The listening meant a lot. John had never really had anyone who'd listened. Correction: John had never let himself have anyone who'd listened. Bobby did, once; hell, half the damn school listened, which just made him angrier at the time, all the compassion and consideration and fluffy white-hat angelic bullshit but no goddamn action. But listening took time, and patience, and care: things he'd never appreciated between the surly ages of 14 to 18.
"You make my day better," John assured him, reaching out to squeeze his arm just below the elbow, the contact instinctual, the reassurance he got from it, completely unconscious. "I was going okay, before, even with the world falling out from under me. But you stop me from just being a grumpy, disdainful son of a bitch, and I need that, so thank you. The name that helps is 'Bobby Drake', that's all. You are better for me that you know." That was a soft smile at that, because John thought deep down Bobby had his own issues, and damn if the guy didn't really understand how good this was for John; as if how good they were was all because of John, and not really because of him.
"Now scram and let the master work his magic in the kitchen, okay?" Because there was nothing that eased John's temper more than doing the damn cooking. "I'm sure you have spreadsheets to do. You can demonstrate what a double entry is to me later." And yeah, he wasn't talking about accounting there, from the glint in his eyes.
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"You make my day better," John assured him, reaching out to squeeze his arm just below the elbow, the contact instinctual, the reassurance he got from it, completely unconscious. "I was going okay, before, even with the world falling out from under me. But you stop me from just being a grumpy, disdainful son of a bitch, and I need that, so thank you. The name that helps is 'Bobby Drake', that's all. You are better for me that you know." That was a soft smile at that, because John thought deep down Bobby had his own issues, and damn if the guy didn't really understand how good this was for John; as if how good they were was all because of John, and not really because of him.
"Now scram and let the master work his magic in the kitchen, okay?" Because there was nothing that eased John's temper more than doing the damn cooking. "I'm sure you have spreadsheets to do. You can demonstrate what a double entry is to me later." And yeah, he wasn't talking about accounting there, from the glint in his eyes.