A/N: Created upon a misunderstanding.
The Finer Things
He brought his kid with him again; the older one this time. He stays in the back corner, waiting for his father to finish his business with me like usual.
The kid isn't much to look at; choppy brown hair and skinnier than a rail. Features not really worth noticing, but I do anyway when I decide to stare at him. Not that I would ever say he was ugly or anything, because he sure as hell isn't.
There's something a bit fucked up about his eyes though. They're two colors; gray in the middle and brown around it. And that they always seem to be slightly…off. Faraway. And how he tends to avoid eye-contact with me, with everyone.
He doesn't talk much, complete opposite of his younger brother, which is always fine with me. I don't like it when people talk too much, and he knows when to keep his mouth shut.
Speaking of which, his dad is talking to me. Not that I'm really listening; something about a wrecked car or whatever. I'm a repairman; it's my job to fix broken things. I just nod, hardly looking away from the corner that doesn't look back.
I haven't seen him in a good while, the kid. I see his brother all the time, but I rarely get to see him. He's usually either locked up in his house or with that blonde girl, just passing glimpses on the streets. The only time I really see him is when his father decides to. It seems that he decides a lot for him.
He's always in the shadow of his father; always so quick to please, to call him 'sir'. Like some sort of dog begging for attention and praise. It's rather sad really, since I could give him so much more.
He's afraid of him.
He isn't the shy type. An outcast, maybe, but definitely not shy. He can be just as lively as his brother, albeit in a quieter way, and as much as a smartass as, say, myself, but all that just seems to evaporate whenever his dad is around, and he becomes silent and reserved and fleeting. Like now.
Sometimes, he flinches when someone makes a move toward him. It's something uncontrolled, like a reflex; something that he is so used to. But he shouldn't be. And the bruises and scratches he gets aren't accidental. They're too convenient, usually with some clumsy excuse bullshit or he just laughs it off and makes light of it. It's disgusting.
His dad eventually gets up and collects his son to leave. He says something to me, but I don't really hear him. Then Adam goes and Alex finally looks from the floor and up at me, those sad, pretty, faraway eyes meeting mine for one solid moment before he quickly turns away and leaves with his father. He probably thought I was glaring at him.
If it were anyone else, it wouldn't have mattered, and I wouldn't have cared. But I'm a repairman, the urge to fix broken things basically overwhelming to me, especially things completely out of my league. And he is just screaming to be fixed.
Yet no one says a word, everyone goes about their business like usual. And I do, too. I guess there's no point.
Still . . . it's a damn shame the way people mistreat such nice things.
End.