𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐄

no, honey. i don’t want you to have anything to do with ma problems. you don’t deserve to trouble yourself with ‘em.

always running off . . . nursing a cup of spiked caffeine may have to wait. he sets the mug down, perhaps not stopping her but following behind. her father is wreaked by vestiges of a hangover, slightly stumbling.

no, i wouldn’t want that— i don’t want that. you ain’t supposed to fight my battles. you’ve got too much on your plate already.

that’s very considerate of her— and he appreciates it a lot. the demons are stronger to fight against today.

she should get something to eat for herself. he’s probably gonna feel too miserable to get anything down.