Patrick ushers Costello inside, closing the door behind them. Once he looks up, he spots an awake Nia. It's almost as if the dark circles never thought to reside under her eyes. The two don't exchange words, but Nia still gives him a small smile of gratitude. He returns the smile.

"Hey, Stello, go start your homework at the table," Patrick coaxes gently. "I'll be there in a minute to help you out."
"Okay," the boy chirps. With that, Patrick watches him disappear into the small dining room connected to the kitchen. He walks over to Nia, his heart diving into the pit of his stomach all the while pulsing rapidly. Good or bad, she always had that effect on him.

"Hey, uh..." Patrick stammers, "Stello had a bit of a rough day. If you planned on telling him anything about this situation, I think you should wait a day or two."
"Why? What happened?" Nia asks. She furrows her brow at the man before her. Patrick blows a quiet sigh as he combs his fingers through his hair.

"He's under some stress about what's going on between you and Ricky," he admits. "On the way home, we stopped to get some ice cream and we talked. He started telling me about some things that happened between you and him."

Patrick shifts uncomfortably on his feet, but forces himself to continue.

"It reminded me of when I was around his age and my parents split up. Or that night you came over when your parents did. Give him some time. If he has any questions about this situation, just tell him the best way you can. Alright?"

Nia nods slowly, confusion still etched in her features.

"Patrick?" Costello calls from the dining room.
"Coming, buddy!" the man calls back. He goes to pivot towards his path, but Nia stops him with her hand on his arm. Patrick turns to the woman.

"What did he ask?" she questions, her voice barely above a whisper. To that, Patrick chews at his bottom lip nervously. He fidgets a little with his hands.

"He asked if you two were getting divorced," he forces out. "He's a smart kid, very aware of what's happening. If he talks to you about it, he's not going to be happy. It won't be easy."
"What did you tell him?" Nia asks. To that, Patrick swallows the rough lump in his throat.

"I couldn't tell him," he admits. "I told him I didn't know. The poor kid was wrecked at the thought of it, I really didn't know what to do."
"You could've called me, Patrick," Nia hisses quietly. Her violet eyes glower a little. "I told you to call me if anything happens."
"He's okay, Nia," Patrick reassures. "At least for now. And I don't think it's my place to tell him what's happening. You're his mother. It needs to come from you. I'm helping you the best I can."
"I never asked for your help—"
"Actually, you did," Patrick scoffs.

There's silence between the two. Nia rolls her eyes at Patrick's statement, a huff eliciting from her. He was right and she knew it.

"Patrick!" Costello tries again. "I need help with my homework!"
"I'll be over soon, sweetie!" Nia calls back.
"No, I want Patrick to help me," the boy clarifies. Confusion claims both of their faces; Patrick conceals a snicker that threatens to reside on his lips. There's more serious matters at hand, more questions.

Looking back at their childhood and former years, Patrick noticed that Nia never gave him direct answers to anything personal. He knows what hurts her, but never how it hurts her. It makes his head feel crowded and fuzzy with more thoughts and theories. There was only one way to end the chaotic mess inside him.

"Why are you like this?" The words fall from his lips just as easily as silk would slip through his fingers. Nia studies the man, her furrowed brow deepening.

"Like what?" she asks. Her voice is laced with malice and defense.
"Why are you so closed off? You've always been that way. Why?" he questions.
"I'm not closed off—"
"You are," he corrects in a harsh whisper. "You've only told me the basics— things anyone can obviously point out! I'm not in your head, Nia! I never was and I never will be! But let me just—"
"Patrick!" Costello calls again.

The two stare at each other, foreign tension hanging over them. Nia studies Patrick, her eyes possessing a million messages he can't decode. He lets out an exasperated sigh as he steps away from the woman.

"We'll talk about this later," Patrick says before faking a smile for Costello. He goes to the boy, ready to help him with his assignment, despite his head still stirring with questions about Nia.

"Whatcha stuck on, kiddo?" Patrick asks as he takes a seat by the boy. Nia hesitates towards the two, claiming a seat across from Patrick, but still adjacent to her son.

"It's math," Costello huffs. Patrick peers over at the page, finding numbers and symbols awaiting for their answers with blank spaces beside them. He instantly registers the needed information.

"Adding, huh? It's not as scary as it looks, I promise," Patrick reassures. He takes the pencil from Costello's hand and points to the barricade that is in the form of a simple math equation.

"If I gave you eight cookies... and decided– what the heck– I'll give you three more, how many cookies do you have?" Patrick explains. Costello looks down at his hands, counting on his fingers. Patrick notices the way the boy furrows his brow with concentration, the same way Nia does. The same way he does. He chuckles lightly to himself at the image.

"Eighty-three?" Costello tries.
"Try again, buddy," Patrick laughs. He presents eight fingers to him, holding the pencil between a couple of them. "Count out eight."

Costello taps at Patrick's fingers, counting them aloud with him slowly.

"One. Two. Three. Four," they list in unison, continuing until Costello landed onto the eighth finger.

"Good," Patrick coaxes with a smile. "Now what comes after eight?"
"Nine," the boy says. Patrick wiggles one finger.
"After that?"
"Ten."

Another finger.

"And after that?"
"Eleven."

Another finger.

"That's three more. So, eight plus three is...?"
"Eleven?" Costello asks, looking up at Patrick for confirmation.
"Yeah! Good job!" Patrick cheers. Costello smiles at the praise and writes down the answer. In that small moment, Patrick realizes that Costello is left-handed. He smiles at his rare ability, that unnamed sensation stirring in his chest again— the same one he felt when he picked him up from school.

"You can always use your fingers when doing math, okay, Stello?" The man reassures.
"What about your toes?" Costello asks half-heartedly.
"Well, of course after you run out of fingers," Patrick laughs, "but only at home. Not at school. Counting toes can be our own secret." The boy giggles at his statement.

Costello moves onto the next equation, staring it down for a moment. He looks down at his empty hand and starts to count aloud as he calculates the problem.

"Five plus five is... ten," he answers to no one in particular. The boy enthusiastically scribbles his answer down.

"You're getting the hang of it, kid," Patrick beams. He runs a hand through Costello's hair. "You think you got it from here?"
"Yeah," Costello says, his concentration funneling into his assignment. With that, Patrick smiles down at the boy as he exits the room.

Nia looks up, watching him leave. She shortly follows.

"I don't know," she says as she trails behind the blonde man. Patrick turns to her, puzzled by her random outburst. It's Nia's turn to fidget with her hands. She keeps her violet eyes down on the wooden floor.

"I-I don't know why I'm so closed off— or why I may come across that way," she clarifies with a stammer. "I'm sorry. I really appreciate your help, but Stello and I should be heading out—"
"No, stay," Patrick insists. He reaches out to the woman, holding her hand for the first time. His finger tips feel like they are on fire upon being dragging into her gravitational pull.

"I would hate to be a burden," she mumbles as she tucks her hair behind her ear with her free hand. A nebula of a blush claims her face.

"You're not a burden at all," Patrick reassures gently. "Stay. Besides, where would you guys go if you did leave? What kind of friend would I be if I let you guys stay at some crappy motel in town?"

Nia chuckles weakly at the rhetorical questions, realizing she didn't have a plan at all. She gives Patrick's hand a gentle squeeze. She looks up at the man, her violet eyes now inviting Patrick's blue eyes into her orbit. He would have easily obliged if he allowed himself to.

"Thank you, Buster," she whispers. Patrick nods with a gentle smile.
"Anything for you, Witch."

A/N:
Hey y'all! So i talked to a good pal of mine and decided to continue with both fanfic and original stories! I'll be keeping fanfics here (and maybe even continue writing them 👀) and I'll be posting original works on my second account: @heeheedragon25 (same name different number haha). And in case I didn't say it (or if i did and you missed it? I really can't keep up anymore lmao), I'll be turning TLOTRO into an original story soon! :) I'll let you know when it's underway!

Until then...
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