Magic, Credence thinks, is wonderful. Out of nowhere, just like that, bandages are conjured. Credence cries out despite himself, but it's not pain, it's excitement--he's significantly distracted, eyes on the new addition to Graves' inventory, wonder etched across sharp, pale features.
And, just like that, he's snapped back to reality: Mr. Graves has apologized to him.
It's not the first time it's happened, but it's certainly still enough to throw Credence out of the loop. Wonder is replaced with a slight amount of confusion, and then he flinches, guilt washing over him. Graves isn't sorry, Credence thinks: he's apologizing because he knows it's what Credence wants to hear, and Credence feels like he's just somehow manipulated the other. He knows it's nonsense, but knowing and feeling are two distinct things.
"Please don't apologize," he says softly, because that's easier to address than Graves seeing his scars. Of course he has, the ones on his palm are very clear, and he's reminded of the man with his face that once cured wounds with a wave of his hand.
He feels like this Graves is superior to him, if only because he did most of it manually. He thinks this Graves is far superior in any way, he realizes, and that's a comforting thought. That's what drives him to eventually nod.
"I understand," he manages. Even if it sounds thick in his throat, and he's not comfortable, it's the least he can do for the older man. He's already done so much for him. He doesn't dare acknowledge that Graves has seen his scars--that's too much to handle right now--and so he very carefully, gingerly shifts towards Graves with a soft since and a bit lip, hand moving to try to help pry the bandages off. He hopes if he ignores how much he's shaking, the older man will, too.
no subject
And, just like that, he's snapped back to reality: Mr. Graves has apologized to him.
It's not the first time it's happened, but it's certainly still enough to throw Credence out of the loop. Wonder is replaced with a slight amount of confusion, and then he flinches, guilt washing over him. Graves isn't sorry, Credence thinks: he's apologizing because he knows it's what Credence wants to hear, and Credence feels like he's just somehow manipulated the other. He knows it's nonsense, but knowing and feeling are two distinct things.
"Please don't apologize," he says softly, because that's easier to address than Graves seeing his scars. Of course he has, the ones on his palm are very clear, and he's reminded of the man with his face that once cured wounds with a wave of his hand.
He feels like this Graves is superior to him, if only because he did most of it manually. He thinks this Graves is far superior in any way, he realizes, and that's a comforting thought. That's what drives him to eventually nod.
"I understand," he manages. Even if it sounds thick in his throat, and he's not comfortable, it's the least he can do for the older man. He's already done so much for him. He doesn't dare acknowledge that Graves has seen his scars--that's too much to handle right now--and so he very carefully, gingerly shifts towards Graves with a soft since and a bit lip, hand moving to try to help pry the bandages off. He hopes if he ignores how much he's shaking, the older man will, too.