[His arm is ready to take Cy in, relinquishing their hands to better circle broad shoulders, to draw the man in close against him — lips a whisper of contact against a temple where that head bows down, allowing the space of silence. The grief is an outflow shared between them. It aches to see in Cy, because it means more than he can express that Cy would grieve this for him.]
I'm grateful to be able to show this to you, even if it isn't here anymore.
[The old, cherished memory of this childhood place — before violence tore it apart — is not something he would expose easily, and perhaps Cy knows without the admittance. These parts of him are so tightly held, so fiercely guarded at the center of himself, bound up in complicated emotion, engraved like a deep latticework of scars.]
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I'm grateful to be able to show this to you, even if it isn't here anymore.
[The old, cherished memory of this childhood place — before violence tore it apart — is not something he would expose easily, and perhaps Cy knows without the admittance. These parts of him are so tightly held, so fiercely guarded at the center of himself, bound up in complicated emotion, engraved like a deep latticework of scars.]
Thank you for letting me.