NAME Nicholas Joris Henson
OCCUPATION co-owner and trainer @ Evolution Boxing (Mon-Fri 2:30pm-10:30pm; available on weekends upon request)
FAMILY Hennie Daalman, mother; David Henson, father (deceased); Freya Henson, sister; Paul Weaver, stepfather; Theo Weaver, half brother; Samuel Weaver, half brother.
✖ has been involved with the local overeaters anonymous as a counselor for the past few years.
✖ speaks conversational Dutch thanks to his mother, as does his sister. A little rusty, since he doesn't get to practice often, but it's there.
✖ lifelong atheist.
✖ occasional smoker of the legal and less-so variety.
✖ the frequent mispronunciation of his middle name (yo-ris) doesn't bother him nearly as much as it does his mother. She doesn't subscribe to the butchering of names (but she will address him as Nic from time to time).
PLAYED BY Charlie Hunnam
STYLE customs & threads, past or present tense. adult or ftb.
AVAILABILITY all over the place. feel free to ask!
Little did David Henson know upon boarding it, but that plane to Amsterdam would bridge the gap between him and his soulmate. He was 21 and starry-eyed. She, fresh out of high school, looked like a fairytale with her pale eyes and shock of golden hair, her English an endearing work in progress. It was proverbial love at first sight. Two weeks later saw his return to New York as a changed man, and a determined man. The pair kept in touch how they could, sharing plans and hopes and dreams. What his friends and family dismissed as infatuation, a fleeting fancy, turned out to be very real in a matter of months: it was a sunny April morning when Hennie showed up on his step, her life crammed into two large suitcases. Barely the time to smile a greeting before being literally swept off her feet. The door that closed behind her was that of her new home: two stories, a small back porch and a swing. But what more did they need?
Their firstborn, Nicholas, made his debut into the world a few weeks shy of their second Christmas together. He had Hennie's same golden head, and David's curious blue eyes. He was a toddler by the time his sister arrived. Young Nicholas approached his job as a big brother with the same earnest attention reserved for his toy trucks: the big red, like the one at papa's work and his absolute favorite; the blue pickup; the fleet of red-yellow Tonkas.
Life was sweet in Brooklyn. David's promotion to Captain allowed Hennie to switch from her front desk job to a part-time position in Social Services, which in turn meant being able to raise their children without the help of family and nannies, and take better care of the house in the process. Leafing through her cookbooks and trying her hand at her husband's favorite foods became a little tradition of sorts. Friday night meant, for David, coming home after a long day's work and finding any dish of his choosing on the table. The event was always looked forward to by all — the highlight of the week.
This particular Friday, on the menu was meatloaf with carrots and peas on the side, and chocolate pudding for dessert. But the feast remained untouched, forgotten for good when the phone call that would change three lives forever came. David wouldn't be coming home tonight, and perhaps never again. He and two fellow firemen had been in the process of taming a factory fire when a portion of the roof collapsed, burying all those inside. Rescue efforts had begun immediately, despite the chances of finding anyone alive being minimal. David Henson's body was eventually recovered, dusty and broken, from under several tons of rubble.
Getting used to life without her husband and to the idea that another man might one day take his place took Hennie a few years. When Harry came along, it didn't matter how handsome or well-mannered he was (and even less that his car alone was probably worth more than their little house). Hennie didn't think she was ready. Would she ever be, after losing the love of her life? If she agreed to join him on a date, it was after weeks of relentless courtship, and with little hope of anything coming out of it. Yet, their night together went better than expected. So did the next one, and the one after.
Nicholas never liked him much: he was nothing like his father. He never laughed, and when he smiled his eyes didn't crinkle at the corners. He had never heard him tell a joke, or gasp in surprise or wonder. By the time he began to understand why, he and his mother and sister were already living under his roof. It began harmlessly enough: a reproach here and there, a disapproving look. It escalated to insults, then threats, and more than once Nicholas had to taste the back of his hand. Never when Hennie was home, though. Afternoons were the worst: with Harry locked in his study and their mother at work, Nicholas and Freya spent the longest winter of their young lives trapped in his huge house, listening for the sound of footsteps down the hall. It was around that time that the child turned to the only comfort available to him: food.
It took Hennie catching her fiancé in the act of yanking a screaming Nicholas down the stairs for her to see him for the man he truly was. Their bags were packed, a cab hailed in a matter of minutes. And now, on top of the anger and the humiliation, she had her own remorse to face. How many times had the kids tried to tell her? Again and again she had chalked it up to stubbornness, unwillingness to see a stranger take their father's place. With nowhere to go and no family of her own to turn to, Hennie was too ashamed of what had just happened to ask David's family for assistance, too afraid of losing her children to a system she knew well. She didn't know what possessed her to knock on Paul Weaver's door that night, but when the kids all but flung themselves at him, she knew to have made the right call.
Paul was a longtime family friend of the Hensons. He and David had practically grown up together, despite Paul being his senior by a handful of years. He wasn't as handsome as David had been, with his action hero good looks. He was too tall and lanky, and his hair was already starting to gray in places, but he had kind eyes and a good, hearty laugh. He was a medical doctor, devoted to his job to the point of jokingly declaring himself married to it.
Adapting to life with Paul was easy. He was a lot like dad, and Nicholas trusted him. Even upon catching him and mom huddled in each other's arms on the couch one night, he didn't make a scene or consider running away. He had other things on his mind: like the fact that his clothes from the summer before no longer fit, and not only because he'd gotten taller. He was able to hide his compulsions, along with the family-size bags of snacks, until his sophomore year of high school. Freya found out. How, he didn't know. Had she known all along? Whatever the case, Nicholas didn't fight his family (Freya, mom, and yes, Paul) when they sat him down and offered their help. Whatever he needed to get better, and get healthy, they would do their best to provide.
Nicholas refused conventional therapy but he did, by Paul's suggestion, consult a nutritionist and enroll to a gym. It was a painful, uphill battle; many a time did he consider giving up, and it was becoming increasingly clear with each failure that this wasn't a matter of putting himself at the mercy of his own self-control, but rather of changing his habits for good. And he did. Well, eventually. Two years and much sweat and tears later, he was back to a normal weight for his build and height.
With college came Florida and steady girlfriend number two. His choice of major — Food Science and Human Nutrition — came as no surprise, and though it took a few hits and misses (not being much of a team player did narrow things down a bit, if nothing else), Nicholas found a satisfying outlet in amateur boxing. Things were finally looking up. His heart, however, was still in New York. Even when presented with the possibility of a post-graduation internship at a local practice, he chose to go back home and start from scratch. Boxing was growing on him, and for months he worked odd jobs and extra shifts with the sole intention of saving enough money for his NPTI certification.
His early and mid-twenties were a time of self-discovery for Nicholas. A time of new experiences, many of which harmless, as well as a few memorable, defining ones. The occasional one night stand, a helping of alcohol or drugs. Average debauchery. Responsible debauchery, according to him: where something showed a potential to affect his profession or his personal relationships, was where a firm line was drawn. Meanwhile, girlfriends came and went. A boyfriend, who unlike the female counterparts never got to meet Nicholas' family or see any formal recognition, happened somewhere during his transition from student to personal trainer at a boxing gym in Brooklyn. To this day, only two people know of the affair. Nicholas, a self-identified heterosexual, isn't fond of discussing his personal matters if with a select few, as he feels doing so carelessly would cheapen the experience.
Today, he shares an apartment with his two dogs, maintains his position as one of Evolution Boxing's top trainers, and has overall few complaints.
|( codes by whambam )|