The look on Thomas’ face at first. Shock, disbelief and perhaps a bit of uncertainty at his own memory of James. For ten years, Flint had the painting of The Hamilton’s to remember Thomas’ face by. He had Miranda to talk to and keep that memory alive. He had the book Thomas had given him to hold on to. Thomas had none of those things. He had no photos or keepsakes, just his memories and no one to share them with. And memories fade over time despite how much we don’t want them to. You forget little things like facial features, the sound of a loved one’s voice, their laugh, the exact color of their eyes. Thomas must have been questioning for a moment if this was real or just someone who reminded him of James. Then he realizes it’s really him. And I’m crying forever.