Among Mulcahy's Givingstide gifts is a tidily-wrapped box. Inside: the nicest collection of tea Gaeta could assemble from Blackwood Brews, along with a small teapot and matching cups.
An equally tidy note tucked inside the box reads:
Mulcahy,
This feels entirely too inadequate for what you've given me these past nine months. I've become very used to bearing up alone, or for any extended kindness to be punctuated by loss at best, devastation at worst. That you've kept some of my worst memories and nightmares at bay -- literally and figuratively -- has given me hope that I might do more than just survive, eventually. I haven't had hope like that in a while.
Maybe next year, we'll both be able to drink this in the daylight, and not at three in the morning after our respective rough nights.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
givingstide
Date: 2024-12-31 12:11 am (UTC)An equally tidy note tucked inside the box reads:
Mulcahy,
This feels entirely too inadequate for what you've given me these past nine months. I've become very used to bearing up alone, or for any extended kindness to be punctuated by loss at best, devastation at worst. That you've kept some of my worst memories and nightmares at bay -- literally and figuratively -- has given me hope that I might do more than just survive, eventually. I haven't had hope like that in a while.
Maybe next year, we'll both be able to drink this in the daylight, and not at three in the morning after our respective rough nights.
Happy Givingstide.
All the best,
Felix Gaeta