Serugiuli

“You don’t have to notice anything,” she says, and that frown on her face deepens even further. “It’s fine.”

Theodore stares at Darla once again, humming a little. “You’re frowning.”

“No more frowning!” Darla smiles at him. “See?”

They continue their walk to their mothers. Their shops are a couple blocks away from the school anyway, and the both of them were trying to save some money.

Plus, Darla didn’t appreciate being cramped into a trolley with the other passengers, and Theodore doesn’t really care either way.

There’s something satisfying about the way he smiles to himself.

Mother would be proud of him.

You always did remind him to be mindful and caring when it came to the feelings of others. This was pretty mindful and caring. Heh . . . Hehehehe—

Theodore’s head snaps up. “Your hair!”

“Theo,” she says, frowning.

Theodore points at his lips, trying to mimic a smile he doesn’t really see a reason for, but does so anyway out of habit. “Darla,” he says, echoing it back. “Your hair wasn’t like that this morning.”

Darla flattens her hair a little. “It’s been the same as it’s always been.”

“Are you lying to me?” Theodore steps into her path, staring right at her.

“ . . . Probably,” she says. “Maybe . . . Yes.”

“Did someone mess with your hair?” Theodore takes a few strands of her hair into his palm. “If I remember correctly, you didn’t have your face covered today.”

Darla pulls a bit of her hair into her face. “Could you please not tell my mother about this?” she says, trying to hide the way she wipes at her tears. “I don’t want her to worry.”

Tears . . . Those aren’t good.

Tears are never good.

Theodore thinks for a moment, letting himself think and ponder as Darla shrinks before him. Perhaps, it would be mindful and caring if scums stopped breathing.

“Let’s go visit my mother . . . and father. We can go to the clinic before dropping by your mother’s shop,” he says instead, keeping a smile that wants to turn into a scowl. Theodore brushes a bit of her bangs to the side to see her face. “If you’re the one to ask Mother, maybe she’ll allow us to get some ice cream after. Sounds good, yeah?”

Darla probably wouldn’t like it if he messed with their schoolmates too much. Not to mention the absolute war path his saint of a mother would go on should Theodore do something.

“Your mother always did like me more.” Darla laughs a little to herself, but the tears are gone.

Theodore frowns at that.

That’s not true, or at least he thinks he does.

There were things he doesn’t understand, things he doesn’t know how to feel about.

A long, long time ago, back when he could still fit into the arms of his mother’s husband, that man would always whisper about how he was an exact copy of his mother, even if Thedore looked more and more like him by the day.

If he and his mother were the same . . . then perhaps, you don’t know how to ‘like’ as well. They were all just things anyway, all just stuff, all just.

And Mother definitely liked his best anyway.

Yeah.

Definitely.

This poor girl.

You didn’t think she’d be standing inside the clinic with Theodore, a glum expression on her face and disheveled hair. That son of yours still had that bored expression in his face, even as he asks you to help out his friend.

It’s simple to usher the girl inside, and sternly request Theodore to go make her a drink.

That’s how you find yourself brushing the knots out of her hair at that tiny living area above the clinic, away from the resting patrons. There was a time when Darla and Theodore used this room to take their naps, back when they were much younger.

It was quite a delight to see that boy become friends with the tailor’s daughter, their own shop right across the street.

Theodore didn’t care much for friends. There’s a part of you that thinks he liked that she didn’t ask too many questions or bother him too much.

If anything, you were worried that he was the one bothering you.

Alastor always did have a penchant for mischief, and it wouldn’t be surprising if some of it rubbed off on Theodore.

You easily tie the ribbon around Darla’s hair, ensuring that it’s tied away from her face. “Now that your hair is fixed,” you say, then point towards the bright smile on your face, “you’re just missing one of these now.”

Darla’s smile wobbles a bit, but it gets there anyway. “Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, my sweet girl.” You take the glasses on the table, and hand then to her. “Theo left his glasses again this morning. Could you hand it to him? I . . . I keep forgetting to remind him to wear it.”

The fact that your son inherited your forgetfulness makes you sight a little.

Darla nods at you, and takes the glasses with a small smile.

Theodore walks into the room with a tray of iced tea, handing one to you and the other to Darla. It’s nice to see him so considerate that you agree to pay for their afternoon snacks, handing them a few coins.

Theodore watches as Darla goes to gather her belongings, then glance at you a little expectantly. “You like me best, right?” he says, frowning. “I’m the one you like the best.”

“Of course,” you say, and it’s times like these that remind you that this little boy is still your little boy. “But I still expect you to behave and stay out of any trouble.”

Theodore’s smile brightens just a little more after that. “I’ll be good.”

It’s a laugh that spills out of you when he grabs Darla by the wrist, a look of excitement on him as they but whatever snacks they could afford.

There’s this look in his eyes that reminds you of Alastor, and a smile grows on you.

Darla doesn’t get to interact with Theodore’s father much.

He always arrives at the end of working hours to pick up his family. Apparently, they have a house outside the city. It’s different from the way Darla’s family lives above her mother’s tailoring shop.

It’s been years of this pattern, but she’s sad to see her only friend go each day anyway.

Theodore stays seated next to her on the bench, even as Mr. Alastor parks his car right in front of the clinic. It’s times like these where she really understands just how much Theodore resembles him.

They have that same curly brown hair that matches the brown in their eyes, but while Mr. Alastor had a shine in his, Theodore’s eyes always reminded her of a fish—a dead fish, specifically.

Mr. Alastor was much taller obviously, and the small lines around his eyes tell of his age. Darla bets that Theodore would look just like him when he gets to that age.

They both have the same glasses as well, and perhaps, that’s the reason why Theodore keeps ‘forgetting’ to wear them. But he’s being good right now, and dutifully keeps it on his face.

There’s a wide smile on Mr. Alastor’s face. It’s a little comforting to see someone smile so wide, for Darla knows he’s capable of a smile even in the worst of times. It makes him look in control, and Darla could see herself easily trusting him.

Theodore never smiles like that.

Theodore never smiles, actually.

Mr. Alastor takes a moment to fix his hair, and straighten the glasses around his face. It’s a little weird, but he pulls on a perfectly fine bowtie until it’s crooked, but Mr. Alastor has always been a little eccentric.

Darla glances at Theodore. “Your dad is here.”

“Who?” Theodore tilts his head all the way to the side.

“Your mother’s husband is here.”

“Oh . . .,” he says. “Him.”

“I don’t understand why you insist on doing that,” Darla says, shaking her head a little. “Your parents always seem very kind.”

Darla watches as you step out of the clinic to greet Mr. Alastor with that small but happy smile. Now that is how Theodore smiles, but it’s a rare phenomenon to see him do such a thing.

Mr. Alastor leans low enough for you to reach his bowtie, straightening it for him.

Darla looks towards Theodore when Mr. Alastor takes a step closer to you, pulling you by the waist. A marriage like that wouldn’t be too bad. Just thinking about stepping out to greet . . .

Darla glances away from Theodore.

“I doubt he actually cares,” Theodore says. “It’s a fun game we play.”

“It’s hard to tell when you’re joking if you never express it.”

“I’m working on it,” he says, sulking a little. “Everyone’s just . . . too boring.” Theodore points at his father, a scowl on his face. “He’s not boring sure, ridiculous even, but he likes to bother me a little too much. Mother is never boring, and she doesn’t bother me.”

Huh. . . Theodore was scowling. It’s an expression so different from the blankness she usually sees.

Darla takes a moment to think. “Am I boring?”

“No.” Theodore flasher a grin at her. “Not at all.”

Theodore’s mother waves him over from across the street, and it looks like her time with her friend has come to an end.

Theodore stands from the bench, stretching his back a little.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says. “Don’t forget your glassee.”

Theodore huffs at her, and he’s certainly being a little more expressive right now. “Fine.”

“Theo.”

“Darla.” He leans down at her with a grin.

“Do I bother you?”

Theodore flashes her that same toothy grin, and waves at her as he crosses the street. “I bother you, remember?”

Darla keeps her eyes on Theodore as he crosses the street to the clinic. Mr. Alastor sees him and places a gentle hand on his head, flattening the curls on top.

Theodore rolls his eyes all the way to the side at something his father said, but allows Mr. Alastor to keep that hand on his head as he rambles on with the personality he’s so known for.

It’s times like these that Darla understands why Mr. Alastor goes out of his way to bother his son so much.

Theodore becomes a little more expressive when he does, a little more like the child he’s supposed to be, a little more like a prickly and hissing kitten, but an expression is an expression.

. . . It’s a little cute to see him flare his arms, huffing and puffing at whatever Mr. Alastor said to annoy him this time.

Theodore knew he shouldn’t have punched that kid . . . Perhaps, he could convince his mother that he was doing it precisely because he was trying to be better at being mindful and caring.

That scum was messing with Darla’s hair again, and when Theodore stepped in to caringly ask the boy to stop, he was shoved away.

Not even his mother’s husband has ever touched him like that.

. . . So . . . Theodore may have gotten just a little pissed off, and shoved him back. The boy punched him, and Theodore simply punched him back, and made sure he wouldn’t be able to do so again.

That’s how he ended up in one of the empty classrooms, waiting as either one of his parents come get him. Darla wasn’t allowed to accompany him, and Theodore finds himself a little pissy at having to wait alone.

He’s just so bored right now.

The door opens with a soft click, and one of the teachers motions towards him—

Theodore kills the curse that threatens to slip out.

His father steps into the room, and shakes the teacher’s hand before Theodore is left alone with him.

It’s simple to ignore him, still silently resting his chin on the desk with that bored and simple expression he seems to be known for.

His father has always been tall, and Theodore has never felt so small as he looms above him. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll be as tall as that when he grows a little older.

The silence persists even as Theodore’s father kneels by the desk with that annoyingly wide smile of his. He’s low enough that Theodore could meet his eyes.  “Are you alright?” he says, voice a little soft. “I heard that boy hit you.”

. . . Theodore was expecting to be scolded, and not asked if he was feeling alright. “Yes,” Theodore says anyway, and it comes out simple. “I’m fine.”

“The principal explained what happened to me and that boy’s father,” he says, still kneeling by the desk. “I’d like to hear what happened from you.”

Theodore explains everything to his father, and it comes out easier than he expected. It wasn’t his fault, for Theodore was only trying to defend his friend.

That was a good thing, right?

Surely, Theodore did a good thing.

“You did good by defending your friend.” He rises with a jump, and annoyingly pats Theodore’s head like it was a button he was determined to mash, even if it ruffles all the curls on his head. “I’ll just talk to the boy’s father about an apology, and we can go.”

Theodore buries his face into his arms, hiding a grumpy but happy smile

Theodore slides into the car at the same time as his father.

There’s this moment that rises when the doors close and the events of what happened settle into some kind of silence, and the both of them just sit together inside the car.

His father stares at him, and there was a bruise forming on his eye that mirrors the one on Theodore’s cheek.

Theodore looks ahead. “I’m never getting that apology, am I?”

“No,” he says, a little simple. “I don’t think you are.”

A beat passes, and then another beat, and then another, and then another one—

The laugh that explodes out of his father’s mouth echoes around. Theodore grumbles when his eyes drift off in two different directions. His father wipes away a bunch of fake tears. “You got into a fight!”

Theodore doesn’t really appreciate being laughed at.

“So did you!” He points a finger at him, grumbling even more. “You said you were going to talk to his father. Maybe I’m going deaf because I missed the part where you said you were going to start a fight with him.”

His father laughs even harder, and this time, tears actually do prickle his eyes. “Such a prickly attitude today,” he says. “You weren’t supposed to start a fight either.”

“. . . I didn’t start it.”

“And neither did I,” he says, sighing a little. “That boy and his father really are a piece of work, but I’m proud of you anyway.”

Theodore scowls at him. “That isn’t something you should be proud of!”

His father’s laugh gradually dies down until he’s pressing his head on the steering wheel, and his smile flattens as the most tired expression settles on his face. “Your mother is going to kill us.”

Theodore sticks his tongue out. “Us? There is no us,” he says, a smug expression on him. “Mother is going to kill you.”

“Do you actually believe that?”

“. . .We don’t have to tell her anything.”

The smile on his father softens just a little more. “Does anything hurt?” he says. “It usually takes a while.”

“I don’t know.” Theodore simply shrugs, and that simpleness turns into a scowl when a finger taps at the bruise on his cheek. It’s automatic to allow that frustrated sound to escape. “Why would you even do that?”

“Now you know that that it hurts!” His father pauses for a moment, then happily says, “You look like your mother right now.”

Theodore crosses his arms with a deep frown, sulking into his seat.

Who even pokes at a bruise?

His father—that’s who.

Alastor presses the cloth into his bruised eye, but uses the other one to watch you and Theodore.

You’re seated on the side of the bed, brushing those brown curls away from his sleeping face before placing a soft kiss. There’s something about the way you pull the blanket just a little higher around Theodore’s shoulder, and it pulls a smile on Alastor’s lips.

It would be so amusing to talk to a version of himself that has yet to experience a wife and a son.

Alastor would probably tell him that there are things that will calm the all anger in his heart, and that younger version of him will dismiss him in a way that will remind him of how Theodore dismisses him.

But then that younger version of him will still know that there’s more to life, and he’ll have something so precious if he just waited a little.

You pull the curtains that separate each patient’s bed, and walk towards him with a scowl that was inherited by their son. It’s quite lucky that the clinic was empty right now.

Alastor tries not wince as you take the ice from him, and press it into his eye.

There’s a frown on your lips as you stand before him. It’s a little cute, and almost enough to make him wished he allowed that guy to get a couple more hits on him. “He’s going to bring me to my early death. You’re going to bring me to my early death,” you say. “I swear that boy—”

“Is absolutely wonderful.” Alastor takes your wrist, pulling it away from his face with a bright smile. “There’s no need for you to worry so much. In fact, I think you should be happy about the fight instead.”

You’re glare hardens at him. “And why should I be happy about your son punching another kid?”

“Well, dearest, a fight is a very normal thing! He’s already so much different than how we were when he was his age.” Alastor pulls you close enough to boop the flare of your nose. “Plus, Theodore was defending that little friend of his, and I can assure you that the other boy struck first.”

There’s this moment where you roll your eyes all the way to the side, and that small moment is enough for Alastor to be reminded of their son.

Theodore held so many pieces of you and him.

“Next you’re going to tell me that the boy’s father struck you first as well.”

Alastor shows you his most innocent smile. “Maybe not physically, but he definitely struck a nerve. Ha! Ha!”

“Alastor!”

Alastor presses a finger to his lips, reminding you to be just a little quitter lest Theodore wakes up from his nap.

You roll your eyes at him again.

“I work with words for a living, my dear, and I merely taught that man that some words have their consequences,” Alastor says, and his eye twitches a little when he remembers the stuff that man said about his family. “Theodore is a brilliant boy who will become a brilliant man. It’ll be fine.”

You brush a bit of his hair away from his face, then trace the edges of his bruise. “Will it?”

“Yes,” he says, leaning into your hand. “You’ll just have to put a little more trust into our son.”

“You’re too soft on him.” You press a kiss ok his cheek.

“Am I?” Alastor says, tilting his head a little. “Well, it probably doesn’t help that he happens to be the best thing we ever made together.”

That feeling when your idgaf attitude gets completely shattered because your dad likes to annoy you too much, thus giving you access to emotions and expression you didn't know you were capable of feeling. Someone save that poor boy from getting rage baited by his own dad.