[And there he is, the bearer of this memory. Even as the heat of the argument goes through its paces, without Henry’s attention ever truly straying from it, his look fixates on this younger version of Alec. Bloodied and grimy and with a busted lip, bruising marring his complexion. He looks like the sort of young man that gets into fights, yes, that much is obvious, but Henry would bet that he’s also the one starting them. He need only look at those eyes, see the anger boiling there, to know it.
What’s special about today, he wonders? The argument on the phone, it must have been a turning point, a breaking point. Alec’s recollection of it is so clear, and the atmosphere’s like an ill omen. Something tugs at the back of his neck, urging him to go downstairs into the garage once his father storms away. But he ignores it for as long as he can, taking in this younger man’s demeanor for a moment longer.
(So much resentment. He could not be any different Henry at this age, but he knows that feeling well.)
Well. Finally, he turns away. Back through the kitchen and down the stairs he’ll go.]
no subject
What’s special about today, he wonders? The argument on the phone, it must have been a turning point, a breaking point. Alec’s recollection of it is so clear, and the atmosphere’s like an ill omen. Something tugs at the back of his neck, urging him to go downstairs into the garage once his father storms away. But he ignores it for as long as he can, taking in this younger man’s demeanor for a moment longer.
(So much resentment. He could not be any different Henry at this age, but he knows that feeling well.)
Well. Finally, he turns away. Back through the kitchen and down the stairs he’ll go.]