Title: Tired
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: Gen
Length: 524
Content notes: Implied child (teenage) abuse, pre-series
Summary: Neal is just plain tired


It was amazing how much of your morning routine could be done without looking into a mirror, Neal mused. He finger-combed his hair, knowing by feel that it was good enough for today, and ignoring the pain as his shoulder and side protested the action. He carefully washed his face and brushed his teeth with his eyes still averted. But at last it came time for the shave. Neal briefly considered going without, but he had always hated the scratchy feel of overnight whiskers. Plus, he needed all the help he could get today in the 'looking presentable' department.

Resigned, Neal pulled out his shaving kit and began to lather up. Then, steeling himself, he finally looked up at the mirror.

His left eye was surrounded by a dark, reddish-purple ring, though the swelling was minimal. It wasn't, as he had half hoped, something that could be easily hidden. As Neal began to shave, he started to go through the list of possible excuses.

A sports accident. Falling down the stairs. Running into a door. A random mugging. The truth.

Neal scoffed as the last thought flickered through his mind. Of all the things he would never do… But still, he had to say something, and he knew his homeroom teacher, at least, would press. English and Math would probably ignore him, but Science was another guaranteed questioning session.

The best alternative was to just play hooky today, but he had a math test and a presentation on the Fifth Amendment for AP US History. He really didn't want to tank his 4.0 because of a stupid drunken mistake.

Because really, that's exactly what this was: a mistake. He was usually much better about hitting where it wouldn't show.

Neal finished shaving with a sigh and regarded his reflection. And his reflection stared back tiredly. Really, that's what Neal was: tired. Tired of studying all the time, tired of striving for the highest grades and the best extra-curriculars for college apps, tired of coming home to a dark house and a raging drunk. He was tired of hiding bruises and lying about the ones he couldn't cover. He was just really fucking tired.

Suddenly, playing hooky seemed like a fantastic idea. Like, forever.

Almost without thinking about it, Neal found himself back in his room, his wallet and backpack in his hands. His feet then steered him towards the den, where he easily opened the wall safe and pulled out the shrinking stack of bills that was the remainder of his inheritance. He was supposed to get it when he turned 18, but Neal had known for years that it would all have been drunk by then. But now, it was his.

On his way out the door to who knew where, Neal caught one last glimpse of his reflection in the hall mirror. The mirror was shattered, and Neal thought absently that he still might have a shard of it in his shoulder. But despite the warped image, mirror Neal looked more alive than he had in months – maybe years.

With a smirk, Neal walked out of his house for the last time.