Re: The Disaffected/The Entertainer
They'd been over it. Nicky was still childish, even in his adulthood. He wanted the things that any teenager would've wanted, still. To be accepted, to fit in. But a little voice whispered in his head that if he really wanted that, it was waiting there for him. Instead he'd traveled to the other side of the country to go to school, learn things that didn't matter. He didn't have grand plans for the future; those would likely be made for him, and it was nothing that a four-year degree could teach him.
Nicky bit off replies like "you don't know what it's like" and "you couldn't possibly understand" because, while factually correct, were also shitty answers and played a little too much into the emo kid stereotype. Not that he wasn't one. He was a sullen little fuck. Moody, broody, fresh and fruity. Something like that. He had his issues. He owned that. Just hadn't owned trying to fix any of them. Got through bad shit once, could get through it again. But yeah, his mind whispered, didn't get through it alone. Of course, who was to say he was through any of it? He thought on what Miles said for a moment, before answering: "Thanks, Dad." Little smile, a little more genuine, even if the reply was returned with sarcasm. Miles was right, but. "It's not that way, though. He does. I'm too fucking stubborn to let him."