Below The Surface - A Lackadaisy Fanfiction

Breathin'

He knew something was wrong when he saw tired gazes from the group. It was easy to detect. After all, Mr. Sweet was a father. He could tell these types of things rather quickly. He remained silent, standing up behind his desk.

Serafine held her ear absentmindedly, frowning. She turned her head away, pulling her hand off of her injured ear. Nico rubbed his tired eyes with two fingers, sighing sharply. Ivy leaned against Freckle, her cheek resting on his shoulder as she wrapped her arm around him. Rocky kept a notable distance from Mordecai, but even then their tails kept entwining once in a while.

"...so let me get this straight," Mr. Sweet placed both hands on his desk, "Lacrimosa's right hand woman shot Serafine, and Mordecai: you shot Mandisa back? Is that why you left early?"

"That is correct." Mordecai answered him.

"Did you even stay for Lacrimosa's performance?" Mr. Sweet added on.

"No sir: we left before it started."

"Why?"

"For reasons we don't wanna mention..." Freckle trailed off. Mr. Sweet gave them all a knowing look.

"...I see." He whispered. "Serafine: are you—"

"—I'm alive. Jus' missin' a bit of my ear."

"There's a whole divot in your ear, that is not a 'bit'!" Mordecai exclaimed, trying to keep his voice below a deadpan.

"Don't you mean a hole divot?" Rocky grinned: "Get it? 'Cause the divot is...like a hole?"

Mordecai gave Rocky a blistering glare. " Not the time, Roark."

"Don' bite anyone's head off, Mordecai." Nico scolded. Mordecai only rolled his eyes: he was too tired to argue with him.

"...we will discuss this in the morning. I expect you all to get rest. Mordecai: stay here." Mr. Sweet beckoned.

And so Mordecai did, ever so begrudgingly. When Rocky shut the door after the group left, Mr. Sweet stared into Mordecai's eyes.

"...you were feeling pressured by everyone watching, didn't you?" He whispered. Mordecai opened his mouth, but he didn't utter a word. He looked unwilling to share his remarks, as if something was holding him back.

"...not necessarily," Mordecai choked out. It was a blatant lie that made Mr. Sweet raise an inquisitive brow.

"Don't lie to me now, son." He sighed heavily. "C'mon: tell me. We're family, remember?"

Mordecai's shoulders noticeably dropped: "We are not family."

"I beg to differ." Mr. Sweet put a hand on his shoulder. "That whole party drained you, didn't it?"

"It most certainly did: I should have just—"

"—stayed here while all of that happened?" Mr. Sweet cut him off, holding up a hand. His tone became stern, and his brows furrowed. "They needed you, and it showed."

"Serafine got shot in the ear and is suffering a divot in it. I could not have predicted that to happen, nor should I have just... stood there," Mordecai ran a hand through his hair. His words were pouring out of him, and he was unable to control it.

"...are you feelin' guilty?" Mr. Sweet lowered his voice considerably. Mordecai made a noticeable face, his nose scrunching.

"Pardon?" He inquired.

"Are you feeling guilty for what happened to Serafine?" Mr. Sweet clarified.

"Not guilty: more so remorseful upon the fact that she was wounded," Mordecai then went off, "and relocated Nico so that she would take the shot, and how I merely watched in a paralyzed state with a sickening twist of anxiety settling in my stomach—my God." His eyes widened, and he brought his hand to his head, gripping his hair.