Matt looked up, his feet hanging off the backend of the couch, his head where a person's butt was normally.
"Hey Terr."
His brother makes a nondescript noise and heads straight for his room.
That's about how it went with his brother.
By the time his mom arrived back home his position had moved just enough so that the blood wasn't rushing to his head, his feet on one arm rest, his head on another.
"Matt, sit up."
"Yeah mom."
His auburn hoodie provides for all the blanked comfort he needed, as he stuffs his hands into the pouch-like pocket, hunched over within himself as he watches the news with half an ear. It was Gotham, the only 'new' thing about the news was what way people had managed to die, not that people had died.
"How was school?"
She's moving around, plastic bags shuffling in the kitchen, and he pauses for three seconds before standing to help.
"Fine."
He doesn't mean to be sharp with her, nor to really cut her out of his life. School was just that. Fine. Nothing new to report about the seventh grade.
He was twelve. His life consisted of videogames, food, and friends.
Or rather, it should. Thing was, he didn't have enough money for videogames or the arcade, he knew better than to waste the little food that they had, and he had a grant total of one friend.
Not that mom needed to know that.
"How'd your competition go?"
He didn't mention that the competition was two weeks ago, nor that none of his teammates had bothered to show up. "Fine. We got fourth, but we can still go to state if someone drops out. Ty's team did really good though, they're going to state."
Which wasn't a lie, technically.
"Hey mom."
"Oh! Terry! Your home."
He turns away at her thrilled tone, shuffling the groceries into their homes as his brother talks to their mother. He's home so rarely that he doesn't blame mom for being surprised. Hell, he's kind of surprised.
He was glad Ty wasn't home. He'd probably have something to say.
"What do you boys want for dinner?"
Well, the options seemed limited to frozen pizza, frozen dinners, or canned foods. Maybe tomorrow he should make spaghetti, or his otherwise infamous mac and cheese.
But Terry was home, so she'd probably try to make something.
"Anything's good mom. Can't miss your delicious cooking," and their mother swoons. She's predictable, he hates to say it, but it's so rare that Terry's home that he lets it go.
It's ten minutes to dinner when he gets the call. It's almost like clockwork, how he rushes off. He notes that his mom only set three plates anyways.
Matt plasters a grin on his face, ribbing her as he changes the channel.
"Who needs him," he jokes, "We can marathon the New Housewives of Beverly Hills."
She grins, but he's not fooled.