What a Child Will Believe

He furrowed his brows, setting his backpack down near the door slowly as if something was about to pop out and attack him. He toed off his shoes before kicking them to his usual spot, his eyes roaming the little-amount-of-house he could see from the entryway, before tensing when he felt his shoes be blocked by something. His eyes shot down to where his shoes were supposed to go, and in his space were a pair of dirty boots, well-worn and practically falling apart. The silence, the boots, the tense air that he’s practically suffocating in can only mean one thing: Fuck. His dad’s home.