The Apartment Above The Boards, Saturday Afternoon
Jono frowned as he read the letter that had arrived for him for what had to be the dozenth time, either not realizing or not caring that he was getting thick dark charcoal smudges on his hands from the assortment of drawings that the letter itself had been written on.
He remembered the boy, in that vague sort of way that one tended to remember things that seemed to be all of a lifetime ago. Would never have thought of him again, if he didn't have the reminder that he'd existed sitting right there in his hands. A kid with a sketchbook, who had seemed more than a little intrigued by the scars, the bandages, the flames. He hoped that Zach made it here in one piece along with his nephew. Even if his open curiosity had caught him so off-guard back when they had both been students here, he'd never been unpleasant about it, really. Just... fascinated in that wide-eyed way that had sometimes left Jono feeling vaguely awkward.
He frowned again, and then looked across the room at his still unopened box of keepsakes. He had a reason to open it now. These sheets of paper might be the last written words of a person who had shown him some kindness in the past, some last shred of proof that a boy and his nephew had even existed at all. And, hell, even if whatever it was that was tearing Zach's home apart didn't get to him and he managed to arrive in one piece, those drawings were damn good.
Opening the box meant catching glimpses of other memories from a lifetime ago, something that had happened to some other Jonothon, back when he lived in some other corner of his own mind. That would be his afternoon, then, gingerly going through the box separating actual sentimental value from the usual random bric-a-brac that tended to accumulate over the years, the final letters and seashells and prom crowns from the action figures and concert ticket stubs and Fantastic Four bookends.
It looked like Jono's agenda for the day was set.
[Open for visits or calls!]
He remembered the boy, in that vague sort of way that one tended to remember things that seemed to be all of a lifetime ago. Would never have thought of him again, if he didn't have the reminder that he'd existed sitting right there in his hands. A kid with a sketchbook, who had seemed more than a little intrigued by the scars, the bandages, the flames. He hoped that Zach made it here in one piece along with his nephew. Even if his open curiosity had caught him so off-guard back when they had both been students here, he'd never been unpleasant about it, really. Just... fascinated in that wide-eyed way that had sometimes left Jono feeling vaguely awkward.
He frowned again, and then looked across the room at his still unopened box of keepsakes. He had a reason to open it now. These sheets of paper might be the last written words of a person who had shown him some kindness in the past, some last shred of proof that a boy and his nephew had even existed at all. And, hell, even if whatever it was that was tearing Zach's home apart didn't get to him and he managed to arrive in one piece, those drawings were damn good.
Opening the box meant catching glimpses of other memories from a lifetime ago, something that had happened to some other Jonothon, back when he lived in some other corner of his own mind. That would be his afternoon, then, gingerly going through the box separating actual sentimental value from the usual random bric-a-brac that tended to accumulate over the years, the final letters and seashells and prom crowns from the action figures and concert ticket stubs and Fantastic Four bookends.
It looked like Jono's agenda for the day was set.
[Open for visits or calls!]