When Stan hears his brother laugh he smiles, and the look takes a few of those extra years off his face, at least until Ford mentions dad. Then his smile fades - not all the way, but a little - because he hasn't thought of dad in years. Well, he has, but he hasn't. Not like that. Not in terms of, you know, actually interacting with the guy, letting him know Stan's even alive.
But his brother is still smiling and so his own smile stays, more tentative now but just as genuine and relieved. It even grows a little as Ford's smile meets his, because he's smiling for his brother.
"Yeah," he says weakly, agreeing more because the thought seems to make Ford happy than because he knows what to make of it. "Yeah, I guess she might. Um."
It's important, sometimes, to have gotten rid of as many obvious visual cues as possible so Stan don't make a habit of biting at the inside of his lip anymore, at least not mostly. He does now though, for a second, because in that second he's on the verge of asking about dad. How the guy is, what he's been doing. But Stan just got Ford to smile, didn't he? And it's a great smile, not huge but there, which is more than he thinks his brother mighta' had in a pretty long time. A couple months, maybe, since that Fiddle-guy up and left him, right? Longer than that, maybe? He's not gonna' do anything that might make that little sapling of a smile up and wither away sooner than it's already going to, and he's definitely not going to do it just to make Ford talk about Stan's own problems. Ford's dealing with enough as it is.
"You know what else mom would want? For her kid to get some sleep." He slips his thumb under Ford's glasses, copying mom's old gesture, the way she'd use her own thumbs to wipe their eyes after they came to her about Crampelter or dad or, whatever, kid problems, after she'd told some far-out story to cheer them up and was about to send them off to bed. It'd been a trick, probably, for her to do it with those fingernails of hers, but Stan don't have to worry about that. "The kind that don't involve passin' out and sleepin' so long you ain't eaten for a whole day. How's that sound?"
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But his brother is still smiling and so his own smile stays, more tentative now but just as genuine and relieved. It even grows a little as Ford's smile meets his, because he's smiling for his brother.
"Yeah," he says weakly, agreeing more because the thought seems to make Ford happy than because he knows what to make of it. "Yeah, I guess she might. Um."
It's important, sometimes, to have gotten rid of as many obvious visual cues as possible so Stan don't make a habit of biting at the inside of his lip anymore, at least not mostly. He does now though, for a second, because in that second he's on the verge of asking about dad. How the guy is, what he's been doing. But Stan just got Ford to smile, didn't he? And it's a great smile, not huge but there, which is more than he thinks his brother mighta' had in a pretty long time. A couple months, maybe, since that Fiddle-guy up and left him, right? Longer than that, maybe? He's not gonna' do anything that might make that little sapling of a smile up and wither away sooner than it's already going to, and he's definitely not going to do it just to make Ford talk about Stan's own problems. Ford's dealing with enough as it is.
"You know what else mom would want? For her kid to get some sleep." He slips his thumb under Ford's glasses, copying mom's old gesture, the way she'd use her own thumbs to wipe their eyes after they came to her about Crampelter or dad or, whatever, kid problems, after she'd told some far-out story to cheer them up and was about to send them off to bed. It'd been a trick, probably, for her to do it with those fingernails of hers, but Stan don't have to worry about that. "The kind that don't involve passin' out and sleepin' so long you ain't eaten for a whole day. How's that sound?"