"You're welcome," he chirps instantly, as if they had already been talking for a while and are just now sliding into the midst of a new topic in the conversation, "I'm not known for it."
His voice is surprisingly light, boyish, like the rest of him. His smile is bright but not warm, inviting but not entirely welcoming. There was something sharp and very temporary about it, the kind of smile that urges you not to trust the man behind it.
He shakes his head as he sits up but without much care for his posture. "I was waiting, sure, but it's all fine, really." He talked carelessly (or, at least, appeared to do so anyhow), as if he didn't think much for the words that came to him, paid little attention to their meaning or cadence or organization. And yet, Henry never came off dim-witted (distracted, at his worst) or unintelligent. If anything, he's been told he often made others feel that way instead. Which, he always found particularly funny.
"How are you, Justin? I can call you that, right? Justin? Unless you prefer something else? Just stop me if you do." He speaks all in one breath, like he might run out of it if he slows down, and adjusts again, staring the other man down, trying to read him and realizing with a great deal of glee that he really couldn't. Not yet, anyway. It's ok, it's better this way. Henry liked to work for it. (He thinks: looking at Justin Baruch was like looking into a muddy, two-way mirror. All you saw was a blurry version of what you thought you might like, giving nothing away to the reality beneath it.
Henry's only ever met one other man like this. And he had genuinely scared him. But this feels different somehow. At least, Henry sure hoped so. It's not that he didn't like danger. He actually searched for it actively. And often. Henry liked living his life in this way, every moment a roll of the dice. But, when he had been undercover and investigating Stepan Shchervaskaya in the heyday of this whole...institution, let's call it, things had gone far beyond what even Henry had been willing and able to anticipate. He knows now there's just some dark things you shouldn't touch, some things that promise to bite you and will.)
"You can sit down. Like, actually please sit down. It's awkward otherwise." He pats the comforter in front of him. "I'm sure you've got some questions for me."
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His voice is surprisingly light, boyish, like the rest of him. His smile is bright but not warm, inviting but not entirely welcoming. There was something sharp and very temporary about it, the kind of smile that urges you not to trust the man behind it.
He shakes his head as he sits up but without much care for his posture. "I was waiting, sure, but it's all fine, really." He talked carelessly (or, at least, appeared to do so anyhow), as if he didn't think much for the words that came to him, paid little attention to their meaning or cadence or organization. And yet, Henry never came off dim-witted (distracted, at his worst) or unintelligent. If anything, he's been told he often made others feel that way instead. Which, he always found particularly funny.
"How are you, Justin? I can call you that, right? Justin? Unless you prefer something else? Just stop me if you do." He speaks all in one breath, like he might run out of it if he slows down, and adjusts again, staring the other man down, trying to read him and realizing with a great deal of glee that he really couldn't. Not yet, anyway. It's ok, it's better this way. Henry liked to work for it. (He thinks: looking at Justin Baruch was like looking into a muddy, two-way mirror. All you saw was a blurry version of what you thought you might like, giving nothing away to the reality beneath it.
Henry's only ever met one other man like this. And he had genuinely scared him. But this feels different somehow. At least, Henry sure hoped so. It's not that he didn't like danger. He actually searched for it actively. And often. Henry liked living his life in this way, every moment a roll of the dice. But, when he had been undercover and investigating Stepan Shchervaskaya in the heyday of this whole...institution, let's call it, things had gone far beyond what even Henry had been willing and able to anticipate. He knows now there's just some dark things you shouldn't touch, some things that promise to bite you and will.)
"You can sit down. Like, actually please sit down. It's awkward otherwise." He pats the comforter in front of him. "I'm sure you've got some questions for me."