Chapter Text
Custas stopped pelting Dagda with shirts when the man finally jolted awake, bolting up from a dead sleep to panic-scan the surroundings until he met his son’s fictitiously patient gaze. His shoulders relaxed, sleepiness already filtering back into his once alert expression. “Can you drive me to school?”
Dagda stared at him for a good moment, easing as he took in the room one last time. then looked down at the digital clock between their beds. Custas saw his displeasure almost immediately and felt his own anxiety rise briefly. “... Why are you waking me up thirty minutes early?”
“I lost my notebook at school,” Custas replied. This wasn't too uncommon of an occurrence, but enough so that it shouldn't cause alarm either way. However, him asking to retrieve it instead of forgetting and letting it stew for the next week in the ether? “I want to go early to see if I can find it in the lost and found.”
“... The sun isn’t even up yet. You already go to school early enough.” Dagda began sinking back down into the sheets and Custas gasped, flailing his arms helplessly to try and prevent the inevitable. An object in motion and all that.
“Just this once! I really need it for an assignment I was working on yesterday! I'm so, so close to being finished with it!”
“Were you actually going to turn that assignment in or are you just trying to get me up?” Dagda mumbled sleepily as he buried his head into the pillow.
“Both!” Custas exclaimed as he tried to ram the bed with his chair to minimal success. Dagda didn’t even flinch at the usage of the device: That’s how Custas knew he wasn’t going to get far today. “We were told to write a poem, but those are boring so I made a song instead, but I lost my notebook. It’s really important!”
“Mhm…”
“Dagda!” Custas groaned, throwing his head back.
“I need a mental pause in the morning or something. You can’t keep waking me up like this.” A shirt was lazily tossed back at Custas’ feet and he huffed at the sight of it as if he hadn’t used it as ammunition moments prior. He snagged his backpack off the ground and into his lap, then made for the door. “I’m going to wait in the car.”
“In the hotel lobby,” Dagda corrected.
“Whatever.”
“In the lobby.”
“Fine!”
Dagda would be out the door in the next ten minutes. Custas knows him well enough that a minute or two of him ruminating on the fact that Custas could be anywhere or lying injured would spur him up, though he doubted he’d be out of his sleepwear when he dropped him off. He’d probably stumble out like a zombie, hair uncombed and eyes squinted, and he’d probably turn the radio down immediately with a wisp despite him cranking it to full blast when they barrelled down Albany yesterday, head banging and scream singing to a CD older than Custas.
Custas wheeled himself along the hall and to the front lobby. They lived a good six doors from the front desk where there was always an attendant sitting behind the counter watching something on their phone or snacking. Custas rarely saw them do much else besides talk to guests, so he pushed himself over and peered up, attempting his best to peek at whomever he was about to talk to. The counters were too high here.
“Hi.”
“Hi, Custas.” It was one of the nicer ladies who worked the front, the one who would hear him out and agree on the fact they ought to start having a free breakfast here. He smiled a little, propping his hands up on the counter to get a better look at her: she was knitting something yellow. He watched for a moment, settling his chin on his hands, and eventually she said, “Are you going to school right now?”
“In a moment. Dagda’s getting ready.”
She hummed, swiping her crooked tool and bunching some of the yarn. He wished he knew what she was doing. He’s seen some of the things she’s made in the past, but he doesn’t understand how it all comes together. It’s like when he learned his first instrument. He paused on that thought for a moment, watching her as she began up a new row. She had a kind, relaxed face, unlike Dagda’s which contorted to stress in mere moments if there was a sign of something going wrong. Her hair was nice and long too, like Dagda’s, but he kept his pulled back because it’s ‘too much of a hassle’. Hers laid out on her shoulders, neat. Her voice was also pretty too. She was pretty in general, in a mother-like way.
“Are you single?” Custas asked and she laughed. “Because Dagda is, and he’s a really good guy. He’s really nice, but he’s going through menopause right now, but it’s fine ‘cause I think I don’t want any siblings anyways.”
“I’m not sure if that’s how that works,” She giggled, hiding it behind her hand, but if Custas knew anything, laughing was a good sign. However, before he could continue advocating, a door down the hall creaked open and soon the man himself stood in the lobby in all his glory, including his unshaved face, squinting eyes and zombie-like walk. With a yawn that sounded like a sigh, he jingled his keys. “C’mon, let’s get going.”
Custas brightened, pointing over the counter. “I was just talking about you! She’s single.”
Dagda followed the gesture with visible effort. "...Okay?"
"I told her about your menopause."
For several long seconds, Dagda simply blinked at him, his eyebrows drawing close as if figuring out some mind game. He rubbed his eyes, letting out a deep breath as he asked, “My what?”
"You know." Custas nodded encouragingly, giving him that look. Don’t make this harder than it has to be; I’m doing all the work here! "You said you've been dealing with it this morning. It’s okay. Everyone has it."
Dagda looked toward the ceiling as though there’d be answers found there. Then, slowly, his eyes widened. "...Do you mean when I said I needed a mental pause?"
Custas blinked. "...Oh."
With a stifled chuckle, Dagda asked, "How do you even know what menopause is?" Then it struck him all at once. He gasped, smacking himself on the forehead as he grumbled, “You stayed up watching Mujeres, didn’t you?”
Custas was pushed out to the car, much to his general dismay. It was only once he was loaded in the car that Dagda turned to him and said, “Please stop watching soap operas. I don’t want to give you the talk; that’s the school's job.”
“I already know how babies are made,” Custas grumbled while rolling his eyes. “The mom and the dad have DNA and they share it and create a baby, but they only have limited DNA so they can’t have babies forever. Duh.”
Dagda exhaled. “Thank god.” With that, he peeled out of the hotel parking lot, looking both ways before turning onto the main road. “Also, don’t pitch me to the hotel staff. They have seen too much from us to fall for it.”
Custas turned to look out the window. Hardly anyone was out driving yet, and those that were dressed in nicer clothes like suits. They had coffee from a drive thru, an expensive cellphone in hand, and a wedding ring glinting on their finger. He mushed his face against the glass. He pouted. “But she seems nice. Not like you are getting any younger.”
“Neither is she! She’s at least in her fifties!” Dagda argued, rubbing his temples. Custas turned, sending him a disapproving look.
“So you like younger girls only?” Custas replied in a deadpan and Dagda groaned.
“Look, I know you are in your mushy, gushy love phase with your little crush, but romantic love is not the end all be all for some. My greatest loves in life are music, Jumex, and my nosy kid.”
“That’s sad,” Custas muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
“It’s everything to me.”
Custas got into the school a little earlier than usual, but nothing to write home about. No doubt Tartah is already here, flittering about like a bird, and some office staff, but he doubted many more people were around. He made his way past the office, humming under his breath as the lost and found bin appeared before him. Once his chair was pressed to the side, he opened the latch to peer inside.
“Hey, you.” Custas glanced up, his smile fading a little at the unfamiliar voice along with the boy he’s certain he’s never seen before staring down at him with a hard look. He tilted his head, lifting his hum in question, and the boy scoffed. “Don’t you remember me?”
Custas looked around aimlessly, then shrugged, making the boy square up, chest puffed. He knows I’m in a wheelchair, right? Custas thought as he let go of the lid of the large bin. “I’m the one you hit with your textbook from the landing.”
“Oh.” Okay? And? Custas drummed his hands on his knees. “... My bad? Thought I saw a wasp?”
“You clearly did not!” The boy accused, scowling as he got up in Custas’ face. “I almost lost my placement because of you and your dumb friend who reported it. Do you know that I was made to write an apology acting as though I—”
Custas quietly opened the lid again, a blind hand searching as he nodded along to whatever the boy was rambling about. Eventually, given he had no reaction to Custas’ split attention, he instead began peering inside again, using both hands to rummage through sweaty clothes and used water bottles. Tucked near the back wall of the bin, Custas felt it. “There you are…”
Gingerly, he rescued it from the muck and mismatched gloves. He pulled it to him with a relieved smile, catching a glimpse at his pages opened to his assignment, the one he’d turn in on time and impress Dagda, but also show to his teacher his talent for rhythm! Just as he reached to close it, the boy’s hand darted out to swipe it clean from his grasp.
The boy stumbled back a few feet away, flipping through the pages with obvious amusement.
“Hey!” Custas paled, letting the lid fall. He held out his hand, but it didn’t get even close to how high the kid held it. His heart sank. "Give that back!"
“Is this yours?" He taunted, waving it in the air as he settled back on the original page. His eyes immediately gleamed and Custas acted fast with the same instinct he had this morning: ram him. He reeled back, then charged forward with a quick flick of his wrists, but the boy simply stepped out of the way, leaving Custas to careen back before he rolled too far and collided with a wall. Then came the quick switching to try and get to facing the boy again, who was already howling with laughter as he jut a finger out toward the page.
"You’re the warmest part of every room, your autumn sprung anew with fallen maple leaf-like hair and—” The boy made a puking gesture and Custas felt warmth rush to his face as the boy kept howling with cruel delight. "No wonder you wanted it back! So, who is the lucky girl you have a little crush on?”
Girl. Custas’ lips stumbled over nothing, eyes wide as he uttered, “W-What?”
"This is definitely about somebody,” The kid sneered, bringing the notebook to his chest. He grinned, his foot coming up and colliding with Custas’ chair when he tried to retrieve it once more, holding him back as he chortled, “I’ll find out who and then everyone will know who the weird late kid likes. I’d hate to be them!” ‘
"Please." For the first time since the conversation began, genuine panic had crept into Custas’ voice as he held out his hand, “Please give it back.”
The boy took a step away, sticking his tongue out toward him before racing down the hallway. Custas paled, shoving hard against his push rims, but even with his surges forward, the turn from the front office was harder to maneuver around, and by the time he had, the distance between them doubled. Then, much to his dismay and terror, the boy sprinted up the stairs.
"Hey!" Custas cried, cupping his hands to project his voice, but the kid was already gone. He glanced about helplessly, but it was still too early for most kids who weren’t actively assisting staff. For a brief moment, Tartah’s name came to mind, but visions of his writing flashed before him. He sat there, staring up at the landing he threw his books from. He started to understand how much that impact hurt. How was he ever going to find this kid? He didn’t even remember him from before!
…. Turns out the kid is in his first period.