Actions

Work Header

don't call me pretty (call me smart)

Chapter Text

Doyoung was late. 

The sound of his feet stomping into the water puddles was rowdy and striking. Making him wish that he chose another type of shoes, maybe one that didn’t make him sound like a sneaky teenager. 

Madam Grey should stop manipulating me to use this kind of stuff, he thought I already said that I hate heels shoes.

As soon as he stepped onto the entrance, flooding all the floor, a woman with pitch-black hair, dusky brown eyes and a severe expression appeared, in Doyoung’s opinion, out of nowhere.

“Mother!” His hands flew to his chest and his eyes went wide. Still, his voice was just smooth and calm as always.“You scared me to death.”

Not so surprisingly, this caused her to recede, giving Doyoung a pointed look and then a soft smile. A traditional omega smile, some would say. Soon, Doyoung would be the one giving smiles like these to his alpha’s puppies. Although the thought didn’t make him happy at all, it was not like he had much strength of will to do anything against it.

Play along. So they may not know what is in your mind.

That’s what his grandma used to say to him when the world still looked like something that worth it a fight. Sometimes, when he was missing her too much, he would think that the world died with her and that now he was living in a coma-dream reality. Somehow, that used to make him feel better. 

“You’re late, darling.” His mother’s voice it’s calm and composed, just like herself but there’s a hint of accusation that Doyoung does not let it pass unnoticed, still, he says nothing. 

When younger, Doyoung used to think that she didn’t appreciate him as a son. Now, he thinks she doesn’t appreciate him even as a person. He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t hurt. But deep down, where he can’t lie to himself, he knows it. Always will hurt.

“It won’t happen again, mother.” Doyoung can see both their reflexions on the side mirror and for a moment he consider if instead of a coma-dream, he’s not living in a wax-dollhouse reality.

Mother smiles. Never really reach her eyes, though.