"Phil sort of — caught my eye and smiled at me, from across the crowd. You know, just being friendly," Daryl recalls with a small smile of his own as he ducks his head, the memory bringing a little heat back to his face. It had been disarming (and still is), being smiled at like that by someone who wasn't working some angle or trying to get something from him. Kindness for the sake of being kind.
"Thought he kinda looked like this guy my brother knew and decided I'd chat him up." A guy who had once made an extremely awkward proposition to him in exchange for cancelling the debt his brother owed, but that part's better left out of this story. Phil's nothing like him, looks aside. "Was shitfaced, mind you. Phil gave me water, told me to sit down, fussin' like a damn mother hen. And..."
The gesture he makes isn't the typical sort of uncoordinated, rough patting one might expect from a drunk. It's more along the lines of literal petting, as though he's petting an invisible cat; an innate gentleness that has always surprised the people who judge him by his looks alone.
"...That happened. Now they wanna know whose hair I like feelin' up more, Phil's or yours," he concludes, glancing up to eye Jeremy's hair with an appraising look that's meant in jest. It actually has occurred to him before, in another context — thoughts of pulling Jeremy in and holding him against his chest during one of those particularly bad episodes, and stroking his hair to calm him. Not knowing whether Jeremy would appreciate it or be insulted has prevented him from acting on those thoughts. "They seem to assume I spend my time here pettin' you guys. In one way or another," he says before covering his face with a hand, shoulders shaking a little with suppressed, embarrassed laughter.
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"Thought he kinda looked like this guy my brother knew and decided I'd chat him up." A guy who had once made an extremely awkward proposition to him in exchange for cancelling the debt his brother owed, but that part's better left out of this story. Phil's nothing like him, looks aside. "Was shitfaced, mind you. Phil gave me water, told me to sit down, fussin' like a damn mother hen. And..."
The gesture he makes isn't the typical sort of uncoordinated, rough patting one might expect from a drunk. It's more along the lines of literal petting, as though he's petting an invisible cat; an innate gentleness that has always surprised the people who judge him by his looks alone.
"...That happened. Now they wanna know whose hair I like feelin' up more, Phil's or yours," he concludes, glancing up to eye Jeremy's hair with an appraising look that's meant in jest. It actually has occurred to him before, in another context — thoughts of pulling Jeremy in and holding him against his chest during one of those particularly bad episodes, and stroking his hair to calm him. Not knowing whether Jeremy would appreciate it or be insulted has prevented him from acting on those thoughts. "They seem to assume I spend my time here pettin' you guys. In one way or another," he says before covering his face with a hand, shoulders shaking a little with suppressed, embarrassed laughter.