In shadows of greater men

Jude

Thread by thread, I come apart
If brokenness is a work of art, this must be my masterpiece

Friends usually implies some level of shared interest, each party receiving something from the other, but Jude isn’t sure he has anything to offer Hadama that would make him worthy of the title. “I’m not very good at being a friend,” he admits quietly, ashamed of it but not shying away from the reality. “But I’m trying to figure out how.” Be patient with me. He wants to ask it of the man, but there’s so much he has left to request that it feels like crossing the line into asking too much.

“Of a sort,” he evades, cagey. Hadama seems the type to try and dissuade him from the reckless mission he has set before himself, and Jude can’t afford to doubt.

Which is why he does not open the letter as it is pushed across the table. He stares at the handwriting - distinctly not his father’s - that denotes his name. The vague shapes that outline something more than parchment encased within. He slowly lifts a hand from beneath the table to gently lift one corner with his fingertips. The paper trembles. It must be the wind through the pagoda. That would also explain why he feels cold.

He slips it into his own bag without opening it. Stares for a long moment at the edge of it peeking out from the shadows of its new container before returning his eyes to Hadama. “I’ll make sure it stays in my bag until I can find a safer place for whatever’s inside.” He feels oddly like a schoolboy promising to return their homework on time. Jude isn’t sure when he’ll finally start feeling like a proper, independent adult at this rate. “You said there was something else?”