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THEY β± HE. MDNI.
Joined May 2024
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a depiction of @televandalistsβ
past ; in which they are nineteen
years old, living within the confines
of an abusive environment.
β
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
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
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
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
[ 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.
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
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
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
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