Luke Henry is cursed to live for (aneternity) wrote in rooms,
Re: Log, South Bronx bar: Luke H & Cris M
Sometimes Luke forgot that he wasn't always as hard to read as he liked to think. Most of the time he was a closed book, polite enough, friendly enough, but it was all surface stuff—he was a little more relaxed around Cris, though. He'd help if he could, offer advice, and if not, well, at least he could be a good drinking partner and someone to talk to at the very least. "Yeah, I am," he admitted. "Seeing the worst in myself, I'm really good at that. The opposite? Not so much." He pulled a face. He'd come to terms with it now, sort of, and having Wren helped a lot. She'd always, always defend him, always insist that he was good, better, and that was a constant in his life. One of the few. "I'm really, really lucky to have her. You ask her, she'd say the same about me." He smiled. "We see the good in each other. I think that's enough."
Cris was right—the world was full of negativity. He nodded in agreement, and he drank his beer as he listened to the other man talk about his not-girlfriend. Sam. "Okay, so no labels. But you care about her though, right? You love her?" Maybe it was too simple, but he thought that counted for a lot. "It's hard, when someone can't see the good in themselves. And you try, and you try, but it feels like you just keep failing. It's hard not to take it personally." He spoke from experience, those days back in Seattle when Wren had been full of doubts, and he'd blamed himself for every single one.
"I don't know if differences matter." He shrugged. "On paper, my wife and I don't have a whole lot in common. But we understand each other, so, us not having the same interests isn't a huge deal. Do you think you and Sam are too different?"