[identity profile] lindt.livejournal.com
May 2, 2003.

Fabian was in hell.

Well, not literally. Fabian was really climbing the stairs to his mother's relatively new flat for maybe the fourth time ever, at most, trying not to think about what he was about to say. About what he had to say to her, because who else was he going to say it to, and how was he going to hide it?

He didn't have anyone else to confide in. They may have been slightly estranged since his father's passing, but his mother had always been his rock. They were close. He relied on her, even when she kept secrets from him -- it was always to protect him from bad news, Fabian understood that.

But this was bad news he wanted to protect her from. And he couldn't. )

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