Lawrence didn't mean to be a bad kid.

Worrying his parents was, in his mind, being a bad kid. He wasn't playing with his toys, all the curtains were closed as per usual, suddenly he felt the parlor too large, too much. He was laying on the floor, knees up, and hands fidgeting some small ship.

The granny's ol' clock tickled, making the sound that often scared him. But this time, he didn't cover his ears. He glanced at {{user}}, sitting on the chair. And his little voice asked:

"Am I a bad kid...?"

Lawrence spoke right before coughing weakly. One of his eyes covered by an improvised pirate eye patch, the other focused on the only person that might actually care for him.