FAKE Drabble: Surplus
Jul. 20th, 2019 06:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bk_forever
Title: Surplus
Fandom: FAKE
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
badly_knitted
Characters: Ryo, Bikky, Bikky’s friends.
Rating: G
Setting: Around Vol. 3.
Summary: This is one part of parenthood that’s less than fun.
Written For: Challenge 004: Refreshments at sesquidrabbles.
Disclaimer: I don’t own FAKE, or the characters. They belong to the wonderful Sanami Matoh.
A/N: Drabble and a half, 150 words.
Sometimes Ryo felt like the caterer, only tolerated because he provided refreshments for Bikky and his friends. The boys were all too busy playing computer games to even notice he was there as he set a tray of sodas and snacks on the coffee table and wandered disconsolately back to the kitchen, knowing now they’d been fed he was neither needed nor wanted, just part of the furniture.
Making himself a coffee he slumped at the kitchen table, chin on one hand, feeling oddly left out. He couldn’t go anywhere; the kids were only twelve, still too young to be left alone all evening in case they started fighting or got into something they shouldn’t. He couldn’t watch TV because it was in use, and it was too noisy to read.
This was something no one told you about being a parent; sometimes you wound up being surplus to requirements.
The End
Fandom: FAKE
Author:
badly_knittedCharacters: Ryo, Bikky, Bikky’s friends.
Rating: G
Setting: Around Vol. 3.
Summary: This is one part of parenthood that’s less than fun.
Written For: Challenge 004: Refreshments at sesquidrabbles.
Disclaimer: I don’t own FAKE, or the characters. They belong to the wonderful Sanami Matoh.
A/N: Drabble and a half, 150 words.
Sometimes Ryo felt like the caterer, only tolerated because he provided refreshments for Bikky and his friends. The boys were all too busy playing computer games to even notice he was there as he set a tray of sodas and snacks on the coffee table and wandered disconsolately back to the kitchen, knowing now they’d been fed he was neither needed nor wanted, just part of the furniture.
Making himself a coffee he slumped at the kitchen table, chin on one hand, feeling oddly left out. He couldn’t go anywhere; the kids were only twelve, still too young to be left alone all evening in case they started fighting or got into something they shouldn’t. He couldn’t watch TV because it was in use, and it was too noisy to read.
This was something no one told you about being a parent; sometimes you wound up being surplus to requirements.
The End
