holyposition | IC Inbox

Yeah. I know.

[ That all the struggle means nothing if he succumbs to it. Despite all that's wrong today, Tim has hope that things will be better. That they'll turn out okay, when it's all said and done. He has to. ]

We don't have anything if we don't have hope. I know that. But...boy, are some days just harder than others.

Yes. They are.

[Goodsir smiles sadly. There's no denying the fact, and nothing to be done for it. Some days it's manageable. Other days, it is difficult to get out of bed.

He sits for a moment, silent, before he stands and moves to the small desk set against one wall. He picks up one of the books from its surface and returns, opening it to a page he's marked with a scrap of paper as he moves to Tim's side. He leans down so he can show Tim the open page, where there is a full colour photograph of seemingly endless rock and sky.]

This is King William Island - it is an island, as it turns out - I believe in the spring.

I thought, ah. I should like to show you, you see. The sky. How beautiful it is. It-- one moment.

[A flip of the page, another photograph above a page of text. The Northern lights. Goodsir touches the paper lightly, and his voice grows softer still.]

I've seen this. It's magnificent.

[It is plain that Goodsir is trying to make Tim feel better by sharing something he finds beautiful. It's awkward, but earnest, like a child offering a toy to someone who's skinned their knee.]

Photography has certainly improved. None of the photographs I ever took were remotely so fine.

[ He's comfortable sitting in silence here. That in itself is a rare thing, when he's so prone to yapping on in order to fill the quiet places in between conversations and revelations, as if the noise will make either party feel less vulnerable. But he doesn't need to. Harry Goodsir is a man with a gentle, soothing presence, one that Tim is starting to realize he's become drawn to.

Of course he would be. Goodsir is openness and trust, even in the worst of things, and the manor around them is secrets and paranoia. It's the same comfort that comes from confession. Something honest and cleansing.

Tim watches him, hand over his face to hide the blush his mind's so cruelly prompted, and still he startles when he stands - but he scoots over, cozying up to his side to look at the book. ]

You have? [ Of course he has. Years in the Arctic. ] I've never been north of New York. I'd like to see it, though. It's beautiful.

[ Yes, it's plain what he's doing. But it's sweet. A nice distraction. ]

Photography is so advanced they can put it in our phones. Oh, look. [ Tim pulls his from his back pocket, and scrolls through his gallery until he finds this one. ] It can even be adjusted to get clear pictures of the tiniest little things.

[A veteran yapper himself, Goodsir could relate to the urge. But so often the desire to make something less uncomfortable backfires, and so often noise ruins the small moments of connection that only occur in silence. He's learned that.

Tim can be trusted with such moments, he thinks.]

Oh, I do think you'd love it. It's stunning in pictures, but to see it in person is miraculous.

[Now it's Goodsir's turn to look. As he does his face breaks open in a delighted smile once more.]

Oh, how marvelous!

[The most endearing thing (or the most cringe-inducing, depending on your perspective) about Harry Goodsir is that his enthusiasm is entirely unfeigned. Every technological advancement is marvelous, every social one capital, every new art or entertainment positively fascinating. Tim's photo of a ladybird captures his entire attention.]

You can see everything! How terribly clever to create such lenses...

They sometimes overwinter in walls, you know. The, ah. Beetles. Not the the lenses.

[ Tim has no space to call it cringeworthy, seeing as he was much the same, when he arrived. Home video, the internet, texting, an end to segregation, a world where he can openly look at a man with affection. There’s so much to take in and it’s all at once. Goodsir has about three times the catchup to do as Tim did, of course everything’s marvelous.

Endearing. Firmly decided. ]

Found this one out by the lake. I don’t go out there much anymore, but maybe now that it’s spring, it’ll be nice. I could...show you around.

Oh, yes, I'd like that very much.

[It's only after he says it and looks up that he realises he is awfully close to Tim. Close enough that if Tim were a lady people might raise an eyebrow.

Well, what the hell, he's been closer to men than this. ...on a ship with no room.

Harry straightens and moves to put his book back, warm in the face.]

Whenever is convenient for you, of course.

Now. I've taken up quite enough of your time. You've no doubt got other plans this evening beyond listening to me go on and on.

[He looks over to Tim, now a safe distance away, and smiles.]

And I will go on and on, Tim. Even if I am admittedly quite tired.

But I will of course see you at breakfast tomorrow.

Well, how about tomorrow? If the weather’s good.

[ Ever so slightly overeager, as he does not have other plans and would be quite pleased to be lectured about beetles by someone with such clear and infectious passion. But maybe it would be best to retire, before he says something stupid. Leave the man to rest. For his health. ]

I’ll be looking forward to it. [ Standing from his seat and taking back his glasses from the table, likewise smiling as he straightens them. ] Goodnight, Harry.

Tomorrow would be most agreeable, yes.

[He of course sees Tim to the door, and if he lingers to watch him walk down the hall, well. What of it?

But boy will he have a lot to say about Tim in his diary tonight.]

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