R listens, disappointed he doesn’t know about Julie but relieved to know at least Ellie’s out there. Of course she is.
He tilts his head as Howard fishes around in his backpack, eyes flicking up to the kid’s face and enjoying that when he sees emotion flickering across it, he doesn’t get that feeling like he’s being left behind. What is it? A weapon? Food? It’s got to be food, it’s -
A snowglobe, apparently. R’s eyes light up as his mouth parts in a pleased “o”, his hand reaching out on its own to touch the glass’s curves as he settles it in his lap. He’d lost days to these, cradling them against his chest as he leaned back in his 747 and watched the fake snow swirling, drifting to land on the figures – angels, horses, houses – and settling. It’s when he looks closer that he really gets a surprise, his eyebrows shooting up. It’s Julie and him in miniature, the camera insanely detailed, the hoodie looking almost…real. His fingers caress along the glass and the base as he smiles, not even realizing he’s doing it, his head jerking up at Howard’s voice and remembering he’s not alone.
He loves it. R clears his throat, forgetting about sounds like that carrying, and smiles. “Now I can keep up.”
Silence falls, comfortable, a little strange now that they’re both alive and breathing, and R for once can’t smell that pulse running along Howard’s scrawny neck. It used to be a little cheat to tell him how he felt: it raced, ebbed, slowed. Now he needs to rely on the normal Living senses to tell him what’s what in Howard Bassem’s world today. When he looks at Howard, he sees the cheekbones, chapped lips he keeps picking at, bright eyes that someone who wasn’t his friend would call beady.
R hugs the snowglobe in his lap, leaning forward. “Uh, so. Tips on Arena survival? Anything I can do to help out?”
It doesn’t even cross his mind that it could very well be Howard and him left. That there might be a limit to how far their friendship goes.
no subject
He tilts his head as Howard fishes around in his backpack, eyes flicking up to the kid’s face and enjoying that when he sees emotion flickering across it, he doesn’t get that feeling like he’s being left behind. What is it? A weapon? Food? It’s got to be food, it’s -
A snowglobe, apparently. R’s eyes light up as his mouth parts in a pleased “o”, his hand reaching out on its own to touch the glass’s curves as he settles it in his lap. He’d lost days to these, cradling them against his chest as he leaned back in his 747 and watched the fake snow swirling, drifting to land on the figures – angels, horses, houses – and settling. It’s when he looks closer that he really gets a surprise, his eyebrows shooting up. It’s Julie and him in miniature, the camera insanely detailed, the hoodie looking almost…real. His fingers caress along the glass and the base as he smiles, not even realizing he’s doing it, his head jerking up at Howard’s voice and remembering he’s not alone.
He loves it. R clears his throat, forgetting about sounds like that carrying, and smiles. “Now I can keep up.”
Silence falls, comfortable, a little strange now that they’re both alive and breathing, and R for once can’t smell that pulse running along Howard’s scrawny neck. It used to be a little cheat to tell him how he felt: it raced, ebbed, slowed. Now he needs to rely on the normal Living senses to tell him what’s what in Howard Bassem’s world today. When he looks at Howard, he sees the cheekbones, chapped lips he keeps picking at, bright eyes that someone who wasn’t his friend would call beady.
R hugs the snowglobe in his lap, leaning forward. “Uh, so. Tips on Arena survival? Anything I can do to help out?”
It doesn’t even cross his mind that it could very well be Howard and him left. That there might be a limit to how far their friendship goes.