After Alicia left, the family sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then their mother broke it.
"Mary dear, please go wash the dishes."
She said it calmly and for a second Mary thought about sulking but she knew that tone, so she decided to do as she was told. The chair scraped as she got up, slippers shuffling to the kitchen, water starting to run.
As soon as she went to the kitchen, mother and son sat across from each other.
His mother sat looking calm and expectant, fingers tangled with each other while her elbows rested on the table. The wood was warm where the plates had been. Mark looked at his mom and took an exhale to calm his nerves, his palms a little damp against his sweatpants, before he started explaining.
"It all began three weeks ago."
He began explaining all the events that took place. How he met Adrian, how he'd been in more fights in the first week than he had ever seen in his entire time back in Zimbabwe and how genuinely scary it all was. His voice was low at first, then steadier. His mother looked anxious for her son, the line between her brows deepening, but she managed to keep her composure and continued listening, hands still locked together, knuckles tightening faintly.
Mark smiled at this point of his story because it wasn't only bad things that were produced by Brookhaven. He learned new things everyday and he liked that. He had managed to make friends here unlike back home when he was a loner and although he was scared as hell he liked what he got. The kitchen tap thumped against a pot, Mary being loud on purpose.
Mrs Wilson took time to contemplate what her son had just told her and Mark remained silent in that moment. She tapped a finger on the table while looking into his eyes, a soft, slow tap, tap, tap against the wood. Then she sighed, air catching a little in her throat.
"You know the men of our family always had difficult jobs, dangerous infact. Especially your father."
She started off, making Mark listen more intently because their mother never talked about their father much. Even Mary was eavesdropping from the kitchen — leaning by the sink, dishcloth dripping — which Mark noticed a while back but decided to ignore.
"Your father was reporter, in many ways you remind me of him. He didn't talk much but when he started he never stopped and he was pragmatic but at the same time he was an optimist. Truly he was a strange man."
Mrs Wilson said with a reminiscent smile, eyes distant, the smell of beef stew still hanging faint in the air.
"I'm sure you can guess his job wasn't easy since he was a reporter and when I confronted him about it he'd have the same resolved look in your eyes now and tell me, anything that can be achieved without hardship is either not worth it or doesn't last, so I'll take the hard path to achieve my concrete goals."
She said then paused looking at Mark. The fridge hummed behind them. The house was quiet except for the water in the kitchen.
"I won't stop you from fighting Mark, especially when you have two but I only have two requests. Don't end up abusing violence for no reason and please always come home safe, think you can do that?"
She said with a smile, her eyes a bit glassy with unshed tears catching the kitchen light. Mark's eyes also looked similar at that point, hot and tight.
"Of course mom, I promise I'll follow those rules."
Mark said with conviction, voice a little hoarse, causing Mrs Wilson to smile more warmly.
"That's my boy now give me a hug."
She says pulling him into a hug which he doesn't resist. Her fleece gown was soft against his cheek, faint hospital soap still there under the stew smell, her arms tight and sure.
"You too Mary."
She calls out to her and she comes running — wet hands, dish soap suds on her wrist — already sniffling and crying.
"I love you two rascals and I pray God gives you strength to survive this city."
Mrs Wilson says holding them both in a tight hug and the family enjoys a nice tender moment of silence together in that position, breathing together, the clock ticking.
---
Meanwhile Adrian was taking some selfies of himself in some simple branded clothes on Insta as a brand partnership. The small room was bright, afternoon light cutting across his posters, the air smelling faintly of cheap cologne and laundry detergent.
He angled his phone, jaw set, branded tee catching the light — click, click — checking the frame, fixing his hair with a quick swipe, posting without overthinking it. After he's done he falls onto his worn couch and places his phone to his side. The springs groaned under him, leather warm and cracked from years of use, his phone buzzing once with likes before going quiet.
"There, all done, with that all my work for the day is done."
He murmurs to himself, his head tilted to the roof, expression turning thoughtful. The ceiling fan turned slow above him, ticking, dust motes floating in the sunbeam.
'Last time I met Bruce was back in that alley when him and his boys were assaulting Payal. Although his lackies weren't anything to speak of he was undoubtedly strong. I wonder if I could take him when it comes down to it.'
He thought, then let out a sigh and grinned as he turned on his TV to play Tekken 8, a birthday gift he'd received courtesy of his aunt Jenna. The controller was cold in his palm, the plastic buttons a little slick, the TV humming as it booted, blue light washing his face.
He turned it on and picked his favorite character, Hwoarang.
"Wow, the graphics have improved a lot since the previous games."
He said, grinning to himself as he played. The kicks snapped on screen, sound thudding through his small speakers, his thumb rolling fast, couch leather sticking faintly to his back from the heat. While doing so he performed a particular move and looked amazed, then he grinned.
"Mmm, looks like I've just got myself a new move, should be easy enough to execute, at least I have a new weapon to use against Bruce when we go to his base."
He murmured to himself with a grin, but then he proceeded to lose the match. The KO rang loud, controller vibrating once in his hand.
"DAMN, this has to be cheating. How are they moving so fast."
He grumbled, putting the controller to the side. It clacked against the worn couch arm, his chest rising a little faster, grin gone but eyes still lit — thinking about that move, about Bruce.
---
He moved to the kitchen, drinking apple juice. The fridge hummed, cold air spilling out, the juice sharp and sweet on his tongue, ice clinking against the plastic cup. Although he seemed calm and relaxed, it didn't mean he didn't take this seriously. Not because of the obvious implication of the danger per se, but the fact that his mother might wake up one day to find him in the hospital, or worse, so he knew the costs, and it was because of this he knew they had to win at all costs.
So he brushed a hand through his blonde hair, making it messier but making him look more striking, and he decided to go to his room to practice that new move of his. The hallway was quiet, sun striping the floorboards. After that, he'd get back to flirting with Payal and the other girls in his DMs.
'Maybe I can finally ruffle Stacey's feathers.'
He thought, then immediately chuckled because Stacey was one of the only few girls in Brookhaven who was immune to his charm, but he didn't feel bitter about it, quite the opposite. He found it amusing and strangely freeing to a degree, and of course as a challenge to his abilities.
With that, he went into his room and the rest of the day he practiced the move alone in his room. Bare feet on the cool floor, breath fogging slightly, each spin kicking up dust, his shadow snapping across the wall, calf burning, tee sticking to his back.
Next day, it was lunch break and everyone was at the table, but there were some new faces. There were the boys, Hakim, Connor, and Mark. Ethan and Caesar, who now treated Mark like their boss or sort of Alpha after the fight with Stitch, Bianca and May, and finally the head honchos of Class 1-A and 1-C, Adrian and Sato.
But these were only the tip of the iceberg. Aside from Ethan and Caesar as the new additions, there sat the small, strikingly androgynous Oliver with the big Tobias standing behind him, and the other was the stunningly beautiful white-haired girl that Mark had previously bumped into before.
It was no surprise that there was a lot of attention directed at their table because of this. It was almost like a subdued fangirling or fanboying experience waiting to happen. The cafeteria buzzed, trays clattering, whispers rippling from table to table, eyes flicking over. But to Mark, though, the energy at the table felt heavy. He recognized the two faces. He'd met Oliver at the party and didn't really know he went to school here, and of course he couldn't forget the girl either. Her look was too distinct. What he was trying to figure out, though, was why they were here.
'Is there a convention of attractive first years today or something?'
Mark thought to himself, his gaze sweeping over Adrian, Sato, Oliver, and the girl respectively.