For another long moment she says nothing, fiddling with a tugged thread on her sweater and staring at it like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Of course she remembers. The thing that ties her tongue is the complicated nature of having this conversation with Miguel.
But the anniversary wasn't all that long ago, by this world's calendar. And she learned quickly that talking about Peter with any other Peter was far too uncomfortable, so who else is there? None of her friends are here.
There's a sliver in there somewhere that cares. She might've been in prison, if there wasn't.
God, she hopes she won't regret this.
"Um." God get it together, Stacy. She clears her throat and stands a little straighter against the door frame, but otherwise doesn't move. "He always loved his photography. He took photos of everything. I was going to get him some more uh, retro-y equipment to match my retro audio collection, eventually, but— yeah."
She never did get chance to finish saving up for his birthday, before everything went wrong.
"And he liked these... fiddly, super detailed build kits. Figurines, or little— science projects. And uh—" she almost laughs, shakes her head, "May's wheatcakes."
Not unlike most other Peters, overall; an inherent strangeness that's unavoidable, with so many versions of the same man out in the multiverse. It's never not going to be weird. It's never not going to haunt her to have been surrounded by versions of her best friend that were all older than he ever got to be.
"He actually had this— fondness for lizards, which is just..." her voice cracks in a way that sounds torn between a grim laugh and crying, but neither happen. She just breathes. "...he. Was a nerd. And he was the best."
no subject
For another long moment she says nothing, fiddling with a tugged thread on her sweater and staring at it like it's the most interesting thing in the world. Of course she remembers. The thing that ties her tongue is the complicated nature of having this conversation with Miguel.
But the anniversary wasn't all that long ago, by this world's calendar. And she learned quickly that talking about Peter with any other Peter was far too uncomfortable, so who else is there? None of her friends are here.
There's a sliver in there somewhere that cares. She might've been in prison, if there wasn't.
God, she hopes she won't regret this.
"Um." God get it together, Stacy. She clears her throat and stands a little straighter against the door frame, but otherwise doesn't move. "He always loved his photography. He took photos of everything. I was going to get him some more uh, retro-y equipment to match my retro audio collection, eventually, but— yeah."
She never did get chance to finish saving up for his birthday, before everything went wrong.
"And he liked these... fiddly, super detailed build kits. Figurines, or little— science projects. And uh—" she almost laughs, shakes her head, "May's wheatcakes."
Not unlike most other Peters, overall; an inherent strangeness that's unavoidable, with so many versions of the same man out in the multiverse. It's never not going to be weird. It's never not going to haunt her to have been surrounded by versions of her best friend that were all older than he ever got to be.
"He actually had this— fondness for lizards, which is just..." her voice cracks in a way that sounds torn between a grim laugh and crying, but neither happen. She just breathes. "...he. Was a nerd. And he was the best."