хронически хреничен
When Hawke’s mother died several years after the death of his father, he was only twenty.
A legal, responsible adult, able to take on legal, adult responsibilities like taking custody of Bethany and Carver. Hawke had dropped out of college, fought to get a refund on his tuition, and, in the space of less than six months, found them an apartment, completed a training program to become a nursing assistant, and gotten a full-time job.
A constant mental refrain of I need an adult narrated his daily existence. I need an adult I need an adult I need an adult bouncing around helplessly in his head, only he was the adult. It was him. He was the adult now, learning how to file taxes and shop for groceries and apply for insurance.
There wasn’t anyone adultier than him that could fix this.
I feel like a child. How can I care for two other children?
— here comes the spark by canistakahari