itβs rare these days that helena moore is the one to answer a knock at the door. most of the time, visitors only come to confer with her husband ; and on very few occasions, her eldest son.
cigarette holder sits gracefully between gloved
margaret braved the hill, but she was alone this time. no son by her side. part of her hoped that cliff would answer the door, but another part of her knew that @hisbecoming would have made him call if he had forgotten. her frame trembled as she knocked.
light footsteps descend the stairs, and soon enough, charlie is at his motherβs side, alex on his hip.
concern is quick to surface within his gaze, though he tries not to appear emotional before the matriarch of the
attached. β
just then, cliff leans in and puckers his lips, effectively sending charlie into a fit of laughter.
β oh, and you figure that will work better than the ice? β
charlie listens, choosing to fix his eyes upon the path ahead rather than cliff.
itβs an act of respect ; they know this is embarrassing for him, and they donβt want to make matters worse by pinning him down underneath a clinical
β . . . i mouthed off to one of the big guys. he was givinβ me a bunch of shit and sayinβ i stole money from βem, and i didnβt. i know better than to fuck with those guys. he wouldnβt let it go, though.
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gaze.
they do, however, give his hand a squeeze, attempting to offer some reassurance.
β you were honest. they canβt fault you for that, β he replies. β it wasnβt your fault. those imbeciles would lose their own heads if they werenβt
of it is meant for me.
[ mostly due to that incessant, looming sense that he wonβt be on this earth long enough. ]
i havenβt felt that way about anyone before.
itβs a big responsibility.
[ the tot hums, making an β mmm β sound as he tastes the fruit, imitating none other than cliff himself β- already a foodie at heart.
charlie chuckles, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. ]
i donβt think any
he acts like it. i never saw him settle down until he met frankie.
( robert shakes his head. heβs now smashing a cherry and putting it in little alexβs mouth. )
i donβt wanna play the game forever. i wanna retire one day. have a wife and some kids.
[ a pearly white, gap β toothed smile is flashed his way in turn. charlie shakes their head, index finger tracing over a carving in the bar top. ]
do you think he wants everybody?
[ charlie wrinkles their nose, turning their burning face away. even in their embarrassment, they manage to give it right back to robert. ]
you know he might get jealous.
with cliff.
as the pair make their way down the street, charlie worries at the inside of their cheek, stealing a glance at their companion every now and then.
β you really wonβt tell me whatβs going on? β
charlie nods, relieved, a soft sigh slipping past slightly parted tiers. they accept the offered hand, fingers interlocking with ease. two pieces of the same puzzle.
β maybe he has something for your lip, too, β he muses, falling into pace
he takes a shallow breath. it feels like his lungs are on fire. β yeah, i guess the bar, β cliff agrees.
he steps from the edge and offers his hand out. a silent apology for raising his voice in his panicked state. everything that happens to him is his own fault.
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charlieβs eyes widen in unison. he leans away just a little, shoulders tense ; it feels like heβs made a mistake.
β all right, β he relents, swallowing dryly. back to the drawing board. β the bar? β
he hasnβt shown anyone. he hid in the back at luckyβs for awhile until he could muster the courage to stand back up. then, he spotted charlie.
β no! β cliff shouts, eyes flying wide with panic. he catches himself and presses his lips together. it only agitates his busted lip.
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β did i hurt you? β charlie queries, hands flying back to their sides, still itching to reach for his face.
the boy shakes his head, either out of sheer disgust or in an attempt to scold himself for fussing over it.
β is your mother
β . . you have the best posture of anyone in the city. nothinβ. i just got too smart. thatβs all. itβll go away, β cliff insists, wishing the conversation would just end.
charlieβs eyes flit downwards, immediately drawn to exposed ribcage. they reach for him almost instinctively ; lifting his shirt and brushing cold fingertips over the tender area, wincing as they assess the damage.
β i donβt want to have poor
β you were in full concentration. who am i to interrupt? β cliff shoots back playfully. his hand raises to his lip as if he forgot about his injury, lifting his shirt to reveal the bruises on his ribs.
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