New Lease on Life (That You Can't Afford)

     Wyatt thought he was doing pretty well, all things considered. He kept his hair washed in the river, and always made sure to clean away the dirt from his clothes in the mornings. He never kept food with him at his camp so he hadn’t had any trouble with wildlife, at least not yet. The sleeping conditions weren’t great, but he was at least able to fall asleep by now. It just meant he was a bit more stiff in the mornings. He figured it would be enough to do stretches when he woke up, but then that was probably something to look up at the library, too. Regardless, he was finally getting into the swing of his new arrangement.

     His usual routine kept him away and busy, anyway. He spent most of the day at school and if he wasn’t working that evening, he’d spend it with Blake, goofing off and partaking in shenanigans and so on. Only once or twice in the lapsed two weeks had he had to go back to his tree and finish his homework alone. He was always very careful to watch his back when he traveled back behind the Rockwell house every night.

     The elderly couple always had something snide to say when they saw him pass by. He tried not to engage as much as possible. That evening, the old man had claimed he knew Wyatt was ‘up to something.’ Psychotic old bastard. He’d thought nothing of it and gone on like usual. 

     Unfortunately for him, the old man and woman had been watching, growing more and more convinced that he was doing something bad. The old woman told her husband she'd never seen the boy walking back except once in the morning, which made them conclude he was doing something bad all night. 

     So the old man had decided to test their theory that day. When they saw the boy walk past and had their usual back-and-forth, he kept eyes on the street all night, watching to see when he'd walk back. It had gotten to be midnight and still no sign of the problem child. 

     "He's still out there, Darla," the old man pacing and watching out the window.

     "Just send the police out, then," the old woman said. She was nursing a cup of tea at the dining table behind him, barely paying attention.

     "No, no, kids like these know how to weasel out of talking to the cops. Otherwise he'd already be in juvenile detention, now, wouldn't he?" He said. "No, I'm going to catch him in the act myself."

     The old woman sighed, not surprised but still a little annoyed, as her husband slung on his jacket. "I know you can handle yourself dear, but still, please be careful."

     "Aren't I always?"

     "No."

     And with that, he stepped out into the night and trudged off towards the direction he'd last seen the boy. He was going to get to the bottom of this. He wasn't military trained just to lose tracking a punk kid.

---

     Wyatt had gone to sleep smoothly enough-- as smooth as anyone could fall asleep in the dirt-- feeling confident that his arrangement was working out well. Which was why it was a rude awakening in several ways when he was suddenly snapped from sleep by a hand roughly catching him under the arm and yanking him up. On pure instinct he swung for the mystery assailant, only to whiff and get a whack across the skull for his troubles.

     “The hell are you doin’ out here, boy?!” Came the enraged voice of, who else, the nosy old man. “Sleeping out in the open forest, are you stupid? You want to get mauled?”

     The old man shook him hard again, which finally snapped him out of his daze enough to try yank his arm away. The man grabbed right back on with a vice grip and pulled him back. 

     “You’re in for it now, brat,” he growled, picking up the duffel with great suspicion. “You and your bags are comin’ back with me, and then we’re calling the police.”

     Wyatt’s heart froze. In that moment, he knew he was done for. He wasn’t actually sure if it was illegal to sleep in the woods like he did, but even if it wasn’t he was sure he'd get in trouble anyway. And this time, he could be tried as an adult. God, two weeks was all it took for him to get locked up. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, knowing well as he did that every damn authority figure this side of the state wanted an excuse to put him away. But he sort of did, anyway. 

     The old man dragged him out of the treeline and down the block. Wyatt offered no resistance. Faced with the weight of the world's hatred for him and the failure of his own plan, he could no longer find a sense of self-preservation. If he ran, it would probably just make an easier case for the police, anyway. 

     When they got inside the elderly couple’s house, the old man shouted for his wife, yelling about how he told her so. She came down and fixed the teen with a snide glare he was so very familiar with by now, and before he knew it they had shoved him into an uncomfortable wooden dining chair and towered over him. 

     “Now you tell us now, boy, or we’ll have the police come and sort you, instead. What were you doing out there?” The old man growled.

     "Sleeping," he grumbled, hunching his shoulders with whatever shred of defiance he could muster. "Don't you have eyes, old man?"

     The old woman cuffed him. "Don't play smart with us, brat. Why were you sleeping there? What are you hiding in those bags, huh?"

     "I'm not hiding anything!" He insisted, rubbing the spot where he'd been hit. That was the second time tonight and it was suddenly starting to make him emotional. Fuck. "I-I was just there because-- well-- because I didn't have anywhere else to go, ok? Not like it's any of your fucking business, anyway!" 

     "Like hell you had nowhere else. You already leech off that sweet Rockwell family for everything else, if you wanted you'd be shacked up there in no time. Don't lie to us, boy!" 

     "I'm not! I just-- I just--" Wyatt could feel his anxiety reaching a fever pitch. Boxed in by two people known to loathe him, being dragged from the relative security of his own space and threatened and hurt and accused of lying at every turn; normally he would be able to handle this-- it wasn't like any of it was a new experience to him. But to have it cap off the last two months of stress and lying? Wyatt was finally starting to fray. "That's why I can't just stay with them. B-because I already leech off them for everything else! It wouldn't be fair."

     This… clearly wasn't the answer the elderly couple was expecting. They each paused a moment as Wyatt crossed his arms and tried not to curl in on himself.

     "... What's the big idea? You think it's a better plan to sleep outside in the dirt than stay in a house?"

     "In someone else's house, yeah." He muttered.

     The elderly couple shared a glance. 

     "How long have you been doing this, boy?" The old man asked.

     Wyatt shifted his weight uncomfortably. "None of your business."

     "What happened to the place you were at before?"

     "... Kicked me out," he muttered, sinking into his seat a little. 

     "What'd you do to make that happen?" The old woman chimed in, all accusatory.

     "Turned 18," he replied bitterly. "Guess I punched a kid, too. He was being a bitch, though. Deserved what I did to him." 

     She swatted him again. "Then it's your own damn fault, isn't it, brat?"

     "I know! And I'm dealing with it myself, so I don't see how this is any of your fucking problem!"

     "You're not dealing with jackshit sleepin' in the woods, boy, that's how you turn up as a corpse!" The old man snapped. "Honestly, what would possess you to do something so stupid!"

     "Fuck, I get it, ok! I'm bad and I'm an idiot and everyone would be better off without me. Now can you stop pretending you give a shit and leave me the fuck alone?!" 

     Again, the couple gave pause, sharing another unreadable glance. Wyatt shrunk into his seat further despite himself. 

     "I'm not qualified for this," the old woman finally said. "Make sure he doesn't go anywhere, Harold, I'm going to make a call."

     This was it, then. She was going to call the police and Wyatt's life would be over. He could feel his anxiety and despair crawling up his throat, but desperately worked to keep a clamp on it as his eyes welled up against his will. In that moment he finally gave up. 18 years of fighting to keep control of his life and not once had it ever panned out. The only good thing in his life was Blake and his family, and that hadn't even been his doing at all. Would they be upset if he got locked up? Would they be ashamed? 

     At some point the old man had taken a seat at the far end of the dining room table. The kettle was on. The old woman could be heard talking to someone over the phone in the hall. And Wyatt? He gave up.

---

     Harris Rockwell was a night owl. Contrary to her A-type personality and the expectations of everyone who met her, she loved to stay up at all odd hours and let the creative juices do their magic. Her husband was much the same, but it was a lot more believable for a quiet man like him. So when the phone rang a quarter past midnight, Harris was alert and delighted to have a caller. 

     "Hellooo," she sang as she picked up the receiver.

     "Harris, dear," it was Darla, the sweet elderly woman that was their backyard neighbor along with her sweet old husband, Harold. When the Rockwells had first moved into the neighborhood, the old couple had been so warm and inviting, bringing them food and house-warming gifts and all the neighborhood gossip. Tomas liked to joke that they'd been adopted by them. She suspected he wasn't too far off. They tended to be very protective of their family, a trait that would rear its head every once and again when they got into disagreements with other neighbors.

     So while it was odd that she would be getting a call from the older woman so late, she didn't go into it expecting bad news.

     "Oh, hey Darla! What do I owe the pleasure?" She said. 

     "Sweetheart, I might need your help on a bit of a crisis. Your boy's friend is here."

     "Who-- Wyatt? He's with you?" At that, Tomas glanced up from his book on the couch in front of her, giving her a questioning glance. She leaned against the counter and held a finger up for him.

     "Yes, dear, Harold found him sleeping in the woods and brought him back here. He's not really behaving for us, but I think he might listen to you or Tomas, if you're available?" 

     "Of course!" Harris was already shouldering on her jacket with urgency. Tomas hopped up to help her. She flashed him a grateful smile. "I'll be right over Darla, thank you so much." 

     She hung up and replaced the landline before turning to her husband, who was only looking more concerned by the second.

     "I'm going to run over to Darla and Harold's, but I'll be right back. Can you get the guest room ready? Wyatt's probably going to be staying over."

     "Is he alright?"

     "I'm… going to go find out," she said, trying for optimistic. Tomas sighed and nodded.

     "Should I wake Blake?"

     "Let him rest," Harris said and she began moving out the door. "It'll be a fun surprise for him in the morning. Be right back!"

     She blew him a kiss, which he mimed catching as she shut the door behind her. She trudged across their moonlit backyard and hopped the picket fence dividing it from the older couple's. Tried very hard not to let motherly terror grip her as she trudged up to the neighbor's back door and knocked. Darla briskly let her in as if she'd been standing there waiting the whole time.

     "Where…?" She started, trailing off as Darla pointed down the hall. Artificial yellow light poured from the empty doorframe of the kitchen. She nodded with a grateful smile and steeled her nerves as she walked gently down the hall. 

     She turned the corner and sure enough, there was her boy, hunched over and looking miserable in a chair at the far end of the room. The unpainted dining room table took up almost all the elbow room in the dinky little kitchen, and there were bags (presumably Wyatt's) piled up by the door, so she had to shimmy her way in. Harold noticed her first, of course, sitting right next to the doorway as he was. He muttered a gruff greeting, which was enough to bring Wyatt's attention to the newcomer, too. 

     He looked up slowly, as if expecting something bad, but blinked in surprise when he recognized her.

     "Hey, kiddo," she greeted warmly.

     He tensed up and avoided her gaze, which set alarm bells blaring in her head. He looked exhausted. 

     "W-what are you doing here, Harris?" He said. She got the impression he was going for casual and failing tremendously. She pulled out the nearest chair and set it facing him, sitting so she could be at eye level. 

     "Found this brat trying to sleep in the Goddamn woods," Harold spoke up from behind her, admittedly making her jump just a little. She pursed her lips and searched the teen's face, who was avoiding her even more determinately, now.

     "Hey," she set a hand on his knee. He hesitantly glanced up at her. "What happened, Wyatt? Are you ok?"

     He fidgeted, looking more anxious than she thought she'd ever seen him. He didn't answer right away, but she knew him well enough to know sometimes he just needed time. Except--

     "Well he's not going to tell you," Harold butted in again, huffing with some level of contempt. "He was just goin' on about how he didn't want your help cuz he thinks he takes too much, already."

     Harris could feel the teen tense up even further under her hand and internally sighed. As pleasant as possible, she gave Harold a smile.

     "Um, Harold, could you give us a moment?"

     "Uhf, fine," the old man grumbled, taking his and his wife's mug of tea and leaving the room. She breathed a sigh of relief, and was happy to see Wyatt had relaxed a little at that, too. Still, this was going to be a delicate conversation. Wyatt had always been very good at covering up his fear or sadness with anger. As he had gotten used to spending time with them, the anger response had made itself scarcer, but it was still very rare to see him be vulnerable. So this scene, with the kid clearly tense and upset and afraid, it terrified her.

     "Wyatt?" She gave his knee a reassuring squeeze when he looked up to meet her gaze again. "Are you ok?" She repeated.

     "... I'm fine." He said.

     "Why were you sleeping outside, sweetie? Did something happen at the foster home?" If something did, she would have words for the parents involved. The way he began fidgeting again, she suspected that would come to fruition. 

     "I…" he started, trailing off and glancing away again. Harris waited. He fidgeted some more, and finally let out a rough sigh and seemed to brace himself. "I-- I got kicked out."

     Harris very resolutely did not see red. Now was not the time. Rampaging was for later. Instead, she brought her hand up to his shoulder and gave it a rub.

     "Did they tell you why?" She asked, because with what she'd heard of how they treated her boy, there was a chance they didn't.

     "I-- yeah. I-I-- well, I promised them I would never fight any of the other kids but I, I messed up and punched one of them. They were going to transfer me, but since I was gonna turn 18 anyway they just told me to leave by then."

     Something about that worried Harris, so she asked "how long ago was that?"

     "The, um, the punching, or the getting kicked out?"

     "Tell me both." She gave him a reassuring smile.

     "O-ok. Uh, I punched the kid out a few months ago. And I got kicked out two weeks ago."

     Harris hummed. She did the math in her head. "On your birthday?"

     "... yeah," he admitted.

     And now was the crux of the issue. Wyatt, a teenager with barely anything to his name, had been homeless for two weeks. He'd probably been preparing for it for longer. And Harris had had no idea. It was a horrifying thought to think that she'd believed he was going home safe every night and knowing now that he'd been alone and uncomfortable and probably cold and-- now was not the time to be getting worked up, she reminded herself again, looking at the boy in front of her who was definitely still scared and feeling alone. Not on her watch.

     So she asked the all-important question: "why didn't you tell us?"

     Wyatt's expression struggled not to break, and her heart struggled with it. 

     "'S not your problem," he muttered, head lowered.

     "Baby, of course it is! None of us want you to be hurt or uncomfortable," she said, grabbing both shoulders and squeezing gently.

     "I know," he murmured. "But it's my fault. Wouldn't be fair to make you deal with it." 

     Harris had to stop a moment to process everything packed into that, because the thought that he'd been carrying this feeling the whole time was almost enough to break her down right then and there. It was clear now the trouble wasn't that he didn't trust them; it was that he thought he was a burden. It broke her heart.

     "Wyatt," she said with as much motherly authority she could muster. "You would never bother us by letting us help you with your problems. Never, you hear me?"

     His expression crumpled again just briefly. "Why?" He said, suddenly indignant. "It's not like I've ever done anything for you. It wouldn't be fair!"

     "Wyatt…" She paused to brush away some stray hair from his face, tucked it away behind his ear. He brought a hand up to swipe at his eyes and tried to cover it by glaring at the ground. "You don't need to do anything to earn our love, sweetie. We would love you no matter what, you know that?"

     "Wh-wh--" Wyatt stuttered, clearly taken completely off-guard. It occurred to Harris that he must not have thought they were serious when they sent him off for the day with 'love you's. "N-no, why? Why would you?" He demanded, hunching his shoulders.

     "Hmm, well, let's see," she said, brushing a hand through his shoulder-length hair again. When it came to difficult discussions like these, she wasn't so confident, but when it came to gushing about everything she loved about her kids? Oh yeah, Harris could do that for days. "You're clever, you always have an outside-the-box solution for every problem. You're so kind, you always look out for the people around you even when it means putting them first above yourself. You’re a delight to talk to, so funny and witty. You and Blake have a real talent for acting, and that makes me so proud.” He slowly grew tenser under her hands, but she continued resolutely. “You always want to help around the house even when you're not asked. Whenever you're thinking really hard about something you have the cutest express--"

     "Stop!" Wyatt gasped, voice thick as his composure began cracking at the seams. "Th-that's not… that's just… you're leaving out all the bad stuff!"

     "Everyone has bad stuff, baby, even me, even Blake." She knew how much this kid adored her Blake, after all. "That doesn't mean you're not worthy of love."

     "Yes, it does! It's not the same!" The teen suddenly squared his shoulders and sat forward, mask of anger returning full-force. "You guys are good! Even if you aren't perfect you're still good! I'm not like that!"

     "What do you mean, sweetie?" Harris asked, concern rising.

     "I'm bad!" And that was the final nail as the last of Wyatt's composure came crumbling down, he slumped up curled into himself, hugging his arms tight, letting out a single sob, before continuing "I'm bad, I'll always be bad, you're wasting your time!"

     Harris pulled him into a hug so tight. He fully sobbed as she carded her fingers through his hair and held him so tight. His hands first stayed put crossed in front of him, but he slowly unfolded them, let them hover for a little before finally giving in and hugging her back. 

     She stayed there cradling the teen close as he let his emotions out. Continued to run fingers softly through his hair in a soothing motion, heart breaking with the boy in her arms. He slowly curled into her embrace. Despite everything she was feeling in this moment, she couldn’t help a little twinge of pride at having enough of Wyatt’s trust that he was seeking comfort from her.

     It was quiet in the dinky little kitchen, and with the world darkened outside the windows it felt like the moment existed in a bubble. The trees bobbed silently outside and the wind picked up every so often to rattle the sides of the house. Little loose leaves tapped against the glass. And slowly, surely, Wyatt’s shoulders slowed their shaking and his tears ran out. Still, they didn’t move apart for a while, his head still buried in her shoulder, and she still combing through his hair. She wasn’t going to break the silence until he was ready.

     “...Sorry,” was what he said first.

     “Don’t you dare apologize, honey,” she replied. “It’s not your fault.”

     He gave a quiet sigh, and drew himself back, swiping quickly at his eyes as if it could hide that he’d just been crying from her. She kept her hands on his shoulders and waited for him to collect his thoughts.

     “I just… didn’t mean to explode. Or make you deal with that… that’s all,” he murmured, and though he seemed less guarded, he still fidgeted with his hands as he did. Harris pursed her lips and studied his face.

     “You didn’t make me do anything, Wyatt. I wanted to be here. I want to help you if you need it. You’re not a burden to me, or any of us, alright?” She said with as much conviction as she could. He, almost timidly, looked up to meet her eyes. She continued, “If other people have made you feel that way, they’re wrong, alright? I promise you that. You’re really important to me, and to Blake, and to Tomas, too, you know that?”

     He nodded hesitantly.

     “And we’ve never been wrong, have we?” She gently teased. He huffed a watery laugh.

     “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he said. She grinned. She tousled his hair a little and felt a rush of affection at the way he huffed and lightly batted her arm away and pretended to be annoyed even though he was wearing a small smile. She let the moment settle.

     “Wyatt,” she said. He looked back at her, still visibly nervous, but more relaxed, now. “Come back home with me?”

     He looked away and shifted in his seat, as if he were still unsure if he was allowed to accept. He glanced at the doorway behind her, then back to her, hesitating. 

     “I-I guess. If it’s okay with you…” 

     “No doubt in my mind.” She gave him one more brief, tight hug, before rising to her feet and offering him a hand. He let himself be helped to his feet, as well. Brushed at his eyes more deliberately. His movements were slow, as opposed to his defensiveness before. He seemed like he was waiting for something to jump out at him. Harris was still, admittedly, a little worried, but she had to let him do the rest on his own. She couldn’t just fix things for him all herself, as much as she really wanted to. Wyatt had always had a difficult time trusting adults, after all, and as much as he’d gotten close with their family over the years she wasn’t going to expect whatever caused that to be so easily unlearned.

     (She and Tomas had wondered about it, before. Had nervous conversations about what might have caused such a severe reaction. Worried about whether it could still be a danger he was dealing with.)

     So Harris let him follow as she picked her way around the old dining table to where the teen’s two bags had been piled up haphazardly in front of the kitchen entrance. 

     “Ah! It’s okay, I’ve got it!” Wyatt suddenly snapped to his usual level of energy as Harris had moved to pick up the duffel. She sighed with fond exasperation as he took the heavy bag from her.

     “Alright, I’ll take the backpack,” she chuckled.

     “You don’t have to,” he started.

     “Now, now, I want to help, alright? Think of it like a compromise! You let me help, I let you take the heavier one. Sound good?”

     Wyatt frowned, but nodded. “Alright, I guess.”

     “Thanks, dear,” she cooed. “Now, shall we?”

     She led the way back down the hall, silently wondering where in the world the owners of the house had gone off to all this time. Her wonders were answered as the hall opened up to the small living room where the elderly couple was sat; Darla was reading something Harris couldn’t make out in the dim lamp light, and Harold had apparently drifted off in the short time since he’d left. 

     “Thanks again for calling me, Darla. Sorry to have kept you up,” Harris said, truly thankful but eager for the comfort of her own home enough that she kept moving for the back door as she did.

     “Of course, dear,” the older woman replied, turning a stern look towards the boy trailing along behind her. “If you’re taking the boy in you’ll take care not be too soft. Boys like this need discipline.” 

     “He’s had enough of that, actually,” she replied curtly, stepping out the door. 

     She could tell Wyatt had paused in the doorway behind her, but she didn’t hear him say anything, and when she glanced back he had already shut the door behind him. He met her gaze and she gave him a reassuring smile. Still a bit apprehensive, he made his way over to her side in the middle of the short yard. 

     “Do you know how to hop a fence?” She said. He snorted and raised an eyebrow.

     “Do you?”

     Harris chuckled and adjusted the straps of the backpack on her shoulders. She leaned in with a conspiratorial grin and said, “watch this.” She ran up to the fence and cleared it with three footholds, landing a little less-than-gracefully, but hey, the kid hadn’t seen that, anyway. 

     She heard him laugh softly on the other side and the duffel bag came sailing over into their yard, before there was a burst of footsteps on grass and then the redhead himself jumped over-- with only two footholds and a much better landing, so Harris was a little disappointed her show wasn’t as impressive as she’d thought it would be. 

     “Good show!” She praised. He laughed.

     “I’ve practiced. How come you’re so good at it, though?” He seemed to be in better spirits already as he houldered his bag again.

     “Don’t tell anyone,” she said, leaning in and drawing her expression into one of mock seriousness. He raised his eyebrows in amusement but leaned in, as well. “I used to sneak out to party with my friends, like, way past my bedtime.”

     The teen giggled. “What a troublemaker,” he said.

     “I have hidden depths,” she agreed as she led them to the back door of her warm little house. 

     Tomas was still awake, of course. She was sure he’d been internally fretting the whole time, but he was impeccably calm on the outside as he looked up from his tv show at their arrival. 

     “Welcome back,” he smiled, and gave a nod to the new arrival. “Evening, Wyatt.”

     “Uh, hey,” he responded, drawing back again, just a little. 

     “When’s the last time you ate, sweetie?” Harris redirected as she kicked off her shoes and moved into the house, setting Wyatt’s backpack down on the counter and taking the initiative on rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. She was going to make him some food regardless of his answer, after all. That kid was too skinny!

     “Um,” he hesitated, glancing away even as he moved to follow away from the doorway, too. “Lunch…?” 

     “Mac and cheese it is!” She decided, pulling out a bag of pasta.

     “O-ok,” he said, clearly resisting the urge to insist she needn’t go to the trouble. 

     “The spare room’s made up, if you want to put your things away,” Tomas said. He’d all but abandoned what he was watching in favor of giving them his full attention. He nodded towards the bags. “Do you need any help with that?”

     “No, no it’s alright. Thanks,” he replied, shouldering both.

     “Go and put on some pajamas, it’s too dark to be in jeans,” Harris mothered. 

     “Sure.” He cracked a smile at that, and hovered for another moment. “I might take a shower, too, if that’s fine…?”

     “Of course, feel free,” Tomas encouraged. He nodded and hesitantly wandered down the hall to what both adults knew had been his room all along. Tomas watched him go in silence as Harris flitted about the little kitchen, setting a pot of water to boil on the stove and pulling out various half-empty bags of shredded cheese that littered their fridge. When did they get all these, anyway?

     “Is everything alright?” Tomas broke the gentle silence lowly. Harris slowed to a stop and turned to him. He was looking at her now, brows furrowed with a fraction of his worry. She drew a tight breath and pursed her lips, glancing around the corner of the hall their boy had disappeared down. She looked back at her husband and gave him a conflicted smile.

     “Yes and no,” she murmured back. “The short version is he got kicked onto the street.”

     His brows drew down into a tight expression. From what the both of them had heard of Wyatt’s foster parents, they did not like them very much. Harris hadn’t been letting herself get angry just yet, but seeing the same feeling mirrored on Tomas’ face made it harder to resist. 

     "The long version?" He asked.

     "I don't know all the details, myself, yet," she admitted. “From what I understand, he got into a fight with one of the other kids at the house, and the foster parents gave him until his birthday to move out. But he’s just a kid, Tomas! They should know better!” She hissed in frustration. 

     Tomas got up and moved around the counter to plant a kiss on her cheek, and covertly stir the pasta (lest it burn.) “They should have,” he agreed. She sighed and tipped her forehead to rest against his temple. “He’s staying with us,” he added, more a statement than a question. Obviously, he was. She nodded. 

     The sound of rushing water through the pipes in the walls was the only sign the kid in question had started his shower. Darn if he couldn’t be stealthy when he wanted to, Harris had hardly heard the door close, much less any footsteps. House noises always had a relaxing effect on her, though. A familiar house with familiar people in it doing mundane little things. She liked that.

     Tomas had taken up post stirring the pasta for good, it seemed, so she moved on to making her famed cheese sauce (which was really just a blend of milk, butter, and shredded cheese. Secret family recipe.) They made small talk that faded in and out about projects and things they needed to put on the shopping list. Soon enough everything was ready to be put together, so she shooed him back to his distraction tv show and took on the arduous task of balancing the strainer and the pot of pasta over the dirty dishes without scalding herself. 

     Eventually, the shower stopped running and it was only a few minutes later that Wyatt returned to the main area of the house. She’d actually heard him coming this time, and wondered if he’d telegraphed his movements on purpose or if it was just a matter of being more relaxed, now. His hair was still damp and pulled back into a ponytail, and his pajamas were just a bit too big for him, even though he’d grown quite tall. She made a mental note to drag him out shopping and replace his entire wardrobe as soon as possible.

     With a flair, she plated a bowl of fresh mac ‘n’ cheese and garnished it with some extra cheese on top, and held it out over the counter. He laughed at the display and took it with a thanks, reached over to grab himself a fork as she began scooping some for herself (because who could resist?) 

     “Come watch,” Tomas invited from his place on the couch, despite clearly being more invested in his crossword puzzle than whatever was playing at the lowest volume on the tv. He wordlessly accepted, finding a spot to settle in next to him. Harris caught Tomas’ eye from the stove, gesturing to the food. He smiled and shook his head, so she shrugged and took her own bowl to the other spot on the couch next to Wyatt. His gaze skittered over in her direction before refocusing on the tv, the only sign that he was still a bit unsure. But he frowned around his bite of food regardless, seemingly perplexed by whatever was going on in the meaningless reality show that was playing. 

     Harris wasn’t known to be quiet, but she liked letting moments like these sit in peace. However, there was still one more thing she wanted to make sure of, before she let the newest addition to their little family get off the hook. She gave him a gentle nudge with her shoulder to get his attention.

     “Are you feeling better?” She started. He became a bit flustered at that, and nodded.

     “Thanks,” he said, ducking his head.

     “Good.” She smiled. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, ok?”

     He glanced away, then looked at Tomas, as if asking his permission, too.

     “Always,” Tomas said quite matter-of-factly.

     “W-well, alright,” he said, shifting in place. 

     “Hey, you guys are having fun without me,” said a fourth voice, which managed to make all three occupants of the couch jump. Blake wandered into the room yawning, and wedged himself between Harris and Wyatt without a second thought. “Hi Wyatt,” was his only acknowledgment.

     “Hey,” he replied in kind. And then, “what the fuck,” when Blake stole some of his mac ‘n’ cheese.

     If Blake knew something had happened he didn’t let on. Harris wasn’t actually sure, because this was hardly the first time Wyatt would have stayed over. It’s just that usually, it was Blake that convinced him into their impromptu sleepovers.

     “Get your own, idiot,” Wyatt complained as Blake swiped another bite.

     “It’s all the way over there, though,” he whined, “ and yours is right here.”

     Harris slipped Blake the rest of her own; she wasn’t actually very hungry, after all (and she was worried they’d knock the bowl to the ground if it kept up.) When they lapsed into silence Tomas turned up the volume on the tv without looking up from his puzzle. Blake didn’t last very long after finishing his portion, passing out against his friend with the bowl still clutched in his lap. This would prove to be a problem eventually, she was sure. He was almost full grown, too big for her to carry to his room anymore. She’d have to wake him back up again soon. Until then, she took a moment to lament days gone by where he was just a tiny little baby.

     She took stock of her two other boys. Tomas seemed to be a little tired, himself, as evident by the slow of progress in his new puzzle (he’d run through three-- he kept them saved up for rainy days like these.) It was getting to be quarter past one, after all. Wyatt, of course, was drained after the day they’d just had, but didn’t seem close to sleep anytime soon. He looked lost in thought, staring past the tv screen, empty bowl balanced on his knees. His hair had dried out a bit by now, unruly strands loosened from the hairband and falling into his face. She couldn’t help the impulse to reach out and brush them away. He blinked at her, startled from his own thoughts back to the land of the living.

     “Time for bed?” She whispered, glancing past him to her husband, as well.

     The teen nodded slowly, as if only just realizing how exhausted he felt. He looked down at Blake, passed out against his arm, and hummed. Harris giggled at his predicament and took it upon herself to lightly shake her son awake. He grumbled and tried to shake her off before finally giving in and sitting up blearily. 

     “You’re going to hurt your neck if you fall asleep like that, baby,” she teased.

     “Mm’kay,” he mumbled. “G’night.” He took his friend off guard with a quick hug-- maybe he did know something had happened, after all-- before dragging himself to his feet and trudging off to his room. Tomas quietly put his work away and followed to make sure he made it alright (but not before also giving Wyatt a side-hug, which only flustered him further.) 

     Harris also drew herself to her feet, taking both bowls that had somehow ended up in the remaining teen’s arms and walking them to the sink. Something for tomorrow. She turned back to where he hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch, and, suspecting there was something else on his mind, she waited. Sure enough, he took a few seconds to realize her attention was on him, and quickly got to his feet when he did, before slowing down and pausing.

     “Um,” he started, glancing over to her. “Thank you.”

     She crossed the space between them and pulled him into one more hug. Let this one last long enough for him to manage to bring his own arms up slow and return the gesture.

     “Anything, dear,” she said. “You’re family.”

     He melted into her embrace.