He runs a thumb carefully over the watch case. He's also surprised the watch looks as good as it does. The case had took the brunt of of the bullet, but he had no idea what had done to its insides—to the fragile clockwork pieces that kept it running. He'd always imagine it'd stop on him one day. It probably shouldn't have been running to begin with.
He's... not sure what to say. His gut reaction is to tell her she shouldn't have spent her money on something so old and obviously broken. No matter how much sentimentality it held for him, it was only a watch. He knows how much it costs each half decade just to ensure the watch still runs properly—to take it apart, clean, oil, and wind it. Scrub away any rust that had impeded the time-keeping process. But to replace the glass fix the case, smooth away the scars on the marred the outside, and then move on inward to repair the damage you couldn't see without looking deeper, the damage that was slowly killing it, was something he hadn't even tried estimating.
It's just a watch. He tries to tell himself that. It's nothing that would kill him to lose.
Just... part of him still feels like he would.
And, like almost a year ago, there's still a sense of relief to have it in his hand again.
So maybe those kinds of words aren't right.
He leans back against the bench, leaning slightly in to where the living warmth is. Goes quiet for a second or two.]
...I got it from one of the orphanage workers when I was young. [Was he seven then? Eight? It was a long time ago. Counting those days and hours are harder.] She said it was my dad's. Never found out if it was true or not, but it's not a bad lie to tell a kid, if you're gonna tell them anything about their parents.
no subject
[Taken it.
He runs a thumb carefully over the watch case. He's also surprised the watch looks as good as it does. The case had took the brunt of of the bullet, but he had no idea what had done to its insides—to the fragile clockwork pieces that kept it running. He'd always imagine it'd stop on him one day. It probably shouldn't have been running to begin with.
He's... not sure what to say. His gut reaction is to tell her she shouldn't have spent her money on something so old and obviously broken. No matter how much sentimentality it held for him, it was only a watch. He knows how much it costs each half decade just to ensure the watch still runs properly—to take it apart, clean, oil, and wind it. Scrub away any rust that had impeded the time-keeping process. But to replace the glass fix the case, smooth away the scars on the marred the outside, and then move on inward to repair the damage you couldn't see without looking deeper, the damage that was slowly killing it, was something he hadn't even tried estimating.
It's just a watch. He tries to tell himself that. It's nothing that would kill him to lose.
Just... part of him still feels like he would.
And, like almost a year ago, there's still a sense of relief to have it in his hand again.
So maybe those kinds of words aren't right.
He leans back against the bench, leaning slightly in to where the living warmth is. Goes quiet for a second or two.]
...I got it from one of the orphanage workers when I was young. [Was he seven then? Eight? It was a long time ago. Counting those days and hours are harder.] She said it was my dad's. Never found out if it was true or not, but it's not a bad lie to tell a kid, if you're gonna tell them anything about their parents.