[AO3 Crosspost] All that's left

[terresdebrume]

✗ TECHNICAL DETAILS

FANDOM: The Shadowhunter’s Chronicles
SEQUEL/RESPONSE TO: Words to the ashes
RATING: General
WORDCOUNT: 940
PAIRING(S): Wistful, separated, maybe-next-time Waywood
CHARACTER(S): Michael Wayland, mention of others.
GENRE: Epistolary
TRIGGER WARNING(S): None that I can think of. Hit me up with an ask if you disagree :)
SUMMARY: When you get a letter, you reply. Especially when you didn’t expect any mail.
DEDICATION(S): To michaelgayland, formerly mistletoemaryse, whose enthusiasm for Michael and Waywood was the main spark for these letters. Also to whoever started the ‘send me a love letter from a fictional character’ meme ;)



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My dear Rob,

I haven’t got a sodding clue how I got your letter—I’m fairly sure fire messages aren’t supposed to do that—but I did, and I can’t quite find the words to express how I felt about it.
It’s been so long and I thought—you forget things here. They bleed away like a dream in the morning, and only leave trinkets behind : the smell of warm leather and aftershave, and the sound of your nails scratching your beard. I haven’t been able to remember your face in such a long time… I’ve looked at your son for so long, trying to find familiar features, but i can’t tell what’s yours and what’s his mother’s from what’s uniquely him.
But still, I remember you—of all the people I left behind, I remember you the most—perhaps because I resented you so much.

I don’t think ‘tit’ even begins to cover what you did, Rob.
I wanted to hate you for it—I wanted it so bad, and I almost succeeded, almost convinced myself I did hate you… but then you had to go and have a son and it felt like losing you all over again—though couldn’t say what hurt most : knowing you’d gone and gotten married, or learning about the kid through the gossip mill like some stort of stupid civilian? I try not to think about that too much if I’m honest. Still, like I said, it’s mostly in the past now. Being here washes most feelings away—it’s only love that resists well.

And I love you, Rob. Perhaps not in the same way I did, or in the way you’d want me to love you, but I love you—and Angel help me, I’ve forgiven you.

I’m glad you’re being supportive of your son—I’m glad he won’t have to go through the pain of losing you and everyone he loves who would follow you lead. I’m glad he won’t have to feel what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your stony face. I always knew it must feel terrible, but the actual thing—I’m glad he’s got you on his side. Knowing you, it’ll make things a hell of a lot easier for him.
Of course, I’m happy for you, too. It’s good that you’re getting to know yourself better—that’s you’re getting to a place where admitting you might have a thing for some men, even long-past things for long-dead men, is a possible thing for you. It’s healthier, I guess, and you know how much I care about your health. At least, you used to know I cared.
Do you even think I care anymore though? I don’t feel like you do. Your letter reads like you’re throwing it at a wall and Angel, Rob, I’ll never be able to do that to you. Maybe one day I’ll hate you—maybe you’ll come here and we’ll have terrible fights and spend the rest of eternity wishing we’d never known each other.
But I don’t think I’ll ever be indifferent to you.
You even manage to make me angry. I told you anger bled away here, but somehow I’m still angry because of you—or I suppose I should stay I’m still angry about you. Around you. Whichever works best. I can’t quite figure out a way to phrase this and I wish—hell, I wish for so many things, Rob.

I wish we hadn’t been so foolish.
I wish we’d never met Valentine and the Circle—none of them. I wish I’d told you how I felt sooner. I wish you’d admitted who you were sooner. I wish we were born later, or sooner—I wish we we born in more open-minded times, in a more open-minded place. I wish everything had been different and we’d had a chance… I don’t know. To see if we even wanted to be smething other than friends.
Isn’t it sad, Rob? I can’t even wish you’d liked me back, or that we’d had a life of bliss together—no, I can only wish you’d had an occasion to figure out how you truly felt about me.

I wish I could tell you all of this to yourfce. That I could be there with you to help you and your kid—to fight you when you’re being obnoxious and thank you when you’re being helpful and yes, maybe, hopefully, to kiss you, if you let me. I suppose if you read this you’d find it somewhat pathetic, that I’ve clung to who we were so much when you’ve built yourself a brand new life but… well, I don’t think you’re ever going to read this, for one. Not in your lifetime, in any case—I don’t think miracles happen twice to the same people.
And besides, I told you anger bled awayhere. Love’s the only thing that really stays, and I had too much love for you when I died for it not to keep haunting me over here. Sometimes I wonder why I had to fall for the obnoxious butt you can be but what can I say—I did pick you fair and square.

Angel, I don’t know what I’m writing anymore.
I love you. I miss you. I can’t wait to see you. Though if you do anything to make that last part happen sooner, consciously or not, I’ll punch you.
Angel, I’m glad you’re never reading this—I’m a mess. I’ve been dead for over eighteen years and a simple letter’s enough to make me feel like I’m alive and blushing all over again. You ass.

Don’t come too soon, alright?
And don’t come too sad.

Mikey.

PS: A Herondale, Rob. Really. How could you?