[Peter had only gotten about an hour into his morning before he realized what day it was. He'd been in the middle of pouring a bowl of cereal (something so sugary, it'd give you a cavity per bite) when the sight of a cheap calendar on the side of his fridge hits him like a truck.
May 5th. The date strangles him with both hands, relieves him of his willingness to face the day and enjoy his life. It's the first time he's had to face her birthday since she'd passed, but how do you face something that immediately surrounds you on all sides? And how does something you've thought about every day still manage to shellshock you into silence? How old would she be today?
Maybe just not think about it. Maybe only sleep about it.
It's a lot to think about right this second.
So. He's gonna sleep. That's what he's gonna do. Sleep until it's May 6th.
He crawls into bed, and time passes for everyone but him as he stares at the wall and waits for his mind to be tricked into another 18 hours of slumber. Somewhere in that timeless mess of over-thinking and sad visitations to happy memories and the mistakes that reshaped them, he hears someone come into his window. No spidey-sense goes off, and Jinx is talking, so it's probably fine.
He pulls the blanket over his head as she talks at her blueprints.
With a concerningly flat affect and lack of energy:]
cw: loss of parent figure, depressive episode
May 5th. The date strangles him with both hands, relieves him of his willingness to face the day and enjoy his life. It's the first time he's had to face her birthday since she'd passed, but how do you face something that immediately surrounds you on all sides? And how does something you've thought about every day still manage to shellshock you into silence? How old would she be today?
Maybe just not think about it. Maybe only sleep about it.
It's a lot to think about right this second.
So. He's gonna sleep. That's what he's gonna do. Sleep until it's May 6th.
He crawls into bed, and time passes for everyone but him as he stares at the wall and waits for his mind to be tricked into another 18 hours of slumber. Somewhere in that timeless mess of over-thinking and sad visitations to happy memories and the mistakes that reshaped them, he hears someone come into his window. No spidey-sense goes off, and Jinx is talking, so it's probably fine.
He pulls the blanket over his head as she talks at her blueprints.
With a concerningly flat affect and lack of energy:]
Sorry. Sick day today... I think I got the flu.