"Bold."/"Bold italic" : animatronic is talking/animatronic is talking in mind
"Normal."/"Normal italic." : human is talking/human is talking in mind
=o^o=
He took another photo nearby, peering at it. A blonde-haired teenager with red eyes. He snorted softly, before long his hand moved to tear the photo into two, then four, then six, then threw it onto the torn paper on the floor. They were all photos of the same teenager. It was sickening, so sickening.
His red hair was messier than before, his eyes puffy. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to react to this feeling. The feeling that was bugging him. What should he do? He couldn't keep on being cranky.
Why was Halberg's words always swirling inside him? Why did that piss him off? Why did it depress him?
He needed something to do, he needed something to distract himself other than ignoring the eldest Afton. Just being face to face with Michael made him messed up inside, the feelings he was too hesitant to show. This hurt him, but—wasn't what Michael felt for him ... wasn't it wrong? He couldn't make him more dependent on him, the raw idea of a supporting frame for the human body was an attractive and worthwhile investment, it had to be executed well.
His hand again tore the photo paper he took again, then threw it on the floor indifferently. After that he rubbed his face in exasperation, exhaled heavily, pulled back his red hair in frustration. His bicolored eyes glanced across the cluttered items on the floor. Books strewn about, awards and medals everywhere, gold trophies in names he hated.
Noah Carter.
When was the last time he cried in this room? It was a long time ago, when he did something childish like this. Ennard pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, then he lay down on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The longer he was here, the more often the shadows of the past haunt him. But that couldn't be a valid reason as to why he ignored Michael on purpose, his feelings were the main reason.
Ah, damn it, why did it feel like he turned into his old self?
Maybe a cup of coffee can refresh his mind again. He stood up, stepped over the items on the floor without a care, and opened the bedroom door. It was two in the morning, Michael and Lucy must have been asleep. He headed for the kitchen, filled the kettle with water, then lit the stove. Waiting for the water to boil, he filled the cup with coffee grounds, he didn't want to use sugar for now. Ennard sat leaning against the dining table with his eyes focused out the kitchen window.
His mind drifted back to the past.
"Enn ... the water is already boiled."
He gasped, turned his head quickly to the side and found Michael standing in the distance with his lips tightly pursed. He glanced at the clanking kettle, quickly turned off the stove—how long had he been in that trance?
Ennard stopped brewing his coffee. "Why aren't you sleeping yet? It's almost three o'clock." His eyes glanced at Michael who was still frozen in place, as if hesitating to approach him.
The brown-haired man rubbed the back of his head slowly, his eyes averted for a moment. "I keep thinking about yesterday ...," he said in a low voice, Michael bit the inside of his cheek while squeezing his hands together. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Just forget it," Ennard interrupted Michael, he rubbed his face again while Michael nodded slowly indicating he agreed with what he said. "Let's just say we broke even. I was being an asshole and you were angry too." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, taking a sip of his coffee.
Michael watched as Ennard lower his gaze, staring at the coffee without looking back at him. He was left speechless as Ennard took his cup after letting out a heavy breath, then stepped past him again. Still avoiding eye contact with him. Michael straightened his lips and leaned against the kitchen doorframe slowly, his eyes focused on the wooden floor. He was silent, his thoughts racing and jumbled, as well as his feelings.
Then something wrapped around his wrist softly, making him raise both eyebrows confused to find the small wire that untied the coil after getting his attention. Michael's gaze stopped on the man—Ennard turned his back on him, but he knew full well that the wire belonged to Ennard.
"I'm sorry."
His heart sank warmly, Michael's eyes widened for a moment, his fingers trembled slightly as his face turned red. Ennard said nothing more than completely leaving him alone this time.