Whether Andrew meant it to or not, the thought about school uniforms comes across, and Edward chuckles again. He sends back a very old memory, tattered around its edges and faded, the black and white of the photograph blurry but still recognisable: a framed photo on a piano, of a very young Edward, chubby-cheeked and small, wearing a school uniform and standing on a grand, wrap-around porch. Beside it, there's another framed photo, of a much older but still younger than he is now Edward, his face unscarred and his eyes clear, wearing the long dark robes that Oxford undergraduates wear. Yes, he's familiar with student uniforms.
At the very edge of the memory, glimpsed more than lingered upon, is a third photo, this one of Edward in his military uniform. There isn't time to get a good look at that one before the memory ends, as though it's less important than the other two.
Edward makes a quiet, affirmative sound against Andrew's neck, just under his ear. "People haven't always been kind to me. I want to be better than they were."
Fighting in a war is probably the epitome of unkindness, but it wasn't confined only to that. Little glimpses filter in and out, there and then gone like fish swinging through a stream, none landing long enough to show a concrete visual, but the emotional resonance seeps through. Loneliness, isolation, a feeling of being different, of being other. Then, around the edges and gradually growing until it blots out the dark, negative emotions: brightness, a sense of connection, of family, of love, of belonging. And glimmering at the edges, the sparkles that are unique to Andrew's vibrations alone.
Edward doesn't bother to put it into words. He just snuggles a little closer to Andrew, his breath soft against the side of Andrew's neck, and lets the soft sense of peace wash over him.
He one hundred percent hadn't meant for his thoughts on uniforms to come across, so he promptly blushed. But also, getting to see a young Edward, and then older-but-still-younger-than-now, was worth being flustered. He caught the glimpse of his military uniform too, but he wasn't sure if he should say anything about that one. He knew the war had cost Edward his eyesight, and a whole lot more than that, too. If anything would be a 'difficult conversation', it would be that topic.
He'd been a cute kid though. In comparison, Andrew had been all skinny, gangly limbs and freckles, crooked teeth his family hadn't been able to afford until he was in his teens. He still had freckles, and he was still on the skinny-limb side of things, but he'd filled out well enough.
A little shiver raced down the back of his neck, skin warm and tingling from the warmth of Edward's breath. "I know the feeling," he said softly. "And I'm sorry you do, too." He understood, too, wanting to be better than the people who'd treated him poorly. Andrew wanted that, too. And he wanted to be better than he'd been in the past, personally, to other people. He didn't want to follow the footprints of past mistakes, the potential of so many cruelties he probably hadn't even realized. He wanted to be better.
And...he understood the need for patience, too. Needing a moment to breathe and think, to process and ease into things. He'd be a hypocrite if he couldn't manage the same patience and kindness that he needed, that Edward had shown him. Seeing everything in the vibrations, the colors, the emotions, the fondness, the connection--it was almost as soothing as Edward himself, snuggled up against him. They still made the same warm joy curl in Andrew's chest, and he breathed, easy and content and relaxed, and closed his eyes.
Andrew has freckles? Edward doesn't know this, and would be immensely charmed if he did! He needs to be kept abreast of these things, Andrew! Freckles don't show up in the vibrations.
Edward makes a quiet hum of agreement, but he's starting to slip away too. All the activity has worn him out, and he feels warm, safe, and perfectly at peace for the first time in a long time. He reaches out with one hand to find one of Andrew's, and twine their fingers together. Then he rests their clasped hands on Andrew's chest, where they rise and fall with Andrew's breathing, and snuggles a little closer.
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At the very edge of the memory, glimpsed more than lingered upon, is a third photo, this one of Edward in his military uniform. There isn't time to get a good look at that one before the memory ends, as though it's less important than the other two.
Edward makes a quiet, affirmative sound against Andrew's neck, just under his ear. "People haven't always been kind to me. I want to be better than they were."
Fighting in a war is probably the epitome of unkindness, but it wasn't confined only to that. Little glimpses filter in and out, there and then gone like fish swinging through a stream, none landing long enough to show a concrete visual, but the emotional resonance seeps through. Loneliness, isolation, a feeling of being different, of being other. Then, around the edges and gradually growing until it blots out the dark, negative emotions: brightness, a sense of connection, of family, of love, of belonging. And glimmering at the edges, the sparkles that are unique to Andrew's vibrations alone.
Edward doesn't bother to put it into words. He just snuggles a little closer to Andrew, his breath soft against the side of Andrew's neck, and lets the soft sense of peace wash over him.
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He'd been a cute kid though. In comparison, Andrew had been all skinny, gangly limbs and freckles, crooked teeth his family hadn't been able to afford until he was in his teens. He still had freckles, and he was still on the skinny-limb side of things, but he'd filled out well enough.
A little shiver raced down the back of his neck, skin warm and tingling from the warmth of Edward's breath. "I know the feeling," he said softly. "And I'm sorry you do, too." He understood, too, wanting to be better than the people who'd treated him poorly. Andrew wanted that, too. And he wanted to be better than he'd been in the past, personally, to other people. He didn't want to follow the footprints of past mistakes, the potential of so many cruelties he probably hadn't even realized. He wanted to be better.
And...he understood the need for patience, too. Needing a moment to breathe and think, to process and ease into things. He'd be a hypocrite if he couldn't manage the same patience and kindness that he needed, that Edward had shown him. Seeing everything in the vibrations, the colors, the emotions, the fondness, the connection--it was almost as soothing as Edward himself, snuggled up against him. They still made the same warm joy curl in Andrew's chest, and he breathed, easy and content and relaxed, and closed his eyes.
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Edward makes a quiet hum of agreement, but he's starting to slip away too. All the activity has worn him out, and he feels warm, safe, and perfectly at peace for the first time in a long time. He reaches out with one hand to find one of Andrew's, and twine their fingers together. Then he rests their clasped hands on Andrew's chest, where they rise and fall with Andrew's breathing, and snuggles a little closer.
And then he'll drift off to sleep.