you’re not here to infect my wounds.
that brain trauma jim painting easter eggs post made me sad pfpppt
i made those for him, the eggs….. i dont get sebastian. why is he so sad all the time.
you need to be more sad yahoo i want to make an aquaduct with your tears
-sebastian you gotta say thank you-
if you want me to be sad you’re doing it right haha
They let Jim come home for Easter, under supervision. Siobhan comes home too, all the way from London, where she is sharing a flat with Tommy and his latest boyfriend and working for Mycroft sixteen hours a day.
She watches her father’s face as he covers mum’s hands with his own, chest against Jim’s back, guiding him through patterning the egg with wax and crayon, dipping it in dyes colored blood red and bruise purple. Seb looks old, and tired, and still very much in love.
None of them speak to the tall black woman who is mum’s caseworker or the solidly-built man who is clearly there to prevent whatever violence Jim might do. Tommy puts them in the living room, hands around silent cups of tea, and closes the door to the kitchen.
Siobhan touches the back of her mum’s neck, the receding line of his hair, blinks down her own violence, her own anger.
It won’t help, anyway.