[ Oh. He can't remember anyone ever actually asking that question and though the story's linear enough in his mind, he needs time to word his answer correctly. It's a bit like giving backrubs, like listening to Claude and giving a damn about what he's saying; it's not that he can't, but he's sorely out of practice.
As the months have ticked by, he's come a little bit closer to understanding what happened back in France, why Claude left behind everything he cared about to settle down in Luxembourg without a network, without security aside from Benjamin's job offer. He's still quite certain that there are things Claude's not telling him, which is fine, it's not like it changes much about the process. About getting to know him. All the same, he can't help but wonder if there's also a matter of giving and receiving in turn; if perhaps, right now, a straight answer is even more important than usual. ]
Well. [ He leans back against the couch, then forward, then back again. There's a very familiar sense of restlessness settling beneath his skin, seeping into his muscles. His expression remains calm, still. Blank. ] My family was fragile. My mother was, I think, sick. My father was a violent alcoholic and his lack of self-control put me in the hospital when I was ten. This, in turn, alerted the authorities. My sister and I were removed from the house and shortly after, the Girards took us in.
[ He rarely thinks about what came before; it's all fragmented anyway, a jumbled set of memories that he can't be bothered to make sense of. Just speaking about it doesn't do much of anything, though he thinks perhaps it should. He's seen Regine try to talk about their childhood, crumbling before she manages even half a sentence. But to him, it just feels like air. Ever-present but intangible, like reaching for it simply makes it seem more devoid of substance. ]
no subject
As the months have ticked by, he's come a little bit closer to understanding what happened back in France, why Claude left behind everything he cared about to settle down in Luxembourg without a network, without security aside from Benjamin's job offer. He's still quite certain that there are things Claude's not telling him, which is fine, it's not like it changes much about the process. About getting to know him. All the same, he can't help but wonder if there's also a matter of giving and receiving in turn; if perhaps, right now, a straight answer is even more important than usual. ]
Well. [ He leans back against the couch, then forward, then back again. There's a very familiar sense of restlessness settling beneath his skin, seeping into his muscles. His expression remains calm, still. Blank. ] My family was fragile. My mother was, I think, sick. My father was a violent alcoholic and his lack of self-control put me in the hospital when I was ten. This, in turn, alerted the authorities. My sister and I were removed from the house and shortly after, the Girards took us in.
[ He rarely thinks about what came before; it's all fragmented anyway, a jumbled set of memories that he can't be bothered to make sense of. Just speaking about it doesn't do much of anything, though he thinks perhaps it should. He's seen Regine try to talk about their childhood, crumbling before she manages even half a sentence. But to him, it just feels like air. Ever-present but intangible, like reaching for it simply makes it seem more devoid of substance. ]