Welcome to Gaia! ::

The house was quiet, except for the slow buzz of drama on his mother's battered television, except for the hum of a busted fridge. It meant that the turn of his key in the lock was impossibly slow, Jude flinching at the way his keychain jingled and gave him away at how the old door on its battered hinges squeaked, certain at any point that a shout would come from the couch.

Instead, there was a snore. A sniffle and a cough, weak, as she moved where she sat. A hissing breath out, which he quickly realized was him. Jude closed his mouth and eased further inside.

He was a bit battered, a bit worn: one eye gone black, and blood on his lip, that he tasted every time the tip of his tongue thoughtlessly flicked over his lower lip. The usually-tidy bowl of his hair had gone tousled and out of sorts, tumbling into his eyes and plastered against the sweaty side of his cheek. Another battle fought and another lost, at a glance, and while Laoise might see the progress that he was making, it was harder for Jude from the inside. Instead of empowering, it made him feel small.

When would that change?

His mother was asleep. As he eased behind the back of the couch, he could tell: her head craned back and her mouth hanging open, another snore easing out from deep in her throat. For a moment, Jude stood there behind her, wondering how she would react if she turned to find her baby boy covered in dings and bruises, showing the signs of a fight. In a dream, he could pretend her expression would fade to horror, and then concern. He could imagine her reaching up to touch his lower lip and making a softly concerned sound. Finding ice. Sitting him down.

It was just a dream, though. He knew the truth of the matter. Her first question would be where he'd been, her eyes passing over the damage as if she'd never seen it. Less concern, and more annoyance. If she'd noticed he was gone, there'd be half a dozen things she wanted him to do around the house: cleaning, shopping. There would be bills piled up somewhere, and in large part it would be on Jude to take care of them.

He swallowed and stepped away. Better not to wake the slumbering beast, then. Shoes were left by the door so that his footsteps were soft, to the bedroom, nudging his door open. The floor creaked beneath him as he stepped into the room.

From behind him, there was a snort, a shift, and his mother called out after him, "Jude?" Not worried but harsh. Annoyed. "Finally home then? I had to make myself dinner. Dishes need doing."

There were no surprises in this part of his life, at least...