SUGAR & ICE. － lbc

° thirty-five °

When Can awoke the next morning to the sound of his alarm, he didn't expect to find a sticky-note beside his head and his mother to already be awake.

Picking the small paper off the couch's material, slightly crumpled by his movements, he read over the neatly written words with a baffled frown and then lifted his head to look at his mother sitting in the kitchen, busy with her computer.

"Ma, what's this about?" He asked, waving the note in the air for her to see.

The woman glanced at him and sighed, lowering the screen of her laptop to look him in the eye without any obstacles.

"It's from Ai'Tin, Can."

I understood that much, but why did he leave it?

She seemed to have read his thoughts for she then patted the seat next to her, nudging her head as a signal for him to go over.

With a furrow in his brow his gaze flickered over the words he held in his grasp once more.

Good morning, Can.

Thank you for letting me sleep the night. I'm leaving early.

See you soon.

As dry as always, huh?

"Come on, Can," the woman insisted, sounding impatient, "There's something I want to talk to you about."

"Fine, fine. I'm coming."

Folding the paper and tucking it into his joggers, he lumbered his way towards the kitchen table and sat opposite his mother, ignoring the seat she had indicated before.

"What's wrong?"

His voice was still groggy and his eyelids were half open, but he could see a certain level of concern in his mother's features and worry began to bloom in his chest.

"Nothing's wrong, Ai'Can. I'm only wondering about your friend."

"You mean Tin?"

She nodded, lifting the laptop and moving it to the other end of the table prior to resting her cheek against her knuckles and looking at her son.

"What do you think about him?"

He frowned.

"What do you mean, Ma?"

"For starters, do you know how he got those injuries? It looks like he was punched and not on accident."

Can blinked, gaze dropping to his lap as he belatedly realised that he had forgotten to ask about the cause of those bruises a second time. Raising his head, he pursed his lips and crossed his arms, curiousity starting to nibble at his brain.

"He didn't want to tell me."

The woman hummed and then shifted closer, almost as if she didn't want anyone else to overhear their conversation.

"Don't you think he looked a bit sad last night?  He didn't talk much, and even when he was smiling it seemed very sombre."

Once again, Can was at a loss.

Was Tin sad? He knew something was different about him, but he pegged it to be vulnerability. He was beginning to doubt everything he knew and his mother had only said a few words. He didn't like the feeling of not knowing anything for certain all of a sudden, but now that the seed of doubt had been planted, he couldn't kill it.

"I could be wrong, but he looks like one of those lonely, rich kids you see on television."

Can mulled over the statement and after a few seconds his mother let out a tired breath.