ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤

𝒩𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝐵𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 “𝑀𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇?” -𝐵𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝑀𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓁 𝑅𝒫 -𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 -𝒟𝑒𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒/𝑀𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 -𝑅𝒯? #ѕtσrm

—followed by a simple nod. “Need a room?” He waited to see if she had anything else to say. It would take a minute to get warmed up to her again.

Norman’s expression was almost unreadable as he listened to her speak, fumbling with hotel inventory nervously as she finished. He met eyes with the blonde once more, pursing his lips into a thin line in an attempted smile. “It’s okay.” He mananaged the two words—

—going to work, /Dylan/?

Norman stood in front of his brother, breathing heavily from both the right, and anger. He had a thousand yard stare filled with rage as he heard his brother speak. He couldn’t do much now but stand there. He felt defeated in a way. “Shouldn’t you be —

—about her a lot after she left.

—what to say, or how to communicate. It was like he shut down. “Bradley, I-“ He couldn’t push out any more words. He was flooded with all types he of emotions at this point. She, understandably so, hadn’t kept the in touch. He couldn’t deny that he’d thought —

As Norman heard the bell, signaling the door was opening, he started speaking, before even glancing up. “Hello, how can I-“ As he finally met eyes with the familiar face, he stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t seen her in so long, and given their history, he had no idea—

—At this point, he was just waiting for his brother to say anything else.

—face where he’d been hit. The small tussle was quick, but Norman’s intent was to kill. Norman stood up, walking over to the sink, turning it on and acting as if he were washing his hands. He had a sharp eye on the kitchen knife sitting on the counter. —

—strong hit, but Norman wasn’t giving up. He managed to punch Dylan back, right in the mouth, and push him off. At this point he had little to no emotion in his features. “Don’t /ever/ speak about her like that.” He squinted slightly, a red mark forming on his—

Soon after Dylan, with little struggle, knocked the fork out of his hand his back slammed down onto the hard kitchen floor, the words from his brother’s mouth angering him even more, he felt a hard fist meet his face, causing his head to bounce against the floor. It was a —

—to raise the fork and come at him with it while Dylan’s back was turned, a grunt emitting from his angry turned lips.

At this point, Norman’s facial features went dark. He didn’t let anyone speak on his mother’s name like that, and he wasn’t about to start now. At this point, he didn’t say anything. He stood up, fork in hand, slowly approaching Dylan. He awaited for the right time—

—pursing his lips slightly. “Now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to eat breakfast. Can I do that in peace?” Norman knew this couldn’t be the end of the argument.

—off of the fork yet. If Dylan kept talking about Norma in any way, Norman would snap. He decided not to talk anymore about Dylan’s job for now, letting the “processing” comment fly past his head. At this point, he didn’t care. He glanced back down at his plate of food, —

At this point, Norman’s face had changed at least one shade. He was never good at controlling his emotions. “Ruined? No Dylan, you’re the one that’s ruined. You’re nothing but a burn out and that’s all you’ll ever be. Mother’s proud of me.” He hadn’t let his grip up—

//• Should I create a new layout?

—stress, /Dylan/ she would have told you.” At this point his knuckles were white from gripping the kitchen utensil so hard.