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.❞
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.
three. it might’ve been a guesstimate but it felt about right. he had finished a chapter of ‘ the time traveller’s wife ‘ around midnight so he hadn’t been asleep for that long.
next thing he knows, the figure at his side is absent and shuffling about in the comforter beside him. had he more energy and was in a clear mindset for debate, this wouldn’t be happening. instead, he shifts himself a bit, doing his best to be of sound mind in order to keep the conversation going.
‘ bad enough that you’d rather stay in here ? ‘
❝I can go back to my room,❞ he replies, though rather he shifts, getting more comfortable within his dad’s bed, a sure sign that he wasn’t planning on leaving ANY time soon. For now, he keeps himself stable, though the pounding voice in his mind wants him to CRY more than anything.
❝But, uh. Yeah, I guess. I dunno. It didn’t feel right to be alone or something like that. As stupid and tacky as it is,❞ Lucien finds a comfortable crevice in the mattress, wedged against his father’s side and the comforter pulled up to his shoulders at an odd angle.
Had he been awake, or in more of his usual mindset, this would be embarrassing.
But instead, he has his head resting against his father’s shoulder in a desperate plead for some sort of comfort. ❝I’m… Not a shitty kid, am I? I mean… Am I?❞
He gives a gentle shrug, just barely visible from the moonlight creeping in through the hallway’s windows. For a moment, he’d stop and think, perhaps he was getting too old to keep doing this. Maybe his emotional vulnerability when he was alone with his father was something he should have grown out of. Perhaps… He was becoming too reliant. Almost immediately, Lucien shakes the thought off, opting for the comfort of his father rather than being alone at the moment, his dad was someone he NEEDED right now.
❝Around three, I think,❞ he replies, having not taken the time in recent hours to look at the time, despite how exclusively he’d been looking at his phone since he’d initially crawled into bed, finding himself sleepless and alone.
Before Damien could even give an answer, Lucien found himself crawling in next to Damien, sinking comfortably against the mattress. ❝I’ve just… It’s… Been a crappy night.❞
truth: whats the most mainstream/non-goth thing about you? dare: have a touching emotional moment with ur dad
❝….❞ he hesitates for a moment, glancing off to the side in thought. It wasn’t that either of these questions would injure his pride too much, but rather, it was hard deciding what he WANTED to do. Eventually, he heaves a sigh in that annoyed-teenager way that he always managed to pull off so well.
@periodiic
❝Hey, dad, I…❞ sighing again, he runs his hand through his hair. ❝… I know I don’t say it as much anymore, and I’ve been like, a total cunt and whatever but… I love you a lot, dad. Thanks for being patient with me and… Just listening, I guess,❞ he gives half a smile, almost as if he were embarrassed.
❝… Despite what anyone else thinks, you’re pretty cool.❞
❝Of course I was going to give you one, my loving. caring father who is definitely not trying to bribe me into giving him one of my free tacos, why would I of even brought it up if it weren’t the case?❞ dropping the act, Lucien went back to his deadpan, before looking into his paper bag and pulling out one carefully-wrapped ( vegetarian ) taco and handing it out to Damien. ❝This is a peace treaty, dad. If I didn’t love you as much as I do, you wouldn’t be getting this taco.❞
@periodiic said to punkfought-moved:
’ Lucien! Your door’s been locked for far too long. What’s going on in there? ’
THERE IS HESITATION BEFORE LUCIEN SPEAKS, as if he were to gather his thoughts, before furrowing his brow. GOD, his head hurt. Quickly, he drops the cigarette that had been hanging from his mouth into a plastic water bottle, gently placing it back behind his bed. ❝Nothing, dad. Just watching a movie.❞
he didn’t hate him. there were a great number of things he could do but not one of them warranted any kind of hate. lucien was his light, his little miracle, one of the few things that made him feel whole. there was little in this world that would cause him to hate this child. disappoint and upset, sure, he could still be disappointed and upset with him.
the things in their home could easily be replaced. his son’s life couldn’t. that was the biggest reason for his disappointment at a time like this. ‘ i don’t hate you, lucien. ‘ as he speaks, he can’t help but find his voice cracking. it was the first he’d spoken since coming home the night before.
‘ i don’t ever want you to think that… alright ? ‘ no matter how he try, the sickening look of a hangover remained on his child’s face. lucien was to blame for that, but that didn’t mean it didn’t break his father’s heart to see him like this. ‘ i just… want to know why. ‘
❝Not now, dad,❞ he barely manages to hiccup, regretting the words already as they poured from his mouth. He knew he eventually had to explain what happened, but his throat burned with each gasp for breath, his voice a harsh croak, easily signifying that speaking was not MANAGEABLE at the moment. As guilty as Lucien felt, he knew that Damien would have to understand.
At least he didn’t hate him. At least there was still that. At least his father still loved him, and that in itself assured Lucien, things were going to be alright.
He found himself lurching forward again, barely making it to the toilet, sicker and SICKER he felt, anxiety curdling with alcohol in his gut, how could ANYONE stand to be around him like this? It was repulsive to even think that he…. … He fucked up so badly. Again, the thoughts would enter his mind UNWILLINGLY, it was irrational, yet he couldn’t find himself believing that anyone could want to put up with him at this point.
He gasps for air yet again, coughing violently. ❝I can explain later… I… I promise.❞
