Well this is my first fanfiction on this account, so I hope you enjoy! I know this is a very unpopular ship, and I onlyship the two if Wendy is older. So, as is, this story is merely friendship based.
If you enjoy, please leave a review!
Are they angels?
Or more importantly, is she an angel?
He remembers, rather vaguely, that time seven years ago, that time they first met. He had strained his neck, tilting his head to the sky. Shimmering and soft, flakes of snow floated down like petals in the wind. And he, lustful for knowledge, drank it all in. Quite literally.
I want to know, I want to know.
And he, somehow, coerced her into going with him.
And he's thought about that decision for a long time, mulled over everything that had gone on in his mind up until the moment he had asked her that day. He doesn't know whether to cherish that decision, or regret it.
Had he never asked her, she would have been able to grow into the nineteen-year-old she should have been by now. But he wouldn't have cared, because he wouldn't have known her; he wouldn't have learned to care for her.
But as it is, having asked her, he stole seven precious years of her life: seven years in which the world continued to revolve without her presence. She had had to come back to a world entirely changed, to people she couldn't have been guaranteed to recognize or really know anymore. And knowing this, should he be grateful to have made the decision of taking her with him, of robbing her of that time, merely in exchange for her getting to know him?
Yet he shudders, too, to think of how she would have fared in those seven years had she stayed behind. Because for him, those seven years meant both blind hope and the bitterness of hopelessness scratching at his throat; they meant forced laughter behind invisible tears, before finally turning to endless escapism through means of alcohol; they meant thinking that she would suddenly appear one day, releasing him from the nightmare, before realizing for the sixty-seventh time that day that the nightmare was nothing more than reality.
He can't help but think that she wouldn't have survived, like he somehow managed to, through seven years of endless searching and perpetual guilt.
Maybe she could have, though.
Because she's strong now. Possibly even stronger than him, he'll admit. After all, she destroyed F.A.C.E. at the expense of her own life. And he can still vividly remember the exact moment she cut her hair, the moment she resolved not to cry anymore, as strands of her hair fluttered off into the setting sun.
At the time, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She was a flower, once a timid seedling, now blooming in adversity: against the wilting sun, the harsh rain. And he was utterly mesmerized, from the moment he met her all the way up until now.
I want to know, I want to know.
He wants to know what kind of flower she'll become. He wants to see her grow in the next seven years, just as she should have long ago. He wants to see her glow and radiate joy, because her smile had been the only thing he had sought for in that time now so long ago.
Is she an angel?
Maybe not.
But to him?
Definitely.
