Richard stared out the window, watching the raindrops slip from the top of the pane towards the bottom. He traced one of them, followed it with his fingertip, until it reached the wood of the windowsill outside his bedroom window. Once he lost that one, he found another one and followed that. And again. The whole time, he sat in silence, his chin propped up in the hand not following the rain, his elbow on the inside windowsill. He wasn’t the only silent one—alone in the house as he was, there wasn’t any other noise that he could hear except for the raindrops on the roof. His mother was at the studio. His father was at work. Ignacio was out, somewhere.

Somewhere.

He hadn’t asked where he was going, feigning distraction with the schedule he was writing. To be fair, it was only half an act. He had a new class starting soon, and he needed to figure out where to fit them in among the competitive and advanced classes without overwhelming the beginner and intermediate timeslots.

The paper sat half-filled on the kitchen table next to him. The pencil lay next to it, equally forgotten. There were torn papers sitting in a loose pile on the other side of the table. He couldn’t focus on it. Every time he tried to get the scheduling right, he realized he had forgotten someone else and had to re-insert and rearrange and shuffle and honestly just start all over again. Each time. That was not helping his frustration in the least, and so he’d finally determined that maybe he just needed to take a break from it. The rain had drawn him to the window next to him. And now he sat, sideways in the kitchen chair, leaning his chin in one hand and chasing raindrops on the glass with the other.

He sighed, the kind of sigh that happens when someone realizes they haven’t taken a good, deep breath in a little while. But that wasn’t all it was. There was something next to the frustration, something that he was having a hard time accurately identifying. It twisted his stomach into knots, but not… the kind he used to get when he was still new to performing and competitions, or the kind he still got when one of his classes went to their first competition, when his kids got up there and showed what it was he had taught them to do.

No, these knots were… different. Different altogether with that sick, heavy feeling settled deep in his gut. It made him restless. He didn’t like being restless. It didn’t suit him, and it honestly made his mood worse than it already was. Speaking of mood… that brought him back to the emotions he was having difficulty processing. To process them, he would have to identify them, and he… couldn’t. Was he angry? Well, no, not… really. Was he sad? Again, not… really. He was kind of both, but neither, and he wasn’t happy about it.

…Ha. Ha...

No, he definitely wasn't happy... That wasn't to say he was unhappy with Ignacio, either, though, and that made things even more difficult to figure out. Part of him wondered if this would be easier if he could just get angry with Ignacio for keeping secrets and process that. Trust, and all that. But it wasn't that he didn't trust Ignacio. He still trusted him, and as hurt--ah, maybe that was it--as he was, he couldn't... actually be angry at him. It was probably important. It was almost certainly important. It was guaranteed to be pretty damn important.

...But Ignacio was important, too, and Richard wasn't the kind to just roll over and let him come home banged up and bleeding--even if he had seemed fine the next day or two somehow--and not know of some way he could make sure that didn't happen. So he would have to rectify the "not know" part, but Ignacio wasn't likely to tell him where he had gone. Well... he didn't think he should follow him just yet, but...

Well, Richard sucked at acting, but something he'd always been pretty good at was pretending to be asleep when his mother came to wake him for school, so... He supposed he'd just have to be a light sleeper for the next little bit. See how many times Ignacio went out and came back worse for the wear, or even just more worn out than he should be. See if it was a pattern. And if it was... well, then he'd figure out what to do.

But he was going to do something.