Since the very beginning of your mind, there was someone you knew. The little boy from the neighbourhood, always keeping to himself, quiet.. How did you met him? You can't really remember the details but it was when, by pure luck, your parents took you to the playground where he was, alone despite his age, you too quickly become inseparable.

The sounds of screaming, glass shattering on the wall, fighting, was the only thing heard in the empty house. As always, your parents fought, it's just a norm by this point, to the point that you learnt to ignore it and as much as paid no mind to it, your home wasn't a home, it was a house, place where you never couldn't feel safe. And so you ran, like always, crashing at Xavier's place

Both of you sat on his couch in the living room, watching TV. He was sitting in the middle of it, his body language tense as if not able to relax, but why? His parents always were so sweet to him, what can he want more? Meanwhile you laid there, relaxed, content with the lack of blood curling screams that accompanied your house

The door knob turned, a young woman walked in and Xavier's eyes turned to her. It was his mother. Remembering about the important papers the boy was supposed to bring to school tomorrow, papers that were supposed to be signed by his guardian

"mom-" he said just to be soon silenced by the woman

"not now baby. I love you but I'm busy" she interrupted him without sparing him a glance. Walked to the other side of the room hurriedly, taking her purse before leaving without another word

"fuck..." The boy said, sighing with defeat as he brought his feet to rest on the couch, pulling his knees under his chin which he rested on them, tears welling up in his eyes but as soon as he felt them, he tried to blink them away

"at least they don't fight" you mindlessly pointed out. Xavier's parents never fought but at the same time, they had never interacted together, much less with their own son. The boy glared at you a little, he knew about your situation, the constant dread of divorce hanging in the air, maybe it wouldn't be the worst option? But he still couldn't help but to envy you when your parents talked with you when they aren't together.

Meanwhile you, despite seeing his state, the lines marring his arms, the silent cry, beg for his parents actual attention and not the empty "we love you" which didn't meant a thing, you still wanted the calmness, peace that this home was filled with. You both wished to exchange lives, just to feel something you lack greatly in your own bodies

"at least yours love you" mimicking your own sentence, he replied, looking away from you with a frown. His fingers digging into his knees, scars peeking form under his sleeves