HENRY
I was waiting for something extraordinary
but as the years wasted on...
but as the years wasted on...
Henry stands idly by as Oliver uses his telekinetic abilities to create a spot for them, vacantly impressed with what he sees but.. again, it's vacant. It's hard for him to show it, let alone mention it. So he simply watches, until Oliver brings over the stools for them to sit on. "Thank you..." Henry murmurs, his mouth feeling dry already. His gaze lifts towards Oliver's face as he mentions not typically using this much magic. "Why waste it...?" he asks quietly, intending to be encouraging but it falls pretty flat.
Oliver's energy and enthusiasm, his attentiveness, it's all so tangible and it makes this so much more difficult. Not that it's anyone's fault. Henry just feels guilty, wishes he could just... forget everything else and enjoy Oliver's company. Gods, what he would give for a space to just breathe.
So he tries to give into the space Oliver is providing, leaning down into the stool. Whenever you feel comfortable, Oliver tells him, and Henry fumbles a little with that. A smile cracks across his face, but it's got absolutely no heart in it, "I don't think I'm capable of feeling comfortable right now," he scoffs bitterly, though it's not directed at Oliver.
His expression softens and he tries to find words, aware of the other man's attention being completely honed in on him. Should just rip the bandaid off, there's no reason to poke around reality.
He looks down at the surface of the table, placing his hands on it. "My family... while I was gone-" there doesn't seem like a perfect place to start, however. He takes a stabilizing, deeper breath.
"During Longnight, there was... a lot that happened. The Grounds was set on fire by a Sparkbird, so it's called. Wessex believes that the monsters are gone, but..." he sighs heavily, trying his best not to get emotional but here is where he finds his gaze shaking and his fingers flexing against the wood beneath them. His lips twist into a grimace, to which he looks further away with a sharp turn of his head. "My family's gone, Oliver. There's nothing left."
It's so hard to say, especially now, where he feels so vulnerable. He tries to keep some veneer of his strength, but finds that it crumbles between his fingers like sand. A choked sound is muffled in his throat and he shakes his head, barely feeling the tears as they gather in his eyes and roll down his face.
Oliver's energy and enthusiasm, his attentiveness, it's all so tangible and it makes this so much more difficult. Not that it's anyone's fault. Henry just feels guilty, wishes he could just... forget everything else and enjoy Oliver's company. Gods, what he would give for a space to just breathe.
So he tries to give into the space Oliver is providing, leaning down into the stool. Whenever you feel comfortable, Oliver tells him, and Henry fumbles a little with that. A smile cracks across his face, but it's got absolutely no heart in it, "I don't think I'm capable of feeling comfortable right now," he scoffs bitterly, though it's not directed at Oliver.
His expression softens and he tries to find words, aware of the other man's attention being completely honed in on him. Should just rip the bandaid off, there's no reason to poke around reality.
He looks down at the surface of the table, placing his hands on it. "My family... while I was gone-" there doesn't seem like a perfect place to start, however. He takes a stabilizing, deeper breath.
"During Longnight, there was... a lot that happened. The Grounds was set on fire by a Sparkbird, so it's called. Wessex believes that the monsters are gone, but..." he sighs heavily, trying his best not to get emotional but here is where he finds his gaze shaking and his fingers flexing against the wood beneath them. His lips twist into a grimace, to which he looks further away with a sharp turn of his head. "My family's gone, Oliver. There's nothing left."
It's so hard to say, especially now, where he feels so vulnerable. He tries to keep some veneer of his strength, but finds that it crumbles between his fingers like sand. A choked sound is muffled in his throat and he shakes his head, barely feeling the tears as they gather in his eyes and roll down his face.
nothing ever did
unless I caused it
unless I caused it
