Young Hemingway couldn't help but smile a little at that description. He thought of his siblings, and how he had always been the 'papa' figure to them. He hoped they might describe him similarly. It was important to him - it was probably what was most important to him, deep down, under all the ego and arrogance. It was just to be that caregiver. And someone who made him smile in return? He glanced back to the couple, and frowned a little. His older self seemed totally at ease with his partner, moving easily between humour and something more serious. They were talking about him. He suddenly felt like he was in the way, an inconvenience.
"Yeah? Yeah- at least in the meantime. Who knows how long he'll be here, but we can help to get him back on his feet. Quite literally," he said with a bit of a smirk. "Thank you," he added softly.
"Yeah, good. All right. I'll... speak to him, then go and get what we need once you're all settled and distracted with food," he smiled. "Oh, it really is. So fucking weird. I'll have to think of him like a little brother or something, just so my head doesn't burst," he chuckled.