Expelled and needing to transfer for his final year, Liam had known immediately where to go. It was the place that'd taken everything from him; that'd ruined him so absolutely it'd twisted his personality beyond recognition.
The place where he'd met...
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Metal gates rattled under the howl of wind and rain. Streetlamps blinked and wept, plastic bins shivering like chattering teeth. Wet, blinding flashes of the scene Liam had left behind were marked to the dark of his eyelids, the tears spilling down Charlie's cheeks.
ㅤHis body did the work. His legs roped him forward independently of his wishes, carving up pavements until he found himself on Mia's front doorstep. He stood, shaking and heaving, unsure what he was doing there. But it wasn't as if he had anywhere else to be. With no plans to ring the doorbell, his feet were frozen to the ground.
ㅤHe startled when the door opened. The older woman paused at the surprising sight of him. Mia's mother didn't like him, so he expected yelling before she sent him away. Yet, she closed her mouth as soon as it opened.
ㅤ"Mia!" the woman called. "Your friend is here!"
ㅤShe left the door cracked open as she stepped around him, venturing into the rain in her oversized coat without another word.
ㅤMia appeared moments later, her moody confusion quickly spiking into shock.
ㅤ"Liam!" She stepped out barefoot, the door swinging open. "What's wrong? Where's your shirt?"
ㅤLiam blinked, looking down at himself. He'd torn a jacket off the hook on his way out, but he'd been shirtless underneath. It stuck to his bare skin like a wetsuit. "Ah..."
ㅤ"You're shaking." Her scorching hand touched his face, and she flinched. "You're freezing."
ㅤNumb feet were stuck on the doorstep, his sopping shoes heavy and leaking into a puddle below him. Every part of him was dripping.
ㅤ"Come in and let me get you a towel," she said. "Did you walk all the way here in the rain without a proper coat?"
ㅤHe hadn't felt the weather in his panic. Without answering, he followed her inside, not fighting when she stripped him of his ruined jacket and pushed him onto the sofa like a doll. Hesitating, she stared at him for a moment.
ㅤ"I'll be right back," she said, and quickly left.
ㅤOn the mantelpiece, above an indifferent, unlit fireplace, was a small antique clock. The little hand ticked seconds off—metronomic beats which bounced off the calm silence. The rain was far away, muffled behind soft curtains, hushing the memory of the shouting and chaos he'd left behind.
ㅤShe returned some moments later, blocking his view of the clock and holding out a towel. Blinking, he took it. He stared at the fabric in his lap. The sofa darkened around his jeans.
ㅤMia sighed and snatched it back. She towelled over his shoulders and up his neck, chasing the drips from his hair onto his skin. It was such a motherly touch—that firm but gentle care—that his eyes began to prick.
ㅤ"Don't let Chris find out about this," Liam croaked, joking.
ㅤJust as he felt tears spill over, the towel covered his head, hiding his face from view. Mia.
