"'Cenzo?" Isobel is rightly confused when her usually jovial, sweet son storms into the house, slamming the front door on his way in before marching upstairs to his room, only regarding his mother with a grumpy huff.
There's punch in his hair, all over his shirt, his nose is bloody and bruised and his ribs are probably bruised too, judging by how much they hurt.
He's annoyed. No, not just annoyed — Harlen is fucking pissed. This is blatantly evident in way he slams his bedroom door the moment he gets upstairs, locking it.
Isobel glances at her husband with an undeniably worried expression that immediately translates to 'go talk to him'. And so Vincent does, hoisting himself out of his chair and making his way upstairs.
By the time the older man is at the top of the steps, he can already hear a familiar song playing loudly from Harlen's bedroom, no doubt from his own collection. Harlen has always had a habit of borrowing his father's CDs when he's upset. Vincent sighs, walking over to the door and knocking gently.
"Figlio, can I come in?" he asks quietly, waiting patiently for his son's answer.
It's a few moments before Harlen opens the door, face settled into a scowl, as he looks at his father. "What?" he spits.
Vincent raises an eyebrow. "Easy there, principino."
Harlen's face and tone soften at the nickname, mumbling a quiet sorry before walking back into his room, leaving the door open for his father to enter, sinking into his spinny chair.
"That's alright, son. Do you want to talk about it?" he asks as he walks in, closing the door behind him and leaning against Harlen's desk.
Harlen shakes his head, turning the music up a little. Vincent hums.
And, for at least another hour, the pair simply enjoys the music, completely silent otherwise, until Harlen falls asleep, snoring softly.
Vincent smiles at him, putting a blanket over him and lightly ruffling his hair before turning off the CD player, then the light, and leaving the room, closing the door.
