Jacob's pov
As Officer Mellet hangs up his phone with his son, he sighs and sets it down, glancing back in the mirror to check on me.
"Don't worry, I'm not fooling around back here." I roll my eyes, jangling the loose handcuffs around behind my back.
Mellet and I have history so he is usually kind enough not to tighten the handcuffs too much. He's been busting me for a few years now, at first just for small stuff like staying out past curfew. Then as I "stretched further away from god" he started getting me for vandalism and a few fights he's had to break up. What can I say? I'm a hoot.
He nods an alright, turning onto the main highway of our god forbidden town.
"So, your son," I smirk, giving him a suggestive expression just for him to return a stern look.
"Troye? What about him?" Mellet asks suspiciously.
"Tell me about him. This is the first I've heard of him since we met." I request, slouching back in the stiff seat.
"Jacob, no. I'm not letting you corrupt my son."
I smile at that, "C'mon, we're not gonna be at the station for another half hour."
He huffs, contemplating it for a moment then sighing.
"Fine. What do you want to know?" He questions.
"What's he like?" I ask, thinking of the mystery boy.
All I know is through the phone, he sounded cute as hell, his Australian accent thick with every word.
"Well, he's definitely not like you, for starters. He's quiet, a very kept person. Ever since his mother got sick he kind of shut out everyone around him beside me." He pauses, genuinely shocking me.
Wow, kid's got it tough.
"He's an artist, his entire room is full of his artwork throughout the years. And on one wall, right above his bed, he painted a mural of the springs in our backyard."
I close my eyes, imagining his room. Cute.
"He doesn't do much besides hide himself in his room, listen to music, and make art. He's quite a sheltered child, thankfully. Hasn't gotten into the bad crowd yet, like you."
I frown, "Hey, not cool, Shaun. I thought you liked me."
"You're right, you're right. How about, he hasn't rebelled against society like you." He corrects himself, smiling to me as he stops at a red light, the car jerking forward lightly.
"Better, thanks, boo." I smirk, making him roll his eyes.
"Bixenman, what am I going to do with you?"
-
Troye's pov
My beautifully peaceful slumber is interrupted as I hear the opening and closing of the front door. Just the slightest noise can wake me these days, so I sit up and rub my eyes with little fists, yawning. I shake my curls up and jump down off of my bed, slipping into my fuzzy slippers and trudging my way out of my room.
The living room only a few short paces away, I crack a smile as I spot Dad taking off his shoes in the doorway.
"Why are you up, angel?" Dad murmurs, not even looking to me to know it's me.
We're the only ones in this house anymore so I guess that would be easy to know.
"Heard the door, wanted to say goodnight." He finally turns around to look at me, giving me an empathetic smile.
"It's five am, hug me goodnight then go get some sleep, Tok. You have school tomorrow." Dad mutters sleepily, yawning and opening his arms for me to walk into.
I step forward, letting his warm embrace shelter me. I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his shoulder.
"Have you eaten dinner?" I ask, hopeful he's keeping up with his body.
He's always so swamped with work and just like that, he can forget about taking care of himself.
He lets out a slightly shocked breath and shakes his head no.
"Must've forgotten."
I pull away from the hug and give him my best paternal look, only resulting in me giggling.
"You must eat. I need someone to stay alive and take care of me." I reply half-heartedly, throwing sarcasm in my words, making dad frown. He doesn't like my death jokes as you can tell.
"I'll be fine, go get some sleep." He brushes his own well being off again, making me resist his order immediately. This is the one rule I will always break without second thought. Though it's comforting, for some strange reason, to make jokes about it, I really do need him alive. I need someone in this family to stay alive. So of course I am going to care about his well being more than he does. He does the same for me.
"Nonsense, father, there are leftovers from dinner that you can have." I declare, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the kitchen a few feet away.
I let go as he makes a move to sit at the small table by the kitchen. Humming under my breath, I dig through the fridge and pull out one of the many plates I've saved for him and set it on the counter. Every other plate in there is from the last week, some untouched, others barely bitten at. I make dinner for the two of us every night but most of the time dad can't make it home on time, so I always put it in the fridge for when he gets home.
Shutting the refrigerator door, I pull the cling wrap off of his plate of chicken piccata and slip the plate into the microwave. As it cooks I gather a fork and a napkin, pacing around the kitchen, waiting for the microwave to beep.
"Child, you are too generous for your own good. You shouldn't have to make me dinner at five in the morning." Dad sighs as I set his food in front of him.
I smile, sitting down in the chair across from him.
"Anything for you. You're all I got."
Watching him scarf down the food, I start to feel my tummy rumble. Not a hunger pain, more of a why-are-you-awake-you-fool pain. Dad notices, giving me a concerned look.
"Did you take your sleeping meds tonight?" He asks, taking another bite of his food.
I nod, "Yeah, my tummy is probably just confused as to why I'm awake."
He nods understandingly, swallowing before replying.
"Get some sleep, kiddo. I'll be alright." He assures me.
I obey, nodding an alright.
"Wake me up if you need me, alright?"
"Alright, Troye. Goodnight." He nods.
I get up and wrap an arm around him briefly. After a moment I lean back and walk back towards my room.
"Nighty night, Dad."
