twelve days of christmas

2 days - fix you

𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊

*͛ ͙͛ ⁑͛⋆͛*

"karl?"

the brunette zones back into the world he is supposed to be living in, looking up at his mom with a questioning hum. she's standing across the counter from him with her arms crossed against the marble countertop, leaning over as she squints at him.

"what's wrong?" she asks him, her eyes searching his expression like she's trying to read between the lines in a book, staring into a blank space and hoping new words will appear.

"nothing," he replies automatically, continuing the repetitive movement of shifting his spoon about in his likely-soggy cereal as he stares back at her. maybe if he holds eye contact for long enough, his words will come across as more real.

she pulls out the stall opposite and takes a seat, eyes still boring into his own. "you're not eating," she points out, and his eyes flick down to his unappealing-looking breakfast. "you promised me you would tell me what's wrong if it was stopping you from eating."

which is true. he did promise.

it was an assurance he made at the start of his road to finding recovery once more, after he'd fought through the worst of the summer. he wanted to get better, he still does, so it was easy to make promises that would help him in his journey.

karl scoops up a spoonful of his cereal, which is practically dissolving from how long it's been sitting in the milk. the texture is awful in his mouth but, if he's eating, he doesn't have to say what's wrong.

she sighs, looking disappointed but not with him. she looks disappointed with the world, maybe even herself, but never with karl. he can't help the route he was led down.

in his defence, karl doesn't know how he would even start to tell her what's wrong when he doesn't understand it himself. everything is so confusing, his thoughts are so muddled together. how can he articulate something he can't yet comprehend?

the older woman gets up from her chair and passes around to his side of the counter. she presses a kiss to his forehead just after he swallows and quietly says, "you don't have to force it down if you can't stomach it, baby. i can't force you to talk, and pushing yourself when you're starting to struggle will only make it worse. take it easy."

he nods, letting his spoon fall against the edge of the bowl.

she is right. if he forced himself to eat, just to get out of talking, he would only grow more resentment towards food. using it to punish himself would be nothing but detrimental, and he doesn't even want to consider how his brain would start seeing his mom if he let himself believe that she was giving him an ultimatum that included forcing himself to eat.

she brushes his hair off of his forehead and pushes the bowl away from before him. out of sight, out of mind.

"how about you pick lunch," she suggests, removing her hand from his head and watching the abundance of curls fall back over his eyes. he blows up at them, flicking them away, and the sight makes the older woman laugh slightly. "whatever you want, i'll get. whatever you think you can manage, my handsome boy."