Jin Ling wasn’t, by any real measure, someone most would consider a quiet person. But it was easy to let Harry tell him stories - fantastical and strange and yet Jin Ling never considered disbelieving them.
Especially when they kept feeling way too familiar to his own.
The word “furnished” was a stretch, really - he’d half bullied Harry into getting the basic necessities- a bed, for example - and was determined to keep outfitting him better as time went on. But at the moment it wasn’t forefront of his mind.
Instead, he was grappling with the uncomfortable awareness that somehow he and Harry’s lives had some disconcerting parallels. He wondered, idly, if maybe their worlds weren’t as far apart as he’d originally thought. Could similar people and similar traumas repeat through different worlds...?
Or was life just always this terrible and complicated.
He hands over the bags and then takes off his jacket so that he can roll up his sleeves and start cleaning the table. ]
He sounds a bit like Uncle Wei.
So I... [ Ah. Choking up again. ]
I’d probably like him.
[ He swallowed, the hand that had been scrubbing the table clean stilling. ]
... Harry, do you ever get the weird feeling sometimes that we... whenever you tell me stories, I feel like—
Do you get the weird feeling like maybe things happened to us in similar ways? Not exactly the same, but— your god father, your parents —
no subject
Jin Ling wasn’t, by any real measure, someone most would consider a quiet person. But it was easy to let Harry tell him stories - fantastical and strange and yet Jin Ling never considered disbelieving them.
Especially when they kept feeling way too familiar to his own.
The word “furnished” was a stretch, really - he’d half bullied Harry into getting the basic necessities- a bed, for example - and was determined to keep outfitting him better as time went on. But at the moment it wasn’t forefront of his mind.
Instead, he was grappling with the uncomfortable awareness that somehow he and Harry’s lives had some disconcerting parallels. He wondered, idly, if maybe their worlds weren’t as far apart as he’d originally thought. Could similar people and similar traumas repeat through different worlds...?
Or was life just always this terrible and complicated.
He hands over the bags and then takes off his jacket so that he can roll up his sleeves and start cleaning the table. ]
He sounds a bit like Uncle Wei.
So I... [ Ah. Choking up again. ]
I’d probably like him.
[ He swallowed, the hand that had been scrubbing the table clean stilling. ]
... Harry, do you ever get the weird feeling sometimes that we... whenever you tell me stories, I feel like—
Do you get the weird feeling like maybe things happened to us in similar ways? Not exactly the same, but— your god father, your parents —