There's something hollow in his chest when Diego tears into him. Something tired and exhausted that makes him shut down. Shut off. He doesn't say anything as he leaves, and he hears the door open. It's only then the anger comes. The frustration. Pouring out of him as he grabs one of the mugs of tea. He doesn't care that the water seeps through the cracks, scalding hot. He doesn't care that it's still full. He throws the porcelain as hard as he can against the nearest wall, the shattering strangely comforting. So he picks up the other. Broken glass and broken pottery as he takes his frustrations, his anger, his grief and his misery out on some of the more fragile objects in his room.
At least his relationships aren't the only thing in this house that are broken now.
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End
At least his relationships aren't the only thing in this house that are broken now.