𝙇𝙚𝙩 𝙈𝙚 𝙄𝙣.

George Has Crabs.

Easton, Maryland, pictured above.
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Killian used to like Mondays... until he got his class schedule for the year. His first class of the day was always geography, and he wasn't particularly good at it either.

He was more than happy when the bell rang for his next period, though. He dashed out of Ms Robinson's classroom and practically sprinted to Math class. He enjoyed it because he sat next to Harper, and even though he hated to admit it, his best friend was kind of funny. Harper was already seated at their table when he got there, the teacher was yet to arrive.

"Hey, man."

Harper extended his hand for a low-five. "What's up, Beanhead."

"You're an idiot." Killian chuckled as he slapped his hand. He pulled his chair out and took a seat.

"Clancy told me he saw George buying lotion for crabs at the pharmacy yesterday." Harper suddenly blurted.

He called their Math teacher, Mr Jensen, by name. He was 26 years old and preferred it when his students called him George. But only Harper was brave enough to call him by his first name.

"He probably won't be in today, I mean, I wouldn't too if my dick was--"

Killian raised his hand to stop Harper from going any further, "You shouldn't take anything Clancy says seriously, man. He gossips too much for his own good."

"He's right most of the time anyway, What I'm trying to say is, let's ditch."

"What? It's only one class."

Harper jutted his bottom lip, his famous puppy dog eyes making an appearance. That was always what got the both of them in trouble. "Please, do it for me."

"You're corrupting me." Killian grumbled as he got up from his seat. But he wasn't necessarily upset over ditching either, "Let's go."
--

"I can't believe you're working with that fucker, couldn't you find a job at McDonald's or something?"

After they managed to leave the school premises without being seen, they drove to a nearby Pizza Place called Don's. Don was a cool guy, Harper said, and he wouldn't question why they weren't in school at 10:30 AM on a Monday morning.

"There isn't a McDonald's for 5 miles, dude, I don't even have a car. And you know the situation at home."

"Yeah," Harper sighed as he pulled a slice of pizza from the box. Already regretting his insensitive words, "So what are you getting the twins for their birthdays?"

"Getting Sparrow a Spider-Man Funko Pop, the one that just came out for Infinity War."

"Don't mention that movie in my presence. I'm not trying to eat tear stained pizza. Thanks."

Killian chortled, bumping his shoulder against Harper's. "C'mon, it wasn't that bad."

Harper scowled, not believing what'd just left Killian's mouth. "Vision died. TWICE!!"

"Okay, okay, sorry. Geez."

"You better be sorry... So, what about Dove, getting her anything?"

Killian shook his head, "Pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate those Barbie doll things."

"Dude, she's a basketball addict. Just get her a Steph Curry autograph. Or you know, those NBA video games."

"I can't afford those things right now."

"Maybe--"

Harper was interrupted by a buzzing sound and the flashing of his iPhone as a text came through. Killian caught a glimpse of it and frowned before Harper roughly pulled it from the table and shoved it into his pants pocket.

"Why's Mr Jensen texting you?"

Harper's cheeks turned a bright shade of crimson which was particularly noticable due to his extremely pale skin. "Oh, I... I'm actually struggling with... some math problems... he's, you know, helping me out, haha."

"You're an A-student."

"Would you look at the time?"

Harper briskly slid out of their booth, slapping a 20 dollar bill on the table. "I'll... text you later." And then he was gone.

Killian pressed his lips together, his gut told him his best friend was hiding something from him. The question was; What?
--

West was having dinner with his dad. He had brought Chinese Food on the way home from work. Paul liked Chinese, and Paul wasn't drunk today.

"Thish ish really good." He said, a mouth full of dumplings.
West didn't like the dumplings, but he didn't want to say the wrong thing, so he just smiled.

"Dad, do you think we could go grocery shopping soon?"

Paul swallowed, then raised an eyebrow, "What for? Don't we got enough food?"

"It's, uh... been a couple weeks since we restocked the pantry."

"Is it empty?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Then we don't need to restock. Just... Eat your food."

Paul worked in construction as a forklift operator, his boss had recently caught him drinking on the job for the third time that month, so he suspended him and called for a disciplinary hearing. He knew that such an offense could get him fired, so he was trying not to spend too much. It was times like these that he was grateful that his son had a job, he never asked him for money though, he was just grateful that West wouldn't starve.

Paul let out a frustrated sigh, it was going to be a long suspension.

"Something wrong?"

He narrowed his eyes at West, but noticed that he had a genuinely concerned expression on his face. Sometimes he wished his son loathed him, he hated that West cared for him, he hated that he had a good heart. He also hated that West feared him, that he always had his guard up around him, and rightfully so, but an overwhelming amount of guilt always hit him whenever he saw the bruises on his son when he sobered up. It was his own fault though. He knew he needed help, but he was too prideful to admit it to anybody else.

"I... I'm suspended... at work."

"Oh. Are you okay? What happened?"

"I'll be okay. I don't think they'll fire me."

Paul knew they'd fire him. It wasn't his first offense. He told himself he'd wait it out, though, but he wasn't too hopeful.

West could tell his dad was lying, but he kept that to himself and started clearing the table. When he was done, he noticed that his dad was still seated at the table, staring at nothing. He slinked towards him and contemplated giving him a hug. He hesitated for a while, but ended up hugging him from behind, the chair between them making it an even more awkward position. Paul stiffened at his touch, but eventually relaxed into it, he gave West a sad smile, then patted his arm.

"Goodnight, Dad."

"Night..."

West went to bed without any new bruises that night.
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