give Peter a long stare, a bewildered look, "You're tossing this book on advanced biology?"
The textbook weighs down my hand as I stare at Peter in the middle of all the chaos. He's sitting in the only clear space among piles of junk, of frayed road-trip t-shirts, our numerous cassette tape collections, an army of house plants, and a million other things we've accumulated in our room in the mansion over the decade. He smiles at me in the cowboy hat we got from the World's Largest Boot, and a pair of orange shutter shades I don't know the origins of.
"Yeah, toss the biology textbook," he repeats.
"You're tossing the biology textbook, but you're keeping..." I glance down to my feet at his 'keep' pile, "You're keeping an old hairbrush, a worn-out pair of sneakers, and a lone shoestring?"
He laughs. An infectious kind of laugh.
"You can be my biology textbook, professor. But you can't hold my shoes together."
There's a moment when a glimmer captures my attention. It's coming from one of the boxes. A coin. There's an eagle and a swastika on it. What the hell is this from?
I figure it's nothing. I unceremoniously shove it into my pocket.
"I will never quite understand that Maximoff logic of yours," I confess. Peter steps toward me, beside the window. I watch the sunlight as it makes his face glow and his cheeks heat up. His energy washes over me and I briefly close my eyes to soak it in.
"We both know it's not logic. It's more like...an organized, flaming mess up here," he states. My chest flutters with laughter and he presses a kiss to my forehead.
"Oh, c'mon," I beckon.
"What?" he says, a brow raised.
"Not even a faint glow. You can do better than that, Quicksilver."
Peter smirks, accepting the challenge, "Fine. You want a kiss? I'll show you a kiss."
His arms firmly hoist me up into the air, giving me the chance to wrap my legs around his torso. He butterflies kisses along the side of my neck, the feeling soft and ticklish, before dropping me onto the bed, onto the pile of the old t-shirts, my head laid over a wrinkled picture of the World's Largest Teapot. He plants a firm, passionate kiss on me, long and tender, cupping my face and keeping his mouth on mine until he's sure my whole body has lit up, and the room is full of blinding streams of energy, involuntary bursts of light.
"Gotcha," he brags. Proud of himself. I don't say anything. I only smile up at the warm, heart-melting pair of eyes looking down at me, seeing beyond my illuminated skin. I could fall into them forever and be content.
His lips come back down to mine. Tenderly. My head rushes with intoxication. I breathe him in. I entangle my fingers in his hair. The first memory of him comes back in fractions. In micro-images that show the texture of everything. The rough concrete underneath his tapping foot. The shallow crease of his dimple as he smiled. The shine of his hair. Silver even underneath the golden sun. It all feels so surreal. Like it was lifetimes go. Like it's DNA wound up inside my muscle tissue. Those images. Those daydreams. They make up my entire being.
I abruptly pull away. Peter's brow knits together in confusion, "What wro—"
My index finger touches his lips, "Somebody's about to knock on the door." He places a final kiss on my mouth and rolls over beside me.
There's a knock on the door.
"Come in," I say. Peter drapes an arm around me and leans his head onto my shoulder.
"__, there's someone at the..." Hank pauses when he sees the state of the room, "Oh god. What happened in here?"
"Spring cleaning."
He takes another look at the piles of junk around the room, "Are you sure it's cleaning?" There's a great whirlwind of air and before I can blink again Hank is dressed up in the cowboy hat Peter was wearing before, a Christmas sweater, some old bracelets, and laced gloves. Peter leans, an elbow bent on Hank's shoulder.
"Yeah. It's cleaning," Peter quips.
"I should've known this would happen when I stepped in here," Hank mumbles with a small smirk, grabbing the hat off his head and smooshing it back down onto Peter's.
"What? You look good," I tell him, laughing.
"Doesn't he?" Peter adds.
Hank rolls his eyes, "What I was trying to say before is that there's someone at the door for you, __."
"Alrighty then," I sigh, standing up from our bed. I joke before I step out into the hall, "You boys have fun playing dress up." Peter beams at me. Hank rolls his eyes again.
Moving around the halls is harder now, with the amount of students here and all. I think back to a time where I couldn't do this — walk through a hall full of people. Now, I know how to flow through all the energies, like navigating a river. They no longer linger. They can brush against my skin one second and simply wash off in the next.
Still, maybe I do kind of miss hiding out in the bathrooms with Peter.
I get to the front door, and I can feel the energy on the other side seeping through the wood and glass. It's hard to put a finger on. Vengeful. A little aggressive. My hands ball up into fists at my side.
The woman on the other side has raven black hair, chopped into sharp angles, purple at the edges. The April sun heats up her tan complexion. She doesn't smile.
"Are you __?" she spits out.
"Yeah...who are you?"
"You can call me Destiny." I stifle a laugh. Kind of a cheesy name. "You refound the coin today, right?" she adds. I clutch the coin that's resting in my pocket. The urge to laugh goes away.
"How did you know that?"
She looks around to see if anyone is watching us, then pulls a golden mask halfway out of her jacket. My eyes go wide.
The fortune teller. Ten years ago. She's the one who gave me the coin.
Destiny rummages through her jacket again, pulls out an envelope, "Here. I suggest you do as he says."
"Do as who says?"
She suddenly turns from me, apparently finished with our conversation. She abandons me on the doorstep, alone and confused. I turn the envelope over in my hands. And when I see who it's from everything makes more sense. A pit forms in my stomach. I feel sick, sick to read the name. In black ink, permanent, bleeding, black ink, his name soils the white paper.
Sebastian Shaw.
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Chapter Dedications
"something like glitch or virus...cuz my power would be glitching between realities. I could also hack into anything and use clone holograms"
- lllubka
"Glitch girl. Probably can like glitch into rooms without getting caught and seen and can hack into security cams and stuff"