Through the Screen

cautious footsteps make noah avert his gaze from the broken glass on the floor, to the small figure slowly approaching the threshold of the kitchen, his fingers tightening visibly around the broken piece of plate in his hands once he notices the misery on adrian's face—hair unkempt, lips chapped, forehead marked with thin lines of worry and an unhealthy pallor of sadness on his usually warm pink cheeks.

"y-you can go and freshen up, i'll do this," adrian's voice is barely audible, and noah can't find any words to say once the younger boy grabs the dustpan from noah's loose grip and dodges the scattered porcelain on the floor.

"adrian i—"

"i'm fine, i promise, please go and take a shower, i'll order something to eat so you feel better," adrian refused to meet noah's eyes, he knew he would start crying in just one look at the morose expression on his father's face. he wasn't mentally strong enough to keep the image of noah's watery eyes and his sunken cheeks and the permanent frown on noah's lips in his mind. he can barely blink away the sight of abel leaving, and the sound of doors slamming in unison.

bit his lip, confused at the way adrian's cheeks flushed at the statement. "c-can you call—um—" noah can't physically let his name slip out of his mouth.

adrian's voice causes noah to push his son's hair away from his forehead and a broken, half hearted apology to fall

chokes. "you don't deserve this, you're not supposed to deal with all of this," noah lets another feeling carve itself into his chaos of a brain—guilt. the complex, slowly building and the feeling of guilt that can't be looked over. the one that begins from the very centre of his heart and expands slowly throughout his body, leaving behind a hot waterfall of nothing in particular, slowly filling up his chest. it drowns his happiness, drowns his lungs,

hand away from his face and refusing to meet his eyes. amidst the storm of confusion in his brian, adrian lets another feeling carve its way in—guilt. the simple, broken down, obvious feeling of guilt that arises from the base of his chest and lands on the tip of his tongue, dotting the

wooden door

his hands and a blanket draped over his shoulders, drops of water landing on his glasses from his dripping wet hair.

in his chest, the burn in his lungs, the sting in his