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Bull doesn’t like his parents. He doesn’t like a lot of things. His nickname of ‘Bull,’ the constant blood that marks his fists, the way the baseball bat his grandad carved might slowly wither and splinter away. Out of all of this, his parents are the most hated.
This thought is renewed after school, when Bull checks his plastic bag full of containers, to find nothing to eat.
They aren’t even washed. Bull leaves his dirty items next to the sink everyday for his father to wash, and his mother to provide with food, like they both always promise to do, and yet another promise has been broken. Theres still cheese from the salad roll he had on Friday, and strawberry residue as well, and Bull wrinkles his nose and shoves the containers back into the plastic bag that is his lunchbox.
Maybe he should start doing the dishes, and packing his own food, and making his own food, it would be a good idea if his parents let him anywhere near the kitchen. They’re convinced he’s ‘too young’ at fourteen, and handle everything themselves.
With a glower, he realises apparently not, as he stands here, hungry.
If his grandfather still lived with them, he would care. He would allow Bull to help cut the vegetables, and turn a blind eye when he sneaks some carrot. He’d let Bull sit in front of the oven, watching things bake. He would have left foods such as cheese out of his rolls, because Bull has a strong hatred for cheese.
Only half as strong as his hunger, as his stomach roars at him.
Now, logically, he could always just go over to MumnDad, the nickname given to the year eleven part of the ‘Late Pick Up’ club, who always brings the food they’ve made in food tech to share with kids who may not have any, but why would Bull deserve such kindness?
So he waits, by the tennis courts, a few feet away from Car-Man, the car nerd tomboy he always bothers, and lets his stomach torture him. He pulls the trench coat his grandfather gifted him for the winter over the only long sleeve top he owns, and waits for his parents as cold seeps into his bones.
He shiver, and of course fucking Red, the clumsy asshole, notices.
“You ‘right, Bull?” He asks, in his stupid cockney accent, that Bull doesn’t even know how he received. Bull wants to pummel him for three separate reasons, the question, the interactions, and just Red himself plain pisses Bull off. What with his recklessness, Red is a plain idiot and Bull doesn’t like him.
“Are you?” He drawls with a scowl, and Car-Man lets out a chuckle.
“Lighten up!” She exclaims, and Bull grips the ends of his coat, fuming. “Why don’t you brighten up?” He retaliates, leaning up against the fence, looking out at the empty carpark, begging silently for his parents to pull in.
“you look cold, mate.” Red points out, coming closer, but not too close.
“’ve you eaten?” Car-man continues, tilting a head and standing up.
“What’s it to you, fuckwad!?” Bull snaps, gripping the fence. It scares Red off, good riddance, but Car-Man isn’t that convinced. She wrinkles her nose, and walks a bit closer, until Bull straightens, stopping her in her tracks.
“Listen, you’ve got to eat, i can go get MumnDad-”
“Don’t! I don’t need it!” He exclaims, and he can feel his cheek turning red, so he embraces it. “I don’t need help and I’m not a fucking pussy! Especially not the help of utter freaks like you!” He explodes, roaring like a bull, living up to the nickname he hates so much.
Car-Man scoff, and waltzed off, Bull obviously irritated her. Good. Its the only thing he does well.
He sulks there for the next few minutes, staring at the car figures Car-Man left behind. He should smash them with his baseball bat, reign terror on those who hurt him, but he cant find the energy within himself to move, as he gut wrenches.
He watches Dice leave, handing their belongings over to Card, like a hand me down, business person to business person. Bull wish he got hand me downs. His parents don’t give him anything. They only reason he hasn’t gotten ill during the winter is because his grandad gifted him a suitable trench coat.
He spies Jones finally huffing, and doing their homework as their friend Bug gets picked up, no longer having anything fun to do, and struggling with her dyslexia. Bull wishes he could focus, he almost relates to her, both parents never paying their needs any mind.
Last of all, He sees MumnDad, handing their last serving to Car-man, before they have to get picked up in a beer smelling car. Bull wishes he could stand up to MumnDad, he wants to be able to go up there and ask for food, but he ruined his reputation too early.
He feels another chokehold of hunger, and tries to wrestle it back down, squirming against the fence and slumping down to sit. This is humiliating, maybe he should steal money from his parents to buy something tomorrow, it can count as the pocket money his parents never give.
Footsteps near, he looks up. Red holds a pretty handkerchief wrapped around something. Car-Man stands next to him, hands on her hips as she glares down at him, while Red avoids eye contact.
“...What?” He hisses, and scoffs when Red holds out the mystery item. He raises an eyebrow. “Well, what is it?”
“Well, open it,” Car-Man chimes, Red nodding along, so he does, cautiously, of course.
He blinks. And he blinks again. And what the fuck are these two on?
Inside of the patterned fabric sits and container of lasagne, probably half a slice inside of it, it still looks hot, evident because of the water vapour from the steam clinging to the plastic. Beside it is a half eaten container of strawberries.
He looks up at them, smiling down at him. Car-Man wears her smile with pride, showing her full self, teeth included. He strained her cheeks as they make room for her grin. Red’s smile is more timid, small, puffy cheeks covering the twitch of his upper lip.
“...What?” He questions, then huffs when Car-Man tilts her head. “You come to show off or some shit?” He mutters, frowning. Red shakes his head.
“Nah, ‘s for you,” He gestures to it, while Car-Man nods.
“We noticed you didn’t have anything, and that you’re kinda... small?” Car-Man giggles, and Bull flushes. “Fucking- am not! Red is puny!-” Red flinches, and he finds guilt.
“Well, anyways, MumnDad always has spare food, and we grow fruit at my house, so, if you wanted, i could design a ‘feast,’ and ask my dad to pack extra strawberries,” Car-Man offers, kneeling down, while Red sits at Bull’s side anxiously. Bull knows its a ploy, no, an excuse to just bring food for him. What is this, pity? He hates this-
No he doesn’t. He looks down at the food, then at the duo gratefully. It feels... weird, but still nice, to be considered like this, like his grandfather would have noticed and stepped in.
He nods along, muttering a thank you under his breath, earning the signature smile from both of them, before he acts.
He takes the smallest strawberry of all, and eats it.