you'd be blinded by the colors (if you could see what i see)

The dream rushes suddenly back, floodlike, in the space between the sound and his subsequent, involuntary flinch. The hurricane, sweeping him under. The window, shattered. The unsettled feeling climbs into something worse as Henry steps away from the window and toward the sound of the dishes. There’s something else by the time he reaches the doorframe; his father’s voice, unmistakable, raised and urgent. Something swirls unpleasantly in Henry’s stomach.

Arthur Fox doesn’t shout. Something is wrong.

or: the day of the email leaks, except that arthur is there for henry.