Why Can’t I Just Hate You?! (Closed with Eli-the-transboi) (1/1) (MxM) (TW)

She smiles, “I love you too, baby…”

He smiles and grabs his phone, walking out to the living room.

Julia follows, kissing Harold’s cheek. “I’ll take over. Before you burn the hotdogs.” She grins.

He scoffs. “When have I ever done that?!”

She gives him a look.

Reo smiles slightly, "I'll cook them!" He says, moving over.

(Cause– he loves to cook-)

Yes-

Julia smiles, “Oh good! Finally a good cook!”

Harold rolls his eyes. “I’ve never burned food…” he grumbles.

Julia grins, “yes you have. Hasn’t he, Reo?”

Reo laughs softly, "You have, Papa." He takes over, quiet again.

Harold scoffs, “Oh your mother just told you to say that!”

Julia laughs, “No I haven’t!”

Reo smiles slightly, finishing the food, "Here."

Julia smiles, “Hm. My gourmet chef over here.” She ruffles Reo’s hair.

Reo smiles, serving them.

Julia smiles, “thank you.”

Harold nods.

Reo nods, taking his food and eating it.

Julia and Harold began eating.

Harold sighs, “Well…what’s going on with this…boyfriend of yours?”

Reo chokes, “He’s not. . . My boyfriend. . . Exactly. . .” He looks down, “He’s a friend. . . That I like, papa. . .”

(Hmm. . . Watch them see the bruise on his shoulder— like, hes in the bathroom with his shirt off, putting some ointment on it and they see a tines ball sized bruise on his shoulder and half the one on his hip—)

Mhm-

Harold hums, “Whatever you say kiddo…but don’t let him hurt you.”

Reo nods, “I won’t.” He smiles, “I’m fine, papa.” He finishes his hotdog, “I’m going to go take care of the bruises I got today.”

(Cause he gets a bunch of tiny ones everyday cause of the condition)

Mhm

Harold raises an eyebrow. “How’d you get them?”

“Papa, you know I just get them. They happen. I bump into things, It not many, just two or three. I’m being careful>

He sighs, “Okay okay. Just wondering. Be more careful.”

Reo bites his lip, “I’m as careful as I can be, papa.” He smiles slightly, grabbing his medicated ointment and walks to the bathroom.

After a while, Harold knocks on the bathroom door and walks in. “You ok-“ he pauses, staring at the bruises.

Reo blinks, dropping the ointment and grabbing his shirt, “Papa!”

He growls, “Who did that.”

“I just tripped and fell, papa. Nobody did anything.”

(Boo, it’s a lot darker than your other ones, as well as a lot bigger—)

Harold scowls, “Don’t lie to me.”

Reo looks down, shifting on his feet, “Papa—“

He shakes his head.

Reo looks down, “It’s fine, papa. . .”

Harold scowls. “You quit lying to me. What have I told you bout lying?”

Reo bites his lip, “Not to do it, papa. . .” He whispers, gripping his shirt to his chest, “But it’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt. . .”