silva , mark .
his house was never empty . mark , sawyer , their younger foster siblings . sometimes it felt like half of chicago’s troubled youth were filling up beds . people were always moving , rushing , pushing , shoving . getting to class , work , anywhere else . ( the blakes had left sawyer and mark the house , on the condition they took care of it & the two foster kids who were under eighteen at the time . two only children forced to be older brothers . though , honestly , they took care of themselves , and sawyer was somehow anywhere but where he was needed . ) all of this is to say , you didn’t ring the doorbell , you let yourself in .
he’s standing in the kitchen , digging through a broken plastic laundry basket in a vain attempt to find ONE fucking clean shirt on this planet , when jane appears . ❝ –––––––– i swear to god , group homes have less laundry theft . the fuck . there’s coffee in the pot . ❞ he shrugs a bleach stained hoodie over mole - marked shoulders ; tattoos , scars , & pendant now tucked away . this is when , unfortunately , a girl called anna . . . no amy . . . amanda ? slips down the stairs and out the back door . she palms her car keys and offers a quick wave . that’s where the shirt he wanted went . god dammit . he turns to jane , pouring black coffee into a chipped mug , ❝ why do girls do that ? they have their own clothes . i know she has her own clothes . like whats the point ? am i just a walking - talking good will ? ❞
EXHAUSTED , blistered feet soldier on . mornings are an assault on jane’s patience . harry’s lunch marks the easiest feat . ( jane’s a goddamn good cook , check the vegetable quesadilla and guacamole in his lunch box . ) public transport , scattering to collect half decent groceries –––– a head fuck , but she manages . however , waking a pre - teen ? perilous , TREACHEROUS waters . sullen lipped sigh greets home before her beaten sneakers shuffle their way inside . and nope , she does not take note of lithe frame , bare and obnoxiously demanding attention . ❛❛ thank god , ❜❜ jane beelines for fridge . unloads milk , eggs , some fruit –––– unspoken staple of her presence , a quiet filling in of gaps for people around her . she’s LOST MAIL brought to her neighbour’s kitchen table , hand soap slipped on a barren bathroom sink at a friend’s house . finally a moment for pause , nurse skirts around him with barely an acknowledgement . coffee’s on offer , jane has priorities . anna , amy , amanda creaking blase down the stairs –––– now , this makes jane pay ATTENTION . what follows is perhaps a more PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE procession through the five stages of grief . affronted blinking , there’s the denial . little acceptance , lots of anger . it’s the principle of it that bothers her , not the action . ( least , she tells herself as much . ) tuesday is jane’s shopping day . harry knows it , mark knows it . annaamyamnda oughta goddamn know it , too . ❛❛ DON’T . do not talk to me with nasty last night breath if you haven’t at the very least brushed your teeth after –––– ❜❜ queue the pause , lips turn down . not because she’s done berating . because she’s looking at him for the first time , and concern for fresh RED AND PURPLES blossomed across his jaw take precedence . one’d think a girl had learned , but again petal soft fingers are against his chin ! tipping it this way and that to assess the damage . and she’s close to him , close enough her disgruntled breath dances against the nape of his neck . ❛❛ you dumb ass , what happened ? ❜ it’s more of a DEMAND than a question , punctuated by boy being ushered into a seat .
