Work Text:
He already knows what the note says.
Not with any sort of precision, of course, doesn’t know the exact way her words are woven across the page, but he has his suspicions. It is an old note, ancient, and the weight of too much time settles with weary certainty into the marrow of his bones. She was never meant to be his memory, but he will remember her. He already knows the faces her friends will wear- her
real
friends, the ones who she followed, but he holds on to the memory of a couple bad puns shared, and smiles.