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She spies familiar rusty hair tied up in a familiar braid and can't quite stop the elated shriek that leaves her lips. Her target jumps and whips around, face creased with anxiety in a hopeless attempt to find her. She hurries forward, not bothering to keep quiet, quite the opposite actually. Some of the tension bleeds out of her target, although caution remains as he turns in her direction.
“I haven’t seen you pretty face ‘round here in a while, how’s my favourite cousin today?” She asks, taking his hands in hers and moving them to cup her face. His grip tightens on its own accord, tracing the large curve of her nose and sliding back towards her ears. When he hits an earring he stops his mapping and focuses his attention on the smooth and narrow cone of metal. When he reaches the bottom, he smiles, running his thumb over the gem set into its base. “‘Liyah,” and he sounds relieved. “I’ve been good, I missed you though. I wish you could take me with you,” His eyebrows are furrowed and his pale eyes are tinged red around the edges, well- redder than the last time she saw him.
Not good, then.
“Well,” She forces a grin onto her face, “If you want I’ll help you finish up here and then I’ll tell you all about it over lunch, hmm?” He tugs at his braid and purses his lips. "I, uh, yes please, if you don’t mind,” And, oh, he’s as sweet as ever. Taking his arm into hers, she leads them towards the food stalls, steering them both through the crowds without a sweat.
“So, what’re you after? Meat? Spices? There’s plenty of everything,” She says as her eyes dart around; She really loves Market Day.
She turns her attention back towards him when he doesn’t answer, a gentle squeeze of his arm bringing him back to the present. “Oh, uh,“ He gives a nervous laugh, “Sorry, Mom said she needed apples, long rice, pork strips and, and uh peppers-cayenne pepper! It was cayenne pepper,” He trails off and his head tilts down, he’s gnawing on his lip. “Hey, “She murmurs, extracting the abused lip from between his teeth. “None of that, it’s alright. Just, tell me what you need and I’ll handle everything else,” She gives him another squeeze and he smiles, nowhere near his eyes. A fleeting ache in her chest makes itself known.
Lunch is good, she decides.
They’d collected the needed goods with minimal hassle; a brief misplacement of a wallet and a small child pointing out -rather loudly- the “cracks on the that guy’s face!”, to which the grip on her hand tightened. The child had been informed as to why that was rude and sent back to the small group huddled nearby before they could cause a scene.
Crisis averted, they’d taken their purchases to a small café on the corner and settled at an outdoor table while a petite waitress brings over the menu. After a short debate about saving money and wasting food, they end up splitting a large salad and a basket of fries. She manages to get him laughing with her stories but his attention keeps...slipping. Every now and then his eyes glaze over, he’ll stop mid-reach, give a tiny shake of his head and continue. With every slip, her chest tightens, until she can’t bear it, stops talking and takes his outstretched hand in hers. He jolts in his seat, fingers curling around her own as his eyebrows knit together.
“What are y-”
“Are you okay?” She interrupts, taking hold of his other hand and squeezing both. “I mean, really okay,” He bites his lip, “Well, sure, I’m fine,why?” A lie, he’s lying. Her eyes pinch shut and she huffs. “Please, please don’t do this, just tell me, tell me anything, anything at all, just-” Another shaky breath. “Don’t keep it in,” A distressed whine comes from his throat.
“You don’t-” "I know I don’t know, I don’t know how hard it is, I don’t know how much it hurts, I know, you know I know, and I know you know that I know, but it’s killing you to bottle it up,” Another whine trips out of him and he deflates.
“What...gave it away?” The emptiness in his voice raises goosebumps on her arms, unfitting for the heat of the day. She’s about to respond when the waitress comes back with the bill. She pays and they head out again, taking the quieter streets on the way to his house. About a block from their destination, she stops, and he stops with her. Taking a deep breath, she starts where she left off at the café.
"I-Marcus, you're in a-a mood, I just want to help. I’ll back off, but I, Christ, I need to know you'll be okay."
“‘Liyah I-” He sighs, “Hhhh, okay. I’m sorry I just, I don’t know, I really, really miss you and-”
Yep, those are tears.
“I just wish I could see you again!”
She pulls him to her, tucks his head to her collarbone and curls her arms tight around his middle. She presses her lips to his hair and he lets out a whine, shoulders hunched and shaking. His fingers are knotted in her shirt and it isn’t long before the collar is soaked through.
She wants to scream, to track down the cowards who did this to him and make them experience first hand how much damage they’ve done to her innocent boy, who’s been nothing but kind to everyone and everything from the moment he could use his hands. She holds him in a shaded alleyway, strokes his hair and hums to him until he sags against her. When he pulls away, she lets him, but doesn’t let go of his hand. She dries his eyes with a tissue, gentler over the pale ridges and solemnly agrees with the kid, they look like cracks in his otherwise smooth skin. Soft and dark and strong, he’s as flexible and resilient as rubber.
And they still broke him.
She gathers the discarded grocery bags and guides his hand back to her arm, patting it once.
"Alright kiddo, let’s get you home,”