Eli

“You know,” he says, swallowing with some difficulty. “I always thought I was Achilles in this story—the over controlling mother, the famed heritage, the great expectations,” he smiles wryly. “But here I am James, wearing your armour, rushing off into battles I have no business fighting. Playing the hero, and failing, like the secondary character I am,” he laughs. “But that’s—“ he has to clear his throat. “That’s where the metaphor ends okay? Fuck fate, fuck prophecies, let someone else handle it. Let someone else save the day. You just…go away somewhere okay? Go live your beautiful life. Fade into obscurity, leave the heroics to people who have less to offer the world. Don’t go to Troy.”
― MesserMoon, Choices

“Je t'aime."
Since I was eleven.
James's lips press against his.
And he isn't even real.
Isn't even here.
Isn't even him.
But oh how he feels. Warmth filling him up, breaking him open, pulling him apart. It's too much. Too much. And not nearly enough. Everything that's been keeping him in falls away. Regulus is boundless, intertwining with James, the pair of them nothing but ash. Nothing but dust. Nothing but love.
Love.
Love.
The garden disappears.”
― MesserMoon, Choices