Outsiders smp oneshots!

my lonely little heart, still beats for you (while yours doesn't at all)

Mohwee was 5.

He was well aware of the tension in his house, of the whispered insults and screams downstairs when his parents thought he was asleep. He wasn't blind to the tears his mother brushed aside in the mornings or the way his dad never looked at her with the same love and kindness he did before.

So it wasn't a surprise when he left. His mother slammed the down behind him, clutching her cheek where his hand left an angry red mark. Mohwee hid behind her, grasping his loyal stuffed toy. His mother said that his father was a terrible man, who hurt her and would have hurt him too if he hadn't left. If he hadn't gotten bored of the struggle she put up. They were better off without him, she said.

He believed her, because why wouldn't he? Besides, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

-

When Mohwee was 10, he started helping his mom at their shop. Lynch's Treats And Sweets, his mother's bakery that she worked at when she was his age. The two lived in the apartment above it, looking over the sunny street. They had moved to District 19 after the divorce, after his father showed up again to try and take him away. His grandpa let them stay. Mohwee liked his grandfather. He was sweet, and always smelled like cinnamon from the fresh buns downstairs.

Mohwee loved the small shop, how the sunlight made little rainbows on the wood floor and how the smell of cakes and cookies wafted upstairs in the mornings. His mother taught him to cook, her sugary shampoo swirling around him as she lifted him off his feet in a giant hug. Mohwee giggled and squirmed, eyeing the batch of cake batter on the counter.

-

Mohwee was 13.

School was long, and the teacher held him back for a lecture on fighting his classmates. Again. He was already dreading the look his mom would give him, the sigh she would let out as she would sigh his detention slip. If his grandfather was still here, he would have been on his side, praising him for standing up for that boy who was bullied for his lisp.

Too bad he died a year before.

Mohwee sighed, the keys jingling in his hand as he opened the apartment door. He expected the smell of chocolate to overwhelm him as it usually did, his mother poking her head through the door with her long dark hair pinned away from her face. The apartment was devoid of all light, cold and a metallic smell drifting towards him.

He barely registered the thud his backpack made against the ground, running to the kitchen and flicking the light switch. His mother laid on her back, limp and unmoving. Dark blood was matted in her hair, fanned behind her looking like a freakish halo.

Mohwee didn't remember calling the ambulance, or sitting next to her for what felt like hours before a lady in blue pulled him away.

Melanie Lynch died on October 30th, as a result of blunt force trauma. She was murdered.

-

Mohwee was charted off to St Katherine's Home For Youth. The staff weren't kind, the kids were miserable. Mohwee didn't cry.

The kids at the playground snatched his book away, stomping his face into the dirt. Mrs. Sinclair scolded him, ignoring how his throat was black and blue from Melissa's sneakers. He didn't cry.

Ms. Briarwood dragged him away from dinner, practically throwing him inside the broom closet and locking him inside, saying he would be let in the morning. They only remembered after a day. It was for laughing too loud. Mohwee didn't cry.

The only time he did cry was when he was caught on his way out the window, staring like a deer in headlights at Ms. Spencer. She was kind, her warm brown eyes reminding Mohwee of his mother. Nevertheless, he expected her to grab him by the arm, drag him back, and throw him away.