“Then fire her and give her a really fuckin’ bad review on Yelp if you wouldn’t call social services like me,” Cyrek responded, mildly cinched, unintentional in its lacking tone. Ever since he’d taken on the role of a parent from an exceptionally young age, taking it upon himself to call social services he’d do it again, no matter knowing how much the aftermath must have fucked him up, he had no problems bitching someone out if they couldn’t care for their child correctly. Especially his own. No exceptions could be made when they had the greater vulnerability and no means to care for themselves at a young age. Hell, he’d probably sue someone for it if he could afford a lawyer. Pro-bono didn’t come for civil cases, most of the time. “It’s already snowin’,” he added afterward, figuring if he stepped outside into the heavy snowfall, he’d be unhappy. The snowstorm had already been hitting the town, the possibility of a blizzard had yet to show itself yet. Picking out a couple cans of tomato soup from the shelf, the musician shook his head to acknowledge the apology, wanting to save it considering his ex-friend appeared to be in a hurry. He hardly had time for chit-chat himself with Carcosa waiting for him at home to continue packing for their get-away for Valentine’s, if the weather allowed them to slip out in the nick of time. How have you been? Brows furrowed together while he sought out the canned chickpeas, silently pondering how to answer a question simplistic and heavy. The blonde hardly owed anyone an explanation, and didn’t intend to divulge any of it to anyone in the middle of a grocery store, let alone to Trevor.
It did arise awareness that a lot had happened. Damian breaking his heart– fuckin’ jerk, you’re always in my way– leaving him to wonder exactly where he’d gone wrong or if he’d merely been another object to use. The falling out with Tyler ( “don’t ever come back” ), crawling back to an ex with intention of making a mess of himself with blossomed bruises and bloody noses, metal cutting into his skin turned to glass and a bottle of Lithium that ended in a hospital visit, bet you thought I’d gotten buried six feet underground except it wasn’t Damian, it was Cyrek and ( YOU DON’T EVEN GIVE A FUCK, I COULD HAVE DIED! IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU BUT I LOVED YOU ) Cyrek alone with those ghosts in his head. Thinking about it all, even for a fractal of a second, provoked phantom sting in his abdomen, the kind that Carcosa’s hand cradling his cheek– migrating over his skin like she can wish away all his pain, tipping cheek into her palm to kiss with what affection he has left to offer with tremulous anxiety she might leave too– couldn’t entirely scare away when paired with the nasty little voice in his head that murmured you’ll never get better and lacking recognition of himself in the mirror. “Busy.” The response was easy, casual; he’d been quieter since his downward spiral that led to his suicide attempt. He was still searching for the life there in the wreckage, some days, looking to escape this place, scouring the walls for a way to climb out, and maybe it was better he had to take a hiatus on the band. If he couldn’t find his voice to talk, how could he sing? ( “I think I’m losin’ my voice.” He couldn’t ignore the silence in the room like the air had been sucked out. “I don’t know what to do now.” ) You can’t live in a storm. ( “I’m gettin’ out of here, I swear. Just you wait.” ) Run away from here, don’t– STOP. Tossing in a can of chickpeas and green beans, lifting a hand to tinker with his industrial piercing, he maneuvered the cart around Trevor. “Y’know how it is, haven’t seen you around either.”
“I probably bloody will... Same wit’ social services.. ‘Sides, who t’reatens t’leave a damn toddler alone in a damn snow storm?” Trevor was so tired of this babysitter’s bullshit by now, and if she left Killarney alone while he was getting back home, he was raising hell. When the other mentioned it was already snowing out, Trevor glanced up to the window at the front of the shop, chewng hard on his bottom lip to try and control himself from getting too upset. Calm down, Trevor. Everything will be fine. Killarney’s okay, just calm down. You have meds now, there’s no excuse or need to completely do a 180 and go ballistic. “Shite... Yer righ’...” He had to calculate in his head for a split second, an extra 5 minutes, so almost a damn half an hour until he fully got home and in the driveway. Shit...
Trevor was just tired of fighting with people. All he wanted was to forget and forgive, and try and build that friendship back up with Cyrek. He’d been burrowed in his own home for months, and those months were something he was never going to ever get back. Did he regret it? Of course. But at the same time, they were valuable for his mental health. If he didn’t have that time to himself, he would have never built up the courage to go to the therapist and get medicine. He wouldn’t have come up with a few new song ideas, either. But, the only downsides to doing that was his friendship with Cyrek had deteriorated, and he was even left behind by those two guys who said they’d be there for him and then left. It was like he was fucking cursed to stay alone forever. “Busy eh? Me too, kinda...” That last bit sounded way softer and a bit sadder than he intended it to be. He’d been busy mending his broken heart, as well as Killarney’s. His son took it the hardest, crying almost every single night, which caused Trevor to end up sobbing each time with him. “Aye, I know. I’ve not been doin’ too well, hones’ly, but I’ve been tryin’ t’push past it, yeah?” He breathed out, watching him maneuver his cart around him. “Y’wanna come ‘round for a bit? I’ve missed ya, mate, an; I wanna bloody fix our friendship, at least t’somethin’ ot’er t’an a few words in a store.”
