DenNor.
Prompt: "I would give up so much, to have another chance with you."
Magnus's hand hovers indecisively over the name he has saved in his phone, although he knows his number by heart. Questioning if it is worth putting himself through this, when it wouldn't bring him back, or change anything.
But he wants to pretend. It doesn't always feel like he is wasting his time. He swears, that it feels like Sindre really is listening, somehow, somewhere. And it felt wrong. To not try his best, to not take the chance.
He presses it. Right now, he knew that it would start ringing, going unanswered in the drawer he kept it safe in, at home. He kept it charged, so he could call. When he couldn't sleep, he would go through the photos Sindre had saved on it, smiling through the blur of tears at the ones he remembered. Most of the photos are of the three of them, together. He wonders about the lack of other pictures. Like Sindre's life had began and ended with them.
Once, he had found Eírikur with Sindre's phone. He had tried to hide it, as if he was ashamed of missing him, afraid of showing any weakness. But Magnus had stopped him. He had just held him, and let him cry until he couldn't anymore. Wishing that he could take away his pain, even as his own chest felt like it was being ripped apart with hurt. It was the only word to describe it. That everything, even just the act of making himself get up in the morning and still being alive, hurt.
He knew that Sindre wouldn't approve of it, not completely. He would tell him to stop reminiscing, move on, live.
Yet Magnus had kept everything. Sindre's clothes were gathering dust in the closet, their drawers. All he had, useless or not, was kept. Everything. His books remained on the bookshelf, although Magnus would take them out. Not to read. Just looking, and remembering.
Sindre had left it all to them, all his belongings, any money he had saved. Magnus could still remember wondering why Sindre had made a will, even as he had numbly accepted it, knowing that he would need it for Eírikur. Sindre was young. He had not expected it, any more than they had.
But then again, Sindre had known what could happen at any moment, because it had already happened to him, through his parents. He didn't know how it was possible-still didn't know how-for someone to pass in the same way their parents did. It wasn't raining. He didn't drive recklessly. He wasn't drunk, or speeding.
It had simply happened.
The cold, mechanical ringing falls silent, signaling for him to leave a message, and he begins to speak.
"Hey, Sindre. Hope you're okay. I just… Wanted to call. You couldn't be here today, so I wanted to tell you about it. So you wouldn't miss it."
He takes a shaky breath. It always began like this. Holding back the tears.
"You should be proud of Eírikur. He graduated today, with a degree in musical arts. Did what he's always loved. You know how he's always wanted to. He looked up to you, for everything."
He doesn't say how hard it was, to keep himself together, to keep him together. Answering Eírikur's calls to find him in tears, crying that he can't do it, he's not strong enough. Not without him.
"Do you remember when he was younger? He would always beg to play your violin, as awful as it sounded when he did. Just so he could be like you. Though the thing was damn near as big as he was. Don't worry. He's good at playing it now, even as good as you."
He laughs to himself at the memory, bittersweet. He would find them together, Sindre trying to teach him how to hold it correctly, Eírikur simply not understanding but wanting to, just as much. Only wanting to impress his big brother.
"I know, I know. You would be calling me an idiot, at this point. I know that you can't answer me. But I hope that you can hear me. I need you to hear me. Wherever you are."
He could imagine it, that indefinable 'after', sometimes. Or tried to, as much as someone who is still alive, still hoping, can.
He had talked about it with Sindre, before. Everyone has to decide how they feel about it, at one point in their lives. And so he did it with him.
All Sindre had said, was that everyone died. There was no point in worrying about what came after.
It was a waste of time.
But Magnus wanted more. Even if it was just so he could imagine Sindre there.
It would be soft with rain, sweet with a wind that did not sting. No more harshness. Bitterness. Pain.
It would be kind.
Rather it was true or not, it was what he chose to believe in. Life was cruel enough, and living without the hope of something waiting to take away the pain was hell. He wanted, with all his heart, for Sindre to be there. Not gone. Not dead.
Just waiting.
"I would give up so much, you know. To have another chance with you." His voice chokes, and he ignores the confused stare of a woman passing by, undoubtedly attending the graduation of her own child, or children, and he wonders if she knows what she can lose. "I would give up everything. If I could see you, even one more time…"
He breaks off, trying to keep himself together. He couldn't fall apart. Not now.
"I have to go now. He's waiting." He waves to Eírikur, once he sees him appear. His silvery hair, similar to Sindre's, stands out amongst the sea of graduation gowns. "I promised to take him somewhere nice to celebrate, like you would want us to. Try to be happy. Keep going."
Magnus uses his sleeve to wipe away any trace of tears, getting ready. To be strong. To smile. Just for him.
He doesn't say goodbye. He had said it then, and it really had been his last, final goodbye. He regrets it, more than anything he has ever done.
He says the words that he wished he had said that night, before he ends the call with a decisive click.
I love you.