Chapter Text
Yells ran through the house like a dreading scream, potentially even waking up a couple neighbors; Rocket's boots stomped on the wooden floor walking back to his room, his father's aggressive shouts ringing in the halls before the door was slammed shut, his eyes welled up with tears that threatened to fall, to burn his face with the guilt and shame. His hand reached out to swipe that emotion off his face, "Every single time..." Rocket's voice shook, throat closing from holding tears, hiding them from the world that doesn't even pay attention to his weak plea for peace and comfortable silence.
Grasping his duffel bag, Rocket rushed to his cabinet, barely folded clothes were taken out and into the bag; He wanted to leave. To flee from a cage that kept him in for so long. Rocket stared at the contents in the bag... Thoughts running through like a train going around in circles, "Is this a good idea?" "I need to leave." "Is this too reckless?" "Should I just let it go?" His mind erratic and shuffled between whether to leave or stay.
"Phuck it." He muttered, continuing to shove clothes into his bag, tears starting to slip from his grip of holding it in. It was unlikely of him to actually run, after all, he relied on Zuka with every nerve of his life, trying to please his father that didn't even took notice of his achievements, leading him to join phights to cool off even if Zuka forbade him to. With the zipper slid shut, the bag was thrown onto the mattress before Rocket stood in front of his other prosthetic leg that he uses for faster mobility, eyes squinting in hesitation... Rocket switched his usual leg for the one he uses in phights, it's lighter and better for running.
The only window in the room was slowly cracked open, Rocket slipping out quietly, it's a contrast with how loud he is. His boots landed on the slanted roof with a light thud, sound more like a cat than someone who's running away from their home. The nightly breeze hit his face, cold and refreshing like a frozen watermelon; Rocket slid down the roof and landing on the grass below, almost attracting Zuka's senses with his landing beside the kitchen window. His steps started slow before those light taps of his boots turned to constant and heavier steps... He ran like a free animal; Grin plastered on his lips like he wasn't an idiot falling into the hands of being homeless. Again.
The grey-horned Blackrockian stood by the kitchen, concern written all over like a pen was scribbled on his face by a child; His son's door was slammed shut moments ago, moments that felt like years. Tears ran down his face, cheeks stained with dread. He glanced at the stairs, hoping his only child emerge and sit with him in comforting silence like they did years ago. Zuka perking up at any sound from upstairs, yet no sign of Rocket coming down; Anticipation filled his hope like water pouring on broken glass. The silence stretch for what felt like eternity, yet his son hadn't came down.
The quiet felt too suffocating, not even turning on the television helped with the everlasting silence; Zuka couldn't help but stare at the stairs, he couldn't bear the quiet, the house was usually filled with loud noises of Rocket rambling as he cooked his own snack, or Rocket having Sword over for sleepovers, laughter coming from his room... Yet this home felt cold. Too cold. Like he was back in Blackrock, it's only source of warmth being the blood of their enemies that dwindled for a little amount of time. He couldn't handle the suffocating silence; Footsteps ascended to the upper floor, Zuka now standing in front of Rocket's bedroom door, hesitating whether to knock or leave him be.
"Maybe he needs space..." He muttered to himself, fist hovering by the door, the plan to check in on his son falling as his thoughts stood to one idea: "Keep my son safe..." Zuka's eyes stared at the door, shuddering at the idea of Rocket in various situations happening behind that closed door.
"Good night, Kid."