𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰

1 - Applications.

At first he didn’t know what awoke him, either the scent of the morning brew tempting him to rush down stairs, or the rowdy bark Cyra as usual loves to make every five in the morning.

Turns out what actually made him crawl out of the sheets was the firm vibration buzzing from his phone.

He picked it up beside the digital alarm clock he’s clueless of keeping (since he wakes up way earlier before it rings) and found the familiar envelope icon displayed on his plain lock screen wallpaper, just below the time of 5:10 AM.

No, not yet, he sagely refused as he resisted the urge to open the lone notification. Looking at it already sends shivers down his spine, so he calmed himself and hopped off from the lumpy mattress to brush his teeth and take a quick shower.

Soon he stepped out of the bathroom, cold beads dripping off from the tips of his black locks and carelessly to the floor. After drying his hair, spraying deodorant, and trying to wink proudly at himself before the mirror, he paused in front of the dresser and picked out something casual.

Slipping on his black flip flops, he walked past the threshold and ran down the stairs, making sure to give the ecstatic Charles Spaniel a pat on her furry head before proceeding to pull out a chair behind the table and sitting like his spine was stiff.

The noisy clang discharging from the plate filled with pancakes knocked him out of his stupor. Brows slightly furrowed and Citrine-brown eyes narrowed and lips quirked in a frown, Helena shot her son a worried look.

“I could have been fooled you were a sculpture who looks like my son.”

“I’m just anxious,” He blurted.

“I understand you are hun, but that doesn’t mean you can overdo it,” She took a seat beside him and pushed her hair back to refresh herself, “Relax. You wouldn’t want your shoulders freezing that way.”

“You could’ve told me to eat like a normal person, mom,” Aiden rolled his eyes playfully, grabbing the syrup from the fridge, “We can never know. What if I–”

“Oh, here you are again,” Helena chuckled, “Aiden, love. Every morning why don’t you remind yourself, you’re Aiden Antoine Laurant. You’re strong, you’re kind, you’re too smart for your own good.”

“Seriously?”

“Not the point. Finish up and let’s get everything over with,” Helena stuffed a fluffy piece of the breakfast into his mouth, “Trust me, we’ve got better luck now without a human embodiment of bad omen around.”

Aiden mentally cringed at his mother’s choice of words. Even without entirely mentioning HIS very name, as long as Aiden can verify who his mother is describing, he’ll consider the rest of the sentence taboo.

The eerie sound of an alcohol bottle shattering into murderous fractals still haunted him to this day, alongside the tortured whimpers of the middle aged woman beside him had expelled.

He can still hear an eight-year-old’s screams filled with unheeded pleas, too.

“Coffee before the big reveal?” She offered a steaming mug with a reassuring smile.

“You know just what I need,” He responded and accepted the drink, taking the ceramic cup gingerly from her hands, and he hummed contentedly after the first sip.