𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐂.𝐋

𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦

3rd ツ

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out of the many talks charles lennon has had with his father at the dinner table, this was probably one of the worst.

he sat at the quiet table with his mom, his little brother and his dad, who stared intently at him as he waited for charles to mention football at any time, in which he didn't.

"so." the chewing was loud enough to hear it from across the table, that's what charles noticed as he glanced up, sticking his fork back into his food, slowing down as he watched his father whose eyes had been what charles considered evil and condescending like always.

"big game tomorrow." he nodded, his stare of horror turning into a faint, fake smile as he looked to the other two at the table.

charles and his father sat on opposite ends, giving easy access to a staring contest that was starting now, due to charles himself.

his jaw clenched and his stomach lurched. "same as always." he let out a short breath through his nose, already feeling suffocated by just the few words spoken in this conversation so far.

charles would never admit to anyone that he not only feared his father, but loved him so much he hated him, and all he did to make him feel as if whatever path he was on was the wrong one.

if it made more sense, maybe he'd tell more people. but even then, it was something he liked to keep to himself, something he liked to ignore as much as possible.

"not so much." his father shifted in his seat, pointing his fork over and giving that same condescending look only charles would know. "very important game. team needs you,"

there was a moment of silence where charlie shrugged, keeping his mouth shut as he continued to stuff it with his dinner and at that, his father shifted in his seat again, only growing angrier this time as his son peacefully ignore him as a way to actually enjoy his dinner for once.

"hope you understand that." his father added, still longing for a response from charles who stared at his plate, tuning out his own father.

the young, green eyed boy figured he was a disappointment to his father. he knew this, and as much as it pained him and made him wish he was a whole different person, now it seemed like a lost cause.

something he'd regret his whole life was going into high school football.

"you know we all don't have to go to your game right?" charles' father spoke with his mouth full, and his face red as he continued to wave the fork around, before sticking it into his mouth.

"now, wait-" both eyes shifted over to his mother, who in most situations always did exactly this, being followed up with her being yelled over, and the conversation being over.

"no, he has to know - what do you think you're gonna do without football huh? are you gonna try or are you gonna ride the bench as a captain. be a man, and figure that out, alright?"

the many words pouring into charles' brain not only struck him right where it hurt, but it did the same to his younger brother. giving the idea that a man without football or war wasn't a man at all.

"i'm not-" shutting his eyes in regret for even coming home tonight, charlie sighed, pursing his lips as he struggled to explain. "i never said i was going without football. i'm just eating." he calmly announced, watching his dad closely and sneaking glances to his family members in a small sweat, holding his own breath as he waited for his fathers response that surely came.

" 'ts what i thought." speaking with his mouth full, charles' father eyed his son before looking back down to his plate and from there it was quiet. no one else spoke of anything and charles only wished he could be in anyone else's home b it his. he finished up his plate, taking his brothers food as well, and he rushed the plates to the sink in a rush, both washing them and putting them away.

"night." he uttered, talking his brother to bring him upstairs along with him.

charles hated a lot of things about his family. the clearly unhappy couple, the clearly unhappy family, but he enjoyed the way they never made them stay downstairs after dinner: especially after some like these.

when charles entered his room along with his younger brother rowan, he locked it behind them, giving them the quiet time they needed. the kind of quiet that brought comfort, not dinner quiet.

charles threw his foam football at the ceiling, which was ironic now, as rowan him bombarded his computer with the many games he was about to play.

it was silent, comforting, and the only thing that charlie lived for in this moment.

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:-)