Chapter Text
There is nothing simple about life. A string of choices, of moments, that stretches out into eternity.
There is nothing simple about wishing, either, the wants and desires that can’t be controlled. Contentment is an illusion. In the complexity of life, when one choice can change everything, it is impossible to find something to be content with.
And in the Foxfire halls, there are two people who know this all too well.
I want to be him, Dex thinks, gaze locked on Fitz like it tends to.
Fitz is a Vacker, always in the spotlight. He can’t do anything wrong, it seems, can’t stop receiving adulation and praise everywhere he turns. He is everything society wants him to be, wants anyone to be. The girl, the one who matters most, gravitates to him like a moth to a flame. Fitz was born with hands full of perfection and a world full of expectations. He lived up to every single one.
I want to be him.
I want to be him, Fitz thinks, gaze locked on Dex like it tends to.
Dex is a Dizznee, shoved in the shadows. Nobody watches him every move, expects him to get it all right, every single moment. No one waits, waits for him to trip up, fall, expose bare, vulnerable skin. People don’t hiss with jealousy or heave with praise. He can rest, find freedom in the lack of pressure. The girl, the one with brown eyes like nothing elves have ever seen, talks to him without blushing, stuttering, crushing. Dex was born nothing in the eyes of the world and he made something of it.
I want to be him.
Most of the time, wishes are just wishes. Wishes are just dreaming desperation, the pieces of us scraping against each other and turning up something raw. We want more, we need more, more will never be enough.
Wishes are just disappointments waiting to happen.
But then, sometimes something aligns. We don’t know what happens, really, only that every once in a while something hears us crying out. Something thinks we’re worthwhile.
And wishes come true.