an institution for troubled children

i love you

𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊

༄ؘ ˑ

"our com- co- com-"

"communicators," bad reads for him.

"communicators are down," karl reads slowly, following along the words with his pointer finger as he does. he sighs, "what pr- pro-"

"come on karl, i know you know this," bad encourages, searching karl's face for some sign of why he isn't trying. karl just shrugs, lowering the book into his lap. "programme," bad tells him, gesturing down at the book for karl to continue.

karl groans, looking back at the page. "what programme do you use?" he reads emotionlessly and with no effort, seeming completely bored and more than a little uninterested.

"okay," bad sighs, carefully taking the book from the younger boy's hands, "i can tell you don't want to read anymore, shall we do maths instead?"

karl shrugs, sinking back into his chair. "sure." without the book, the brunette's gaze falls to the floor in front of him, staring blankly at the point where it meets the wall.

bad takes out the times tables sheet, putting it between them. "we're going to do sevens today," he tells karl, who gives no response besides the minor shift of his gaze, eyes now falling on the laminated sheet.

bad covers his hand over the sevens column, hiding the answers. "we're just going to see how far you get without the sheet, okay? there's no pressure. start whenever you're ready and don't try to rush," he speaks kindly.

karl slumps impossibly further into his chair, his botherless attitude completely contrasting his usual energy during tutoring. "seven, uhm- fourteen?"

bad nods along, confirming that the brunette is correct.

karl looks down at his fingers, moving them slightly as he counts up the next seven. "twenty-two?"

"ooo, try that one again," bad suggests, "think of it as fourteen, six, and one, instead of fourteen and seven."

"twenty-one," karl corrects himself, earning a proud nod from bad, "twenty-eight..."

"yep! really good, karl," bad says proudly, "and next?"

karl stares blankly at the brunette.

"okay, so think of twenty-eight, two, and five," bad guides, "so do twenty-eight plus two first..."

"thirty."

"yep, then add the last five..."

"thirty-five?"

"yes!" bad says happily, "really good karl, so, twenty-one, twenty-eight, thirty-five..."

karl groans, hanging his head back against the chair so he's looking up at the ceiling. "this is so stupid, i hate this," he complains, his tone harsh and angry.