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“Is he not up yet?”
Their boy has been an early riser as he grew into a teenager. Even earlier than his father, who could be found watching sunrise as a part of his daily routine.
Morgana brought the coffee grinder to the living room and closed the door. Once she emerged, now with her coffee ground and without disturbing their boy’s rest, she shook her head. “Not yet.” The worry was barely restrained in her voice.
Leon abandoned his toast with jam in favour of checking on their son. It was strange. Mordred never slept in like this, that boy had the sleep schedule of a rooster.
Stepping up to the door of Mordred’s room, Leon made sure to knock and wait. Once he was sure there was no response coming, he opened the door and stepped in.
He didn’t want to disturb him but- oh. Oh no.
“Are you okay?” Leon sat down on the edge of his bed, reaching out to touch his forehead. Mordred wasn’t feverish, so that led him onto a recurring issue they kept having. “Did you…”
Mordred’s meek nod was enough of an answer.
“Do I need to list out all the ways you’re hurting yourself, or was it a calculated risk?” Leon reached out to touch his back, to offer at least a bit of comfort.
Mordred’s position was just pitiful. The boy lay curled up, under the blankets still. “I wanted it to be calculated. I’m sorry…”
“I’m not mad.” Oh, how Leon wished he could at least give his little one ibuprofen to ease the stomach pains. But that would just make it worse. “I’m sure you had your reasons, but I’m worried. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
Mordred shuffled closer, just an inch shy of laying his head on dad’s thigh. “Jonathan brought cake for his birthday and I didn’t want to…”
Oh, yes. THE issue.
Food is inherently social. Not eating said food puts one outside of the social aspect, at least partially.
Ever since Mordred’s doctor caught celiacs in one of his blood tests, Leon backtracked onto his own life.
It likely came from him. Cutting out gluten helped Leon’s quality of life tremendously. It was a struggle, but he adjusted. It still felt strange sometimes, even he sometimes felt that pang of something, seeing other people bonding over meals he wasn’t allowed to have, but it seemed to be a lot easier to bear for him than his boy.
Mordred kept willingly glutening himself, for reasons that seemed trivial to his father. But they weren’t as trivial to his boy, and Leon had to respect that.
Mordred shuffled closer to him and all Leon could do was to pull him closer. “You should tell Jonathan. You’re hurting yourself and I’m sure he’d understand."
“I don’t want to…”
Jonathan meant a lot to his boy, the two had been inseparable since they met. Leon just couldn’t understand why his son wouldn’t tell his best friend in the whole world that eating one thing was hurting, poisoning even, his body. He wouldn't force him though. It wasn’t his place.
Desperately wishing his son would wisely choose to finally say something was his only hope.
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“Holy fuck, the world hates you.” Jonathan sat across from him, looking almost horrified.
Mordred squirmed in his seat, clutching the glass with his lemonade too tightly. He could only shrug.
Jonathan set down his fork. He had wondered why his friend didn’t order his favourite meal in the world and now it clicked. It was gluten. “Can I get you fries atleast?”
A deep sigh left Mordred’s throat after he attempted to drown himself in his lemonade. “I can’t have those either.”
“It’s just potatoes and salt. That’s not gluten.” Jonathan looked more confused than anything else. Mordred couldn’t blame him.
It felt weird to have to explain all this to someone, but now he had no choice. “They made your fried chicken in the same fryer they’d make my fries. That oil is contaminated with gluten.”
“Oh.” He could see the horrifying realization setting on Jonathan’s face. “That sucks…”
“Sucks” wasn’t even close to describing it.
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“We’re going somewhere?” Mordred peeked into his parents’ bedroom. His mum was packing a suitcase and it threw him off. His birthday was tomorrow and all he expected, and wanted honestly, was a cake that wouldn’t make him feel like dying, Jonathan and his parents’ in the kitchen to celebrate and a new headset for his setup.
Now it seemed like a whole trip was in place, and while he didn’t necessarily hate it and didn’t want to seem ungrateful, staying at home would have sufficed just fine.
“Yeah.” Morgana looked up at him, gently pulling him into her arms. “It’s going to be worth it, trust me.”
“Okay.” Mordred mumbled against her hair. “What should I pack?”
“It’s just two days and we’ll sleep in a hotel. Don’t overthink it much, but do bring something fancier.”
He could do that.
Just a night later, they were already in the train, leaving in a direction they never went in before. It was confusing, but whenever Mordred looked up at his dad, he’d smile back with a reassuring nod, and his mum would ruffle his hair, making sure he was comfortable. That was okay, he presumed.
Jonathan lived in this part of town. That just made him melancholic. Although his dad’s smile became almost blinding.
So did Mordred’s when he saw Jonathan barrelling towards their seats with an atrociously small backpack.
“Didn't think I’d miss your birthday, did you?” Jonathan leaned on the overhead compartment with the smuggest grin Mordred’s ever seen on his face. The cool facade evaded him once the train started moving and it threw him back, but this trip just got significantly better.
It took just three hours on the train, then an hour in the city for everyone to get hungry.
All three of them looked way too giddy for something not to be up. Mordred got suspicious but it didn’t last him very long.
He had heard about this establishment. Maybe standing in front of the restaurant like a statue with his jaw reaching hell wasn’t the wisest decision but oh, gods.
A fully gluten-free restaurant. A patisserie and a bakery as well, all in one.
Oh, this was more than worth the trip. The gluttonous side which he had to suppress all this time was about to be let free.
Without the pain. This was better than just one cake. Better than anything he could’ve wished for.