here ya go, i think ive decided if i ever write this thing in full this will be the beginning! i have my oc's lore all planned out but maybe this will be a little confusing out of context lol (also english is not my first language so there might be errors)
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Tugdual was having a really, really bad day.
It was 8 in the morning.
To be fair, it was just the continuity of a really, really bad night.
At the very least, the small kitchen of Abakoum's old rehabilitated farm was quiet. After a night filled by screams and clamor, and a few hours spent in the car under a heavy rain with earbuds in but a dead MP3 player, silence was truly a blessing.
Images from the past night were cycling through his mind. Maybe he would place it on top of the "worst night of his life" podium. Of course, it excluded the one where his dad had left – no matter what happened to him, this one would still easily win. He bitterly smiled as he enumerated again the list of people who had given up on him, recently extended. New record. What had he been expecting? He knew it was the only ending for him. He was cursed, rotten to the core. This reaffirmed idea had been carving its way into his chest since the night before, and the pain didn’t look like it would stop any time soon.
But he didn't have time to brood on those thoughts some more; because a boy he had never seen before had just barged in the kitchen.
Short and skinny, he was wearing an oversized, light long-sleeved t-shirt which almost hid his hands completely. His blond hair was a mess, flat on the side: his pale cheek was still marked by a fold in his sheets. Rubbing his puffy sleepy eyes, it took him a few seconds to realize he wasn't alone in the kitchen. He froze, mouth wide-opened, while Tugdual was staring at him, slowly sipping his tea. A few more seconds and he fled abruptly. Tugdual heard his running steps echoing in the hallway, and he almost smiled, amused. Maybe his stay would be a bit more entertaining than he had thought.
Sasha was standing with his back pressed against the wall, heart beating fast, with panting breath, thoughts flying everywhere. He had awoken this morning, gotten up, come down to the kitchen like every day, thinking he would find Abakoum: but instead, he had stumbled upon a young man with black hair and elaborate goth clothes, who was calmly sipping tea. Sitting in his chair. Sasha, hadn’t had a human contact with someone other than his adoptive father since months on top of already being deathly asocial, had simply fled instead of saying hi and asking the million questions swarming his mind: Who are you? Where's my dad? What are you doing in my chair? Etc. And there he was in the hallway, on the first step of the staircases, hesitantly wondering if he should just lock himself in his room and simply wait for the situation to resolve itself.
But as he was starting to seriously consider this appealing idea, a silhouette emerged from the kitchen's doorway: it was the black-haired boy.
“Hello?” he said with a cocky smile.
He was visibly amused from Sasha's confusion. The blond one wanted to answer, but the words were all tangled in his mind, stuck in his throat. Sinister anxiety was filling him, whispering: An intruder. In your house! He couldn't help but see any human presence as a threat – apart for Abakoum, but this exception had taken time do build. Overwhelmed with panic, he thought about running up the stairs, trying to guess if he would have enough time to block his room's door. There was his chair, but he remembered distinctly moving it against his wall to clean his room the night before, so it was far from the door, and he had to get it quickly enough to block the handle, or... no, he wouldn't have the strength to move any other furniture –
“Sasha, you're up!”
The deep, familiar voice pulled him out of his frantic thoughts, and he turned his head to see with relief Abakoum walking up the hallway. The immense silhouette calmed him, and he was finally able to take a deep breath in the hopes of slowing down his painfully fast-beating heart. How humiliating! He was almost having a panic attack just because a stranger – who wasn’t even actively threatening! – had just popped up in his kitchen. How did he do it back then, in the children’s home? Where anyone could barge in his room at anytime while he was sleeping or changing? Had the comfort of Abakoum’s house made him so weak, he couldn’t even tolerate another person’s presence?
Trying to sound casual and totally cool with the situation, he asked:
“Who... who's that?”
The black–haired boy lost his smile. Worry darkened Abakoum's eyes for a second, his forehead frowning subtly. But he smiled and, coming closer to his adoptive son, lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Aleksander, this is Tugdual. Tugdual, Aleksander.”
He got closer to the boy and added:
“It was an unexpected visit, I'm sorry if you were startled. Everything's fine.”
Sasha nodded, looking wary. He didn't like this situation at all. Fear was eating away every corner of his mind: but at least he didn't feel directly threatened anymore thanks to the Veilleur’s presence.
“Naftali and Brune just left,” the old man said to « Tugdual ». “They want you to know that they love you.”
“They already told me”, the young man muttered, his face suddenly gloomy.
“They insisted.”
Sasha looked questioningly at his adoptive father, who returned a soft gaze.
“Tugdual lives with his grandparents, Naftali and Brune, who are close friends. But they had an emergency and they cannot house him right now, so he is going to stay with us temporarily.” Observing Sasha as to gauge his reaction, he added softly: “It was very sudden. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you in advance.”
“It's... It's fine,” Sasha stammered.
It wasn't fine at all.
“How about breakfast, now?” cheerfully asked the old man.
The black-haired boy shrugged and disappeared back into the kitchen. Abakoum put his arm around Sasha's shoulders, inviting the young man to walk with him to the kitchen. Feeling his adoptive son slightly trembling against him pained him: but he had to show him now that there was no danger, nothing to fear. Letting him go back upstairs and lock himself in his room would open the way to the boy's crippling anxiety, that he was trying so hard to fight. Sasha gave him a reluctant look, and the old man answered by a calming smile.
“Everything will be fine,” he whispered. “I promise.”
Sasha looked away, a little reassured. As much as fear was trying to make him doubt, one thing he knew was that his dad had never broken a promise.
***
A few minutes later, Sasha was sat at the kitchen's table, not in his chair, sipping the black tea he usually drank in the morning. Squatting on not-his-chair, he had put his hands around the hot mug, and covertly gazed at Tugdual – or rather, the boy he was going to have to live with for an unspecified lenght of time, which was a terrifying thought. He was sat too, arms crossed, looking sombre. Long strands of black hair covered parts of his pale face, and he was absent-mindedly playing with his silver tongue piercing.
Abakoum sat down after putting toasts and jam on the table, holding a cup tea. To his surprise, it was Sasha who broke the weighty silence:
“So... he's gonna live with us?”
His unassured voice didn't help the question's clumsiness.
“He is right there,” grunted Tugdual, rolling his eyes.
“Indeed,” confirmed Abakoum, ignoring the grumpy teenager. “Do you remember Dragomira? Naftali and Brune are mutual friends.”
“Oh,” Sasha said, reassured to at least find one familiar element in this whole thing.
He loved Abakoum, and he loved Dragomira : their friends could only be good people, and by extension, their grandson too...? He glanced again at Tugdual, who was frowning in the perfect pouty expression of a gloomy teen. But he suddenly met his eyes: surprised by their intense steel color, Sasha quickly pretended to be absorbed by the contemplation of his tea infuser.
“By the way, anyone would mind telling me who he is?” the black-haired boy groaned, pointing at him.
Sasha turned to Abakoum, concerned. Had he not told anyone else about him? Without realizing, his heart had started beating fast again, blood pumping to his head as fear had burst again in his stomach. Why? Was he unimportant? Was he going to send him back into foster care? No. He’d rather die than go back.
But the old man gave him a kind smile, and gestured subtly to his throat. "Breathe!" Sasha obeyed, realizing he was losing himself to panic again. He almost sighed from irritation. Feeling like he had no control on any of his thoughts and emotions was incredibly frustrating. It felt like the unexpected situation was sweeping away all the progress he had made since living with Abakoum.
“Naftali and Brune probably told you that I recently adopted,” said the Veilleur, turning to Tugdual.
The young man glared at them successively with arrogance, and shrugged.
“They might have mentioned it.”
“And maybe have you heard of Oden?” Abakoum continued, with strangely enigmatic eyes.
Tugdual noticed it: intrigued without wanting to show it, he didn't answer, but was clearly waiting for more. Sasha laid back on his chair, comfortably curled up on himself, holding his hot mug closer. Even if he already knew in details the history of his biological family, he couldn't help but listen attentively.
“Oden was an old friend of us, I mean me, Dragomira and Leomido. We had found ourselves... well, we lived together in Siberia, as you know, it was decades ago... but Oden followed Leomido’s example, and he decided to leave the deserted, glacial countryside. I can't hold that against him... But unlike Leomido, he didn't go far. He settled in annexed Estonia, got married, had a child…”
The old man's gaze darkened, and he closed his eyes for a second, opening them again to reveal a piercing look.
“Sadly, the country wasn't spared by the tensions that forced us all to migrate West. But Oden wasn't as lucky as us... he was killed while trying to flee, like so many others...”
Sasha took a sip of his tea, and glared – hopefully discreetly – at Tugdual. He was staring at Abakoum attentively, having uncrossed his arms and even leaning slightly towards him.
“But his only daughter, Alina, was able to escape,” the old man continued. “She reached England and was able to build a life for herself.”
Sasha twitched, like every time his biological mother was mentioned. He had almost no memory of her: she had abandoned him to his genitor, who clearly had not wanted to be burdened by a child. In his most likely estimations, she was gone right after his birth. Even though he couldn’t help but search for his deepest memories and find the comfort of thin and soft arms like his, the forgotten tune of a lullaby, and those sparkles of light he couldn’t define the origin of... memories that were perfectly impossible, if she had indeed left him right after his birth – and probably created by his own mind.
“...using the records, and I managed to trace all the way back to Aleksander, and we decided that he would come and live with me,” concluded Abakoum, bringing the boy back to reality.
He turned his head to Tugdual, trying to gauge his reaction. The young man was strangely focused and gazed intensely at Abakoum, who was also looking at him. Sasha frowned slightly, feeling like something was being communicated right under his nose. The old man seemed to answer a silent question by a very subtle nod, and Tugdual's eyes opened slightly, before gazing at Sasha. A little offended to not be included in the conversation, he pretended not to notice and focused on sipping his tea.
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here you go
THIS IS SO FUCKING AMAZING! Your Tugdual characterisation? Your OC? Your captation of the vibe of Abakoum's house? *chef's kiss* mwah mwah mwah infinite. Like literally your Tugdual has the exact bitterness and catlike fascination with people, your OC is in for a treat (Edefia)... Idk what to say except that is absolutely marvelous and perfect!
I'm so glad you shared it with me!
