[He doesn't respond again, just making his way to the apartment-- to home-- as quickly as he can. Seeing Henry is important, he knows, more important than figuring out anything else.
The man who eases the apartment door open is obviously still Ryan, just... not the same Ryan who'd disappeared two days ago. He's older, the more youthful qualities grown out of his face; the glasses are still there, but he looks like he hasn't shaved lately, his chin and jaw a bit scruffier than he'd ever let it get in Asgard. His clothes fit him better-- the baggy sweaters he'd favored don't seem to be in his wardrobe now, replaced with a button-down and sweater vest that are actually his proper size, and his hair's pulled into a loose tail instead of allowed to hang loose and messy. There's still a disheveled air to him, as there always was, but he's at least begun to make an attempt to fix that up.
He closes the door behind him and hesitates there before he takes a cautious step forward, eyes fixed on Henry as though making sure he's really there. It's been so long and it hasn't, the idea of holding him is both recent and familiar yet almost distant, an ache; the way Ryan looks at him with raw and open want isn't anything sexual, only the need to get closer and touch him, but somehow he just can't make his feet move and his breath catches when he opens his mouth to speak. He'd loved him, married him, and forgot. He's been alone the past few years when he had a partner waiting right here who didn't forget him.]
Henry--
[It's choked in his throat, almost forced out. Having him right here is different from the memory.]
no subject
The man who eases the apartment door open is obviously still Ryan, just... not the same Ryan who'd disappeared two days ago. He's older, the more youthful qualities grown out of his face; the glasses are still there, but he looks like he hasn't shaved lately, his chin and jaw a bit scruffier than he'd ever let it get in Asgard. His clothes fit him better-- the baggy sweaters he'd favored don't seem to be in his wardrobe now, replaced with a button-down and sweater vest that are actually his proper size, and his hair's pulled into a loose tail instead of allowed to hang loose and messy. There's still a disheveled air to him, as there always was, but he's at least begun to make an attempt to fix that up.
He closes the door behind him and hesitates there before he takes a cautious step forward, eyes fixed on Henry as though making sure he's really there. It's been so long and it hasn't, the idea of holding him is both recent and familiar yet almost distant, an ache; the way Ryan looks at him with raw and open want isn't anything sexual, only the need to get closer and touch him, but somehow he just can't make his feet move and his breath catches when he opens his mouth to speak. He'd loved him, married him, and forgot. He's been alone the past few years when he had a partner waiting right here who didn't forget him.]
Henry--
[It's choked in his throat, almost forced out. Having him right here is different from the memory.]
--I'm sorry, love.