as the world comes to an end
i'll be there to hold your hand
i'll be there to hold your hand
Thirty-five to forty? Oof, if that isn't a blow to your ego. You inhale sharply, clutching your hand over your heart in a playful gesture. With great fake-indignity and a wounded affect you huff back to him, "You're killin' me, Red." And yet it's not far off (son of a bitch, when did you get to be so old?), so you don't really have room to protest. You rub a thoughtful hand over your stubble, painfully aware of the salt-and-pepper scruff. "I haven't always been this ancient, y'know. Used to be young an' handsome, once upon a time."
You're feeling pretty bad at this point, not only because now El and Ray are at the front of your mind (thanks, brain) but because you were telling a nice young man an enjoyable story and now you've fucked it up. From the corner of you eye you see him flash a shadowy caricature of that winning smile, the same strained look people always give you when you get like this. It's better than pity but not by much, and it's usually followed by them peacing out.
But somehow, for whatever reason, Sam doesn't peace. Instead he sits there like the goddamn pleasant and polite child he is, trying to keep the conversation going despite you being a grumpy old man. You see the way he moves his thumbs, hear the effort in his voice. "Got a little place not far from the water," you answer simply, desperately trying not to think about how empty your home is now that you live there alone. "What's, ah, what's it like, back where you're from? I ain't been outta Torchline yet - must be a lot different, yer Hollow Ground. Is ev'ryone as young an' handsome as you?" It's a weak attempt at friendly flirting, but it's the best you can do for now.
You're feeling pretty bad at this point, not only because now El and Ray are at the front of your mind (thanks, brain) but because you were telling a nice young man an enjoyable story and now you've fucked it up. From the corner of you eye you see him flash a shadowy caricature of that winning smile, the same strained look people always give you when you get like this. It's better than pity but not by much, and it's usually followed by them peacing out.
But somehow, for whatever reason, Sam doesn't peace. Instead he sits there like the goddamn pleasant and polite child he is, trying to keep the conversation going despite you being a grumpy old man. You see the way he moves his thumbs, hear the effort in his voice. "Got a little place not far from the water," you answer simply, desperately trying not to think about how empty your home is now that you live there alone. "What's, ah, what's it like, back where you're from? I ain't been outta Torchline yet - must be a lot different, yer Hollow Ground. Is ev'ryone as young an' handsome as you?" It's a weak attempt at friendly flirting, but it's the best you can do for now.
you're a king and i'm a lionheart
ZEPH
