“You are Damien’s son, yes? My son, Kun, always is speaking about how ‘cool’ and ‘awesome’ you are. It is nice to finally meet you——I am Han.”
USUALLY, WHEN ADULTS( especially parents )APPROACHED LUCIEN, it never meant anything good, whether it would be something either HE, or Ernest did, it usually meant a scolding. Thus, he was taken aback by the mention of Kun– ( a good kid, in Lucien’s opinion, though they hadn’t talked too much ) and a smile pulled at Lucien’s cheeks, as he almost bashfully turned his eyes towards the ground.
He takes a second to regain himself. With a greeting like that, Lucien may as well be polite.
all he can do is sit there, back settled up against the bathroom sink, and await the end of another fit of gagging, coughing, and pained groans that leave his darling child a mess. everything about him now breaks his heart. the wide-eyed child that had clung to him and looked to him for guidance could barely look him in the eye now.
the amount of self-control it took to keep himself from crying was perhaps a test of his inner strength. in every worst-case scenario he thought up, he had always envisioned himself breaking façade and crying in front of his son. now that the worst had come to fruition, every reason to hold back had presented itself. every ounce of his parental spirit felt like tearing itself in two at the thought of failure, but here was an opportunity. for years he had demonstrated strength in the eyes of a seemingly blank slate. across that blank slate were supposed to be bits of himself, the attributes of himself that both could be proud of. those things were supposed to help nurture a soul destined to accept, to love– to learn.
it was a test for his own mental strength as well as his son’s. if lucien could work his way out of this, then it was possible he had done something right in aiding his son’s growth into a young adult.
‘ of course you can, dear… ‘
He leans back against his father once more, this time wrapping his arms around him, face dug into Damien’s shoulder. He just needed some time to think and relax, he needed to gather his thoughts and get through this DREADED hangover. Only then, could he explain this, he kept telling himself. GOD, how long would he keep thinking in circles?
Lucien’s breathing finally begins to slow, evening out. For the first time since he had awoken, he didn’t feel like he was going to puke. ❝I love you, dad,❞ he mumbles into the other’s nightshirt. ❝No matter what I say or do… Please don’t think I don’t.❞
❛not snitching , just asking.❜correction felt necessary to not come off as malicious , CONCERN hidden through eyes of brooding man. friendship ? rare occurrence brought by winged angels —— angels who are not aware of gifted radiance ( his father … ). eyes narrow , word choice carefully.❛your old man has a lot already , you should … TRY && not add to the burden doing this.❜
❝….❞
Great. Just what he needed tonight, more adults telling him how he should be more CAREFUL with everything he does. More reasons to feel GUILT in his actions. ❝… I know,okay? I’d know better than anyone, but fuck, just… Give me some room to breathe.❞ If this were to continue, Lucien would only find himself growing more frustrated, even with as well-intentioned as Robert was.
❝I was going to go home after I finished this, anyways.❞
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?Personally, I think it’s a bit… IDIOTIC.”
❝You think I’d do it if I didn’t know what I was doing? Consider this: I’m not an idiot like Ernest. If anyone should be worried about what someone’s doing, it should be him.❞
❛out THIS late on a school night ? your dad won’t alright with this , you know.❜
❝What are you gonna do, snitch on me? Why are you telling me things I already know?❞ tiredly, he flicks cigarette ashes onto the ground, arms crossed as he peeks out from his hoodie. Someone from the cul-de-sac was probably one of the LAST people he’d want to see.
his laugh is enough to almost cause himself to drop his teacup. ‘ you’d say something like that over a color ? oh i have a few things i’d like to say to you about this– but i’m far too amused by the fact that someone would be offended by that. neon green truly is the worst color… although i suppose chartreuse comes in at a close second. ‘
❝… Like I said, dad, nobody would derive offense from that. We wouldn’t actually fight, and just think it’s funny,❞ HE HAD TO ADMIT, the way his dad reacting was… Pretty funny, taking everything he says SO SERIOUSLY to the point where he missed where Lucien said IT’S A JOKE. ❝I’d say it over a color because I know we both actually wouldn’t fight over something like that.❞
❝Nobody has ever started a fight with me over that, dad. We all know it’s a joke, I promise,❞ he gives a soft laugh, looking up from his phone from across the coffee table. ❝I only start fights over bigger things. Besides, it’s usually said over SMALLER things. Like…❞ he taps on his phone case, eyes wandering as he tried to think of an example. ❝… Neon green is objectively the worst color. Fight me.❞
it was a promise he could accept for now and hold against him later. when he wasn’t sticking his face in the toilet bowl, they could talk it over civilly and calmly. everything that needed to be said could be said and everything there was to understand could easily be under- stood.
hesitantly, a hand reaches out, resting on his son’s shoulder blades, rubbing circles into the fabric of his shirt. something about him still seems incredibly fragile. he’s much older now, old enough that he can make healthy decisions and choices that will benefit him. sure, he makes mistakes, but don’t all kids ? he’ll learn from them… won’t he ? he’ll outgrow this ridiculous phase. there’s that word again: phase. it’s a hateful word: phase. it implies that mindsets are set to change, morals can and will evolve. sometimes those things never change. sometimes the individual knows more than the world around them. sometimes there’s a cry for help that no one can see. what if this phase was just a plea for attention ?
he rubs another circle into his son’s back.
THERE IS SO MUCH HE HAS TO SAY. Damien understood none of this. This isn’t what Lucien wanted in the SLIGHTEST. And YET– he couldn’t say any of it now. He couldn’t say that he just wanted a few friends over or that he tried and FAILED initially to get everyone to leave and he just… GAVE UP. Lucien prayed this was something he could recover from.
He felt tired. The circular motions rubbed into his back found themselves to be soothing, countering how ILL and ALONE he would have felt otherwise. His head felt heavy– God, he needed to sleep again.
He needed to sleep forever and ever– it felt like no amount of time would sooth the pounding migraine in his skull and the guilt within his gut. Without much room to breathe, he finds himself vomiting again, and HOPEFULLY for the final time, eyeliner continuing to smudge down his cheeks. Weakly and blindly he would reach upwards, fingers flicking against the toilets handle and flushing the bile down the drain before settling back once more against his father, desperate to catch his breath.
