gcldveined.

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a deep breath lifted jack’s chest before huffing heavily out, the boy swallowing thickly as he contemplated his reply. after keeping secrets for so long, giving answers of any sort about his life seemed like…almost a betrayal. he had left jackson oliveira behind him a long time ago – and he wasn’t that kid any longer. bringing him up…

                         ❛ ah…no. no, she passed away a couple years back. died in her sleep. ❜ he brushed a hand over his face to cover the moment of emotion in his gaze, shrugging it off carelessly afterwards. admitting this meant admitting he kept tabs on his family still. ❛ anyway. they all probably think i’m dead.

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“ ‘m sorry to hear that. ”  he regrets asking almost immediately after receiving the answer — not because she’s dead, but because now he knows who jack is. it feels like theft, and even though dylan has buried the folder deep, deep away, he can’t forget enough to make up for it. the need to compensate  ( as well as give jack advice he wishes he would have listened to himself when it was given to him )  pushes through before dylan can do a thing to stop it:  “ jack, i’m about to tell you something you’re not gonna want to hear, but i need you to listen. ”

dylan can feel himself de-age, a hollow echo of a sorrow coming from a place he’d long forgotten to remind him of the grief and utter sense of being lost he’d felt at sixteen.   “ you need to see your mother. CALL HER, at the very least. ”   a locked-away memory trashes against his insides as dylan tries to avoid the words  ‘ while you still can ’. the personal charge is more than audible in his word.   “ we all’ve got limited time. if she dies before you talk to her, that’s all you’re gonna think about, trust me — and she deserves answers. ”  you know i’m right.

🎼