Mornings at the Hughes household were rather lovely, Kent decided, if he didn't ask Hogarth about the thing in the woods immediately upon seeing him.
The boy was disinclined to snap at him if he waited until everyone was about a third into their meal. Well, 'everyone' usually being just Kent and Hogarth. Annie sometimes had to scoot out the door as soon as possible to catch a long shift at the diner. It wouldn't be until late that she'd usually return, and Kent found her absence to only make questioning Hogarth more difficult. Especially with his cooking being not up to par with hers.
"Morning, skipper," he greeted as the boy pulled out a chair. Hogarth seemed a little surprised to see Kent there for a second, as if he'd forgotten about the new tenant, and then stifled a sigh.
"Morning, Kent," he replied without inflection.
Kent didn't say anything else for a good ten minutes. During that time, he finished off a stack of pancakes and downed half a mug of coffee. Hogarth managed to cram in five pancakes more than Kent. It was clear he didn't want to remain in the house there with him, and not even Kent could blame him.
"Oh, wait there kiddo!" Kent chimed. Hogarth was nearly out of the kitchen when he stopped him. The boy groaned mutely and turned back to face the government agent.
"I told you already, I didn't see anything," Hogarth said, trying to keep his voice from conveying his annoyance. Kent continued to smile a much too sweet smile and reached for the morning paper, signifying that he'd asked this time more out of the sheer heck of it.
"Alright, son, that's all I wanted." He lifted the paper up just as Hogarth's eyes went wide. Now, Kent hadn't tried to imply Hogarth was actually his son. He merely happened to be the right age in the right period of time to be one to use the title as a light, fleeting term for addressing a boy such as Hogarth. But frustration and recent experience had made Hogarth's mind and ears acute, and he couldn't, wouldn't, take the term in any other way than parental.
"Don't call me that," Hogarth muttered. Kent peeked out from behind the newsprint.
"What's that?" He still sounded gratingly oblivious.
"I'm not your son," Hogarth puffed, stomping a foot to accentuate his point. Kent flashed him a patronizing smile.
"You might be speaking too soon, Hogarth," he replied, straightening out his paper after turning a page. "If I don't find that Giant, then so be it. Maybe I'll stay here a little longer. Consider it vacation. And with no other good men in town, why, your mother might just warm up to me like I have to her." His smile grew as Hogarth's shoulders bundled up with anger and his face contorted with mild disgust.
"Whatever, my mom wouldn't marry you," Hogarth declared. "You aren't her type anyways." It was Kent's turn to frown. They glared at one another for a few moments longer– a challenge to throw another threat –before Hogarth turned and marched out the door. Kent grumbled something under his breath before straightening his newspaper out and returning to his reading.