His hand shook, the stick of graphite extracted from a broken pencil hovered warily over the back of the grubby 'missing tabby cat' leaflet he had found on the street earlier that day. It didn't seem appropriate to be writing such a shattering letter on such informal supplies, but you had to take what you could get. Besides, it's not like she would care. In normal circumstances, it would not matter to her in the slightest, and now.. He shuddered, not allowing his mind to wander, not allowing himself to succumb to the terror rising inside of him like a wave on the verge of breaking. If he did, he feared he would never get himself back under control, not enough to carry on as he knew he had to if he wanted hope. That was the one thing that could get them through this. It was funny, he had always marvelled at the tattoo she had chosen, strategically scrawled over the lilac-blue veins visible at her wrist. Just one word in her hand writing, in a deep red so dark that if it weren't for him knowing her far too well it would've remained black in his mind, as it did to everyone else's. He knew what it was to her, the meaning it held, but before now he had failed to feel the full power of that one little thing. Now it pressed down on him, warming the heart that had been hardened over the past few days (how little time had passed..), and kept his brain alert and over thinking, which, although awkward and rather dementing at times, was better than the alternative of having a brain so confused that he could think little at all, as was the case with a lot of the people he had become acquainted with. And certainly better than the other alternative to that which was, quite simply, just death.
Generally, he prided himself on his logical mind which focused on practically rather than emotion. Today, however, he had to allow himself to tune into the more intuitive part of himself that told him, however ridiculous it was to concieve, that she was alive. He knew he would know if she wasn't. A part of him would not be there anymore, he would feel empty and alone and might give up, as many who's loved ones had perished had done. There was a reason that he felt the need to carry on, there was a living, breathing person who would recieve the letter he had just about finished, he knew there would be a response, that there was a person out there with whom he could possibly build a life with based on the shattered remnants of the old one, if only he could find her.
Alexavier finished his letter, pondering over how to sign his name. He had written to her before, of course. Letter writing felt far more personal and realistic than text messages, and when he travelled he did not often have service anyway. Now he had no choice in the matter. His pencil once again hovered over the paper, and he cursed the extravagent name his fairy-tale mother had given him, imagining that one day her precious son would fit the description of the knight in shining armour that her husband had never moulded too. How dissapointed she would be now as her powerless and pessimistic 'little prince' attempted to regain control over a situation that had literally blown up in front of him. Not that her opinion held any value anymore, it was impossible for her to have one. He shoved his dark and unclean hair out of his eyes with one hand and scrawled 'Alex' with the other. Kisses and pleasantries seemed ludicrous, so he skipped over that part. He put the piece of paper into a battered envolope along with a handful of stamps so she could reply. He was about to lick it shut, enclosing everything inside, but he hesitated and took the letter out again.
'Dear Finn
I know this will find you alive, somehow. It will sound ridiculous, and I can imagine you scoffing at the ideas that I am giving to you, but you must do as I tell you. I apologise for writing such forceful words, but I have no choice, these are orders that you simply must follow. I need you too.
Go to the harbour. Get on a boat. I cannot come to you, we are not permitted to travel as of yet, but I'm aware that where you are is richer than where I am, I know you have the resources to go abroad, even if there are muddled. Take as much food with you as you can find, and Bobbi, if possible, she makes for good protection, and you will want company. The world has changed, and excuse my ill-disguised romance, but we can remain and we can build upon it. Everything will be okay eventually. Read you wrist, beautiful girl. Just keep writing to me, and please, please find me.
Alex.'
That was it then. Now all he had to do was go down to the docks, send it and wait for her to come. He rolled his eyes, if only it were that easy.
