Through the Screen novel Chapter 104

tired, tired, tired. abel 's half open eyes are burning with the lack of sleep, his movements annoyingly slow and lethargic and his face expressionless as he sits on the dining table, willing his ears to avoid the conversation going on between noah and his mother in the kitchen. he hasn't looked at noah since he walked out of their—noah's bedroom last night, and he wants to keep it that way. he could go a day without the mental breakdown of watching noah's eyes go colourless as soon as they meet his, his pretend smile falling and his sharp features turning morose at the reminder of their situation.

the smell of pancakes and pine needles fills his lungs in a bittersweet manner, his throat with bile and his head with memories. he can't pretend that the air isn't unforgivingly drenched with arguments and unsaid words, that it isn't choking him with every breath he takes, that this is just like any other christmas morning.

"how many pancakes for you, adrian?" mrs. lester yells from the kitchen, and adrian's eyes visibly light up at his grandmother's voice. abel watches fondly as his expression changes to something more forgiving, something he can bear to look at and he is just so grateful for noah's mother's arrival. her bubbly persona cuts through the tension every once in a while and her wit and humour never fails to make abel 's smiles just a little less forced.

"twenty five please," adrian yells and abel smiles a little at the conjoined laughter of noah and his mother's coming from the kitchen.

"coming right up! and you abel?"

"i'll pass actually, i had breakfast earlier this morning," his lost appetite lies for him. pancakes had always symbolised the happiest of this moments, the lone category of food was such an important part of all his celebrations and all the late night dinners and all the second breakfasts because the first one wasn't fulfilling enough. he had probably eaten pancakes more than he had smiled, and even noah's mother's delectable cooking can do nothing to fuel his appetite.

"since when are you not hungry for pancakes? i thought they were your favourite?" mrs. lester pokes her head out of the kitchen, an apron tied around her thin waist and a scowl of confusion on her face.

"they are," abel smiles at her half heartedly. "i'm just not hungry, i'll have some later,"

"one?" she compensates and it takes everything in abel to refuse. refusing her right now would be better than retching the food out as soon as he finishes it.