Hemingway. (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ernestoic) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} spinningcompass,@ 2016-03-10 00:22:00 |
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Where? Their apartment
When? Backdated to Sunday night
What? His Abi returns!
Rating? Dunno. Medium.
Open? No
Hemingway had lost track of how long it had been now. The days were getting back to normal, the electricity had finally returned, and things seemed a little bit less wild out there. But there was still no Abi, not his Abi, and he was really struggling now. Looking after a toddler was hard enough at the best of times, never mind when he was missing his mother and there was no light or electricity and the building were moving - and Hemingway himself was sleep-deprived and emotionally all over the place.
He had utterly failed at convincing Charlie into a bath; the kid was now half-naked and standing up in the middle of his bed, bouncing and laughing as any attempt at pyjamas was treated as a wild game. "Damn it, Charlie-" Hemingway had muttered to himself, before gritting his teeth as he realised what he had just let slip out. Oh, it would be too much to ask for Charlie not to pick up on it -
"Damn it, papa!" he was giggling now. No, no, no, this couldn't be happening.
"Uh huh, okay- don't say that. Come on, now. If you'll put these on, I'll read you a story," Hemingway tried to reason with the wild child.
"Damn, damn, damn, damn-" he was saying with every bounce, giggling and squealing and miles from giving in to sleep.