( it's okay, noah. henry has never been so well-known for his empathy, has never shown that he's capable of as much – but there it is, in the flicker of his expression, there and gone again as quickly as it had come. what remains in its place is something a bit more somber, something determined to not let itself fall again. he'd given the other boy something he'd desperately needed, and in doing so had torn open something that had long since been sealed shut, and somehow been left to leak itself dry in the interim.
the memories are gone, just as the one they'd belonged to is convinced that he's little more than a shadow of what he had been when he was alive – and there's nothing fair about it, nothing that fits into the category of such a thing, and where there had been a brief glimmer of sadness before, there lingers the edge of anger. at the unfairness of it all, even though he's only just met this boy.
( because no one deserves this, to forget the things that had once meant the world to them, to have their own life taken away from them and tossed into the trash, like it had meant nothing in the first place. every life is precious, no matter how damaged, how battered and torn and broken. )
if all noah wants is to be cared about, he has it. by the ones he'd spent far more time with than himself, but there's still a thread of something growing within him, weaving itself into something more tangible.
the question brings him back to himself – though he hadn't realized that he'd briefly been somewhere else, himself – and a surprised sort of thing shifts in the line of his mouth, the draw of his brows. somehow, he hadn't expected noah to want to hear about it. and why not? it had been his idea, in the first place. why wouldn't he want to hear about it, seven years after it had first been put into production? )
I've always got the time, whether I have to make it myself or take it from somewhere else. ( that familiar smile is back again, the definition of henry cheng, and he reaches to clap a hand on noah's shoulder. ) Do you remember what your kids' ravens looked like when they first made them? How ugly were they? ( he teases, the edges of his eyes crinkling with mirth. ) Sad to say, they haven't really gotten much better – but the boys, oh how they try.
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the memories are gone, just as the one they'd belonged to is convinced that he's little more than a shadow of what he had been when he was alive – and there's nothing fair about it, nothing that fits into the category of such a thing, and where there had been a brief glimmer of sadness before, there lingers the edge of anger. at the unfairness of it all, even though he's only just met this boy.
( because no one deserves this, to forget the things that had once meant the world to them, to have their own life taken away from them and tossed into the trash, like it had meant nothing in the first place. every life is precious, no matter how damaged, how battered and torn and broken. )
if all noah wants is to be cared about, he has it. by the ones he'd spent far more time with than himself, but there's still a thread of something growing within him, weaving itself into something more tangible.
the question brings him back to himself – though he hadn't realized that he'd briefly been somewhere else, himself – and a surprised sort of thing shifts in the line of his mouth, the draw of his brows. somehow, he hadn't expected noah to want to hear about it. and why not? it had been his idea, in the first place. why wouldn't he want to hear about it, seven years after it had first been put into production? )
I've always got the time, whether I have to make it myself or take it from somewhere else. ( that familiar smile is back again, the definition of henry cheng, and he reaches to clap a hand on noah's shoulder. ) Do you remember what your kids' ravens looked like when they first made them? How ugly were they? ( he teases, the edges of his eyes crinkling with mirth. ) Sad to say, they haven't really gotten much better – but the boys, oh how they try.