"Th-they just don't understand."
Walt Jr – no, Flynn, as he had begun calling himself again, in defiance of his parents' betrayal – Flynn made his way to the breakfast table, carrying a jug of orange juice in one hand and a bottle of syrup in another. He sat down with an exasperated sigh, staring down at his pancakes in dismay.
"It's like – it's like they don't even care about me, y-you know? I mean, first, like, Mom was being a m-major b-bitch to Dad and that was, like, r-r-really screwed up, but now even D-dad's being a d-d-dick." He opened the bottle and poured the syrup, watching the viscous, sugary liquid trickle down the pancakes' sides until eventually pooling at the bottom of the dish. This was the good stuff too, Aunt Jemima: not that crappy off brand whatever that his mom had been buying recently. The sight of it relaxed him, as did the slight hissing of the bacon on the stove and the mouth-watering aroma filling the kitchen air. He started to smile despite himself.
"B-but really," he tried to continue, "i-it's just not – not fair…"
He couldn't finish though. All traces of sadness, anger and pain had once again been wiped away by his one true love. It had always been there for him, and always would be, no matter what.
He picked up his fork and began to eat.