Mask or Menace ☂ IC Phone Post

[numberthree]

INBOX Voice | Text | Call | Video | Surprise Me A flat computer automated voice comes on and states in monotone: "This is the voicemail box for Allison Hargreeves. Leave a message at the beep."

Luther

Diego

Klaus

Five

Ben

Vanya

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[obediences]

His chest aches, but it's a familiar feeling by now: just the usual radiating warmth and flutter of pleasant butterflies lodged somewhere in his belly thanks to Allison, everything Allison. Offering so much in just six words. He's here, with her, after a detour of so many years which had their paths diverging from each other. Here, in this universe, where almost everyone else bar Five has left them. Here, tonight, on this blanket.

"Same goes for you," Luther says quietly, offering her a smile that he's not even sure she can see in the dark. And he cranes his head again, turns back to looking at the meteor shower above. (And he realises, a moment too late, that he did technically just voice a wish under that streaking light himself.)

For a moment, it feels like all those countless times they'd snuck away upstairs and jammed themselves into that attic window together, shoulder-to-shoulder and balanced in that frame, looking out. It's different, of course: they're older now, arguably wiser, he's much bigger, and they're maintaining a casual couple feet of distance between them on opposite sides of the picnic blanket.

But it's him and it's her and it's them, still a united front on this awful day, and that's what matters.