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[lostandfinder]

Ficthings, because making an entire new entry when writing like... a paragraph seems very wasteful. (Yes, okay, I will probably rethink this entry text. Not right now.)

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[lostandfinder]

He doesn't have anything from the start — nothing tangible, anyway. It's a well-worn memory, but one he keeps to himself. Who wants to hear about a sleepless night that led to skinned palms and reluctant friendship? Even if there were someone to tell, he's pretty sure he wouldn't. It's his in a way that things can't be, not entirely, even if it's faded at the edges and patched over with fiction and nostalgia.

Even if he doesn't have a particular keepsake, that night is still tied to things. The memory of things. There's the necklace and the jeans with their split knees. The bag he hadn't managed to hold onto. But even in his mind, none of these is the right anchor, and he's not sure he could imagine one if he tried. Probably the closest he'll ever come is Sefton himself, and just imagining prickly's reaction to that comment is enough to set him grinning. That still isn't right, though, because Sefton's a reminder of more than just that meeting, and it's important enough that it needs a more prominent position. So maybe Chivy is the memory's resting place, which is just fine with him. It can stay with his other favorite moments, the ones too far back to have physical counterparts, safe from everyone else's clumsiness and misunderstanding.