Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1983

“Daddy…” 

“Mm…”

“Papaaa…”

“Mmhmm…”

“Daddy!” The little voice exclaimed as William felt the bed dip, a sudden weight settling on top of him. The man was just half awake, but the feeling of a tiny hand now consistently tapping on his shoulder was just annoying enough for him to open his exhausted eyes. 

“Ah…morning, angel.” The term of endearment brought the sweetest smile to Elizabeth’s face, that little gap between her teeth on full display.

“It’s still night,” the girl whined as her smile faded, “I can’t sleep.”

“Yeah, m--” a loud yawn that surprised even William himself cut off his sentence, making his daughter giggle. “Ah, sorry. I was just gonna say me neither, hun.” Exhausted indigo eyes darted to the alarm clock situated on the bedside table. The blinking red numbers read 2:05 AM, far too early for a growing seven-year-old to be awake. It wasn’t like he could blame the kid though, Lord knows he’d hardly slept a wink after the incident. Some of the only ‘sleep’ William found himself getting was when his body physically couldn’t take it anymore, and he’d shut down, essentially passing out at the workshop desk with a wrench still in hand.

“Will…please, go home. Get some rest in a real bed. You know I’ll happily drive you if you’re too tired.” Henry would suggest in that warm, gentle tone of his that he’d been speaking to William in ever since Evan’s death. He knew his friend was doing the best he could, but Henry had no idea what it was like to lose a child. 

No idea.

A raging, jealous flame often arose in his heart whenever he brought his dear Charlie to the workshop. All bright-eyed and smiley, peaking her head above the desk and admiring her father and his work with the most curious eyes. Evan never wanted to accompany William to the workshop, exclaiming that the quote ‘monsters’ were too scary. 

How lucky Henry was.

“What’s wrong?” With that, William’s mind snapped back to the present, realizing his daughter’s large hazel eyes were staring at him with what he could only describe as a troubled expression.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong, I’m just…ah, I’m sleepy. You should be too, Lizzie.” He watched the young girl roll her eyes, and he was unable to hold back the smirk that crept onto his face. Sassy, just like her older brother. 

Young Elizabeth flopped beside William with a sigh, strawberry blonde bedhead a tangled-up mess. She’d been through so much…being seven years old, the concept of death had to be at least somewhat of a mystery to her still. He remembered sitting her down after the sympathetic doctor had solemnly informed him that his son didn’t make it. His young girl had been exhausted and confused, the Barbie dolls and raggedy stuffed animals in the hospital’s child-care center had lost their fun hours ago. Memories of setting the girl on his lap and praying to the God he didn’t even believe in that she wouldn’t notice his bloodshot eyes and the deep violet circles that rested under them. Held onto hope that she wouldn’t notice the way his hands shook violently from a diet of black coffee, liquor, and cigarettes as he patted her shoulder. What kind of a father was he ? No wonder the child couldn’t sleep. Mom wasn’t in the picture, her brother was a casualty in an unimaginable accident, and her other, teenage brother sat in his room all day blasting the loudest assortment of sounds that William doubted could even be considered ‘music’ on his boombox.

“I realize I haven’t…uh…” I haven’t been here for you as much as I should be. I’ve been an absent father and I realize all I do these days is drink, work, and lay here is what he really should have been saying, but it would be easier to opt for something much shorter and to the point. “I’m sorry I’ve been so very busy, sweetie. Is there…anything that would help you fall asleep?” William certainly had quite a few issues going on in that head of his, even more so after Evan’s death, but it wouldn’t kill him to at least try to be there for his little girl. Contrary to that cold exterior, he did deeply care for her, his only daughter, and now, his youngest.

“Hm…” Those big eyes looked up at the ceiling as if she were in a state of deep thought. Oh, to be a kid again, where the biggest issues in life were if you wanted to be read a story, sang a lullaby, or be given a warm glass of milk to help you fall asleep. “I think…a bedtime story,” Elizabeth concluded happily, already scurrying off the bed to go ransack her bookshelf, no doubt.

“Alright then! Pick your very favorite one and hurry back, okay Lizzie?”

---

William’s eyes had been closed while waiting for Elizabeth, his body exhausted but his mind restless, like he’d just downed five straight shots of espresso before going to bed. He’d been in a dreamless sleep before his daughter shook him awake, but the rational part of his brain could not be upset with her. She was going through trauma too, whether the girl fully understood the weight of the situation or not. 

SLAM!

His eyes flew open. Was that the front door?

“Yeeahh, it’s…mmm…yep…uh huh…” Although half of the words were inaudible, William could make out the murmuring of a familiar voice speaking downstairs. 

Michael.

Although the kid’s father was in no mood for what would likely end up a one-sided shouting match on Michael’s end, he reluctantly climbed out of bed nonetheless. He didn’t even hear the teenager leave the house! Maybe he’d been in a deeper sleep than initially thought.

“Daddy?” Elizabeth clutched the book It’s Not Easy Being a Bunny in her arms, standing right outside the door as William opened it. The man sighed and patted the young girl’s head,

“Love, I’ll be right back, stay in my room, okay? I’m sorry, your brother…” another annoyed ‘huff’ escaped, “just…please. I’ll be right back, then we’ll read some stories.” Giving her something resembling a ‘smile’ and motioning for her to close the door, William descended the few steps to the front entryway of the house. 

“You shhhould like, be quiet, ‘cause I don’t need-- hic! -- don’t need m’ dad knowing I was…y’know-”

“He’s gonna know when you’re like, puking your guts out tomorrow, dude!” A mystery voice laughed out, clearly not doing a stellar job of following Michael’s ‘being quiet’ request. 

The pair of teenagers were in view from the top of the stairs now, although they hadn’t yet realized they’d been caught. Michael, struggling to stand upright with a dopey grin, was accompanied by a boy with a backward baseball cap and a mess of curly blonde hair peeking out from underneath. It was going to humiliate Michael to be called out in front of one of his troublemaker friends, but then again, William could not find the energy in himself to care. Nor would his son even remember this in the morning, by the looks of it.

“ Michael James Afton .” The kid’s father cleared his throat, not glaring at his son, but rather putting on the most stern expression he could. Not that he had to act annoyed though, because he was. Truthfully, ‘annoyed’ would’ve been the understatement of the decade. 

“Ah… fuck -” The boys stopped mid-conversation to turn around, their expressions ones of pure horror. Michael with those large blue eyes looked like a deer in headlights, and his friend’s freckled face grew the deepest shade of crimson. He seemingly dared to glance at Michael with a petrified expression, as if to silently say ‘Uh oh, he said the full name!’

The silence lasted what felt like thirty years. The three agonizingly stood there, staring at each other and blinking. William was going to wait for his son to say something, a feeble attempt to explain the situation away. If he wasn’t in the most displeased mood ever, and the boy’s father, such a thing would’ve been comedy gold.

“It’s not--uh--he--I mean--it’s not what it looks like, Mr. Afton…” It seemed that William’s drunk son was just as dumbfounded as he was to hear the blonde boy speak up first. Most teenagers in this situation, especially the ones Michael hung around with, would’ve run out that door the first millisecond they got the chance, leaving the one in trouble to fend for themself. Interesting .

“Not what what looks like? Because it looks like my sixteen-year-old son attempted, and failed, to sneak back into the house at nearly two-thirty in the morning, drunk .” If William had one trait people remembered about him, he rarely raised his voice. Plenty of strangers he’d run into over the years have even used the word ‘soothing’ to describe how he spoke. He could be stern, of course; that was a specialty of his, especially with Michael these days. Yelling, though? Almost never. The look on the kid’s face painted a picture of confusion rather than worry now as if asking himself, ‘Why isn’t he yelling at us?’  

“I not… I’m nottt--” William’s son hiccuped again, “I am not drrunk, Dad!” 

“Sure, and you’re not a very good actor either. I know drunk when I see drunk, Michael.”

“Ha!” The teenager snorted, “Yeahhh, yeah I KNOW you would, thasss’ allll you been doin’ since…since Ev--”

“Stop.” Silence. There was not a single sound except for breathing in the room for an excruciatingly uncomfortable few moments…until a tremendously intoxicated Michael decided that it would be a wonderful idea to open his mouth again.

“Why? It’s…it’s just- I’m,” he slurred, “jusst being honesstt wit--”

“You will NOT involve him in this. Just…” he exhaled a forceful, burdensome sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Go sit down. Please. I’ll get you water.”

“Nuhhh uh, I…I….”

“Sit. Down .”  William snapped, that unnervingly calm demeanor steadily beginning to crack. The near mention of his deceased son just seconds earlier made his stomach twist into knots. He couldn’t even hear the kid’s name without being brought back to that exact moment. The shouting, the gut-wrenching, nauseating screams , the--

“Uh--uh…Mr. Afton, look, I…can explain.” Michael’s mystery friend was now standing in front of William, hands anxiously fiddling with the frayed strings of his hoodie. The kid seemed sober enough, or at the very least, nowhere near as gone as the other teen.

“It’s…hm. You know, we can talk about that later. What’s your name, son?” The older of the two asked after an incredibly awkward few seconds of simply studying each other.

“Oh-! Uh, Jeremy, sir.” This ‘Jeremy’ responded with a tone resembling surprise. He held out a hand that was shaking slightly, which in turn, surprised William this time. ‘Sir”? A handshake? Well, if anything, the kid was polite, so William figured he should take him up on the respectful gesture. After all, it would be the polite thing to do on his end. 

“Jeremy, yeah?” He maintains, or at least tries to keep that calm demeanor as he shakes the teenager’s hand, despite the slip-up mere minutes ago. He was truthfully just exhausted. “Just…do me a favor and go sit with that one over there. Bathroom’s right down that hallway if he starts complaining about his stomach hurting. I personally don’t need to be cleaning up vomit tonight.” He exhaled a short, breathy laugh, because what else was there to do? 

Jeremy swiftly nodded and backed up as William went to grab a nice glass of ice-cold water for Michael. It was when he was entering the kitchen he remembered Elizabeth. Fuck . That poor girl, was she still waiting up there? She’d probably overheard the entire thing; he knew how curious kids were, especially his kid. He’d give Michael the water, get the boy to bed, deal with Jeremy, and get right back up to Lizzie. If he were a more…responsible adult figure, a late-night phone call to the parents would have been made, but honestly, he did not have the slightest concern about some teenager who wasn’t his. Dealing with teenagers gave him a migraine like no other, Michael was living proof of that. Besides, Jeremy was safe, presumably sober, and even brought Michael home from God knows where. He’d have to pry that out of his son, assuming he’d even remember. 

“ Dude, you think your dad’s gonna like, murder you tomorrow? ” William could overhear the two friends chatting hushedly in the other room, which momentarily piqued his interest. 

Michael was laughing then, “I wouldn’t, uh…wooouldn’t like, put it passst him, he’s… ” an uncomfortably long pause, “ a dick . Ever ssince—“

“Hey,” He stepped into the room then, unsurprised and unphased by his kid’s words. It was no secret that the pair hadn’t exactly been all buddy-buddy ever since what happened, but at the end of the day, Michael was still his son. “Here’s some water. Take small sips, alright?”

Instead of taking it like William was expecting, the kid simply opted to sit there and glare daggers at him. This made the man audibly sigh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“C’mon man, listen to your dad. You’re gonna want that water.” Jeremy spoke up once again, patting the boy’s back.

“Michael, it is nearing three in the morning, I am running on almost no sleep, and your sister is awake and is probably still waiting for me upstairs, so please, help me God , just take the water. You need it.” 

“Fine.” The teen snatched the glass from William’s hand so fast that it startled him. “Y’nott the only one who’ssbeen havin’ hard time ssleeping…I mean, you’ve…you’ve been drinking a loooooot too, Dad,” he let out a short, but loud laugh, “Where y’think I got th’ booze
from?”
“Mike--” His friend whispered hurriedly, sneaking an apprehensive glance in William’s direction. 

“ Good Lord ,” William huffed under his breath, “Just--I-- no. You’re too drunk for me to have this conversation with you right now.” He was met with an eye roll and a lazily thrown-up middle finger. Lovely . 

“Uh…yeah, man, I should go now-- but you, uh- make sure to sleep on your side alright? In case you like, vomit in the middle of the night. I wanna see you in school on Monday is all I’m sayin’.” Jeremy hesitantly got up and stood in place awkwardly for a moment, tapping his foot as if wanting to say something else. Perhaps he was wondering ‘Why doesn’t this guy wanna call my parents and rat me out?’ but ultimately, it looked like he deemed it better to not mention anything in the first place. 

“Yeah, yeeah dude, thankss, I…I owe you,” Michael slurred, reviving another pat on the back and a little smile from the boy.

William watched in approval as his son finally , thank the Lord, decided to drink the water given to him. The kid must’ve been thirsty too, the way he was gulping it down.

“Careful there, Michael.”

“Mm-“ Michael swallowed and furrowed his eyebrows again, “like— hic !—like you care.” William didn’t respond to the snarky remark. 

“Heyyy…so uh, real quick, Mr. Afton,” Jeremy spoke up one last time, one foot quite literally out the door. “You guys still hiring at that pizza place? My mom’s been on me like you wouldn’t believe about getting a job, and I figu--”

Before Jeremy could finish rambling, poor Michael hunched over and threw up all over the floor.

Chapter Text

“C’mon Will, I cannot, in good faith, let you stay here any longer in this state. How much sleep did you get last night?” Henry was holding two mugs of steaming hot coffee; one black for William, as requested, and one that was probably more creamer and sugar than it was coffee. 

The answer William gave was nothing more than a defeated sigh followed by an incredibly long sip of coffee. The bitter liquid burnt like hell once it hit his tongue, but other than a small, involuntary noise of surprise, the sensation did not phase him beyond that. No physical pain brought to his body could be worse than the unbearable ways his grief manifested itself. Eating was a chore these days. He’d gone down a few notches on his belt, he’d noticed. Alcohol was like an old but familiar friend, one he used to see all the time during his years at university but had lost touch with until now. The type of friend that was an absolute joy to be around in the moment, but they tended to encourage such stupid behavior that the question “Why do I keep them around?” was often asked. 

The grieving father only got drunk when he knew Elizabeth was snuggled up in bed, and when Michael was…well, anywhere else. William knew damn well he was being the world’s biggest hypocrite, chastising his teenage son for getting wasted, but what was he supposed to do? Despite the copious amount of anger, frustration, and resentment between them, the kid was still his Michael, wasn’t he? No father could possibly let his son get away with sneaking out and coming home plastered. A “do as I say, not as I do” type of thing.

It had only happened one time that Elizabeth, who was very much not asleep, caught him in his intoxicated state.

“You’re acting all silly, Daddy!” Her childlike innocence was something he longed to protect, but clearly, a substandard job was being done. 

“ Ha, silly? Whaaaat? Now who’s acting silly, love bug?” He remembered scooping the little girl up into his arms, despite his slight incoordination. Elton John’s I Think I’m Going To Kill Myself was playing quietly on the radio. Fitting, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t like William could just up and orphan his children. He wasn’t that much of a monster. 

“William? Hey…you still with me?”

“Wha--oh. Fuck, sorry. Just…” Weary eyes stared at his muddled reflection in the black coffee. What a pathetic state he was in. “... Michael came home drunk last night. At two in the morning.”

There was a quietness after the admission was made, but William’s friend did not appear all that surprised. He could see the gears turning in his brain though. 

“Drunk, huh?” Henry finally took it upon himself to pull up a stool beside the exhausted man after carefully setting his warm mug of coffee down on the worktable. William only met those olive-green eyes for a millisecond, gave or take, but he noticed right away they were filled with concern. 

“Yeah. I’m talking proper plastered. Stumbling, slurring words-- the kid even vomited on the floor. He’s lucky it wasn’t carpet.” William took another long sip of coffee, which had cooled down slightly, as his friend listened. He heard the other sigh softly, and a moment later, felt the warm sensation of a hand being placed on his bony shoulder. Restless eyes looked to the blonde once more, and although he did not smile--he probably couldn’t at that moment even if he tried--his expression must not have read as an uncomfortable one because Henry kept his hand there.

“How’d he get home?” The other’s head was tilted slightly in intrigue.

“Ah, some kid brought him inside. Jeremy, he said his name was. He wasn’t like Michael’s other friends he hangs out with, or…well, used to hang around with I suppose. This kid was…polite, presumably sober, and he even inquired about a job .” It wasn’t quite laughter, but William exhaled a ‘scoff’ as if to say, ‘can you believe that?’ .

“Ha! A job?” His consoling hand patted William’s shoulder as he laughed, the sound genuine. “Tell Michael to give this Jeremy an application! Couldn’t hurt, hm?” The tone shifted once again though when Henry must’ve noticed the thousand-yard stare present on William’s face. He could tell without even looking at him that the previous nice smile was fading, and Henry’s admittedly comforting grip got just slightly tighter. A silent way of communicating, ‘I’m here for you.’ 

“You believe in God, don’t you?” The question came out of the blue, murmured out with little emotion. His blonde friend made a little noise of surprise at the seeming randomness of such an inquiry and exhaled a laugh, but it was one of those ‘I don’t know how to respond to that’ type of laughs. 

“Well… I’d like to think so. It’s how I was raised, and I don’t know if I believe every word of the good book, but I do believe that there’s something out there.” Henry answered simply, “May I, uh…ask why you’re curious? You don’t strike me as the type to up and become religious.”

“How could you possibly believe in a God that allows these types of things to happen…? A God that allowed my child to…” His voice was beginning to shake again, tapping his foot against the base of the stool in a weak attempt to distract himself. Wearily, he glances at Henry, suspecting that he must’ve looked downright insane. Hair a mess, bloodshot eyes, voice wavering, trembling hands…a downright madman. 

“Hey, hey, Will… I’m here for you. I’m always going to be right here for you, you know that. Whatever you need--just…it’s going to be okay…” The gentle, but cautious tone was one that did a tiny bit to sooth his nerves, to momentarily stop the prickling of tears behind his eyes that threatened to spill. That didn’t last for long.

“You don’t know what it’s like… to lose your child.” His voice was a whisper, his tone steadily growing cold. He didn’t. No fucking idea.

The silence that filled the room seemed like it would perpetually last. William knows that there’s visible pain etched onto his features and is quite aware of how obvious it was. Although there are truly no words that would be able to offer solace in such a tense, grief-heavy moment, he knew that Henry would feel compelled to try, the kind soul he was. 

“I…I don’t, I’ll give you that…and God forbid, I hope I never do. But although I may not understand completely, I’m still here to support you in any way I possibly can, yeah? I want to support you.” His tone is one dripping with sympathy and Will feels green irises fixed on him, although it did not give him an uncomfortable sensation. Rather, he felt it comparable to the warm sun shining down on him on a bright summer’s day. For all the envy that made itself known in William’s soul lately regarding his dear old friend, he was still just that. His friend . 

“It’s…hard. It’s so…bloody fucking hard, Hen. If…” The brunette inhaled an intense breath, foot tapping quicker against the stool’s base, trying to do something-- anything --to distract his mind. Don’t cry, don’t cry, for fuck’s sake William ,  do NOT cry , was racing repeatedly in his mind quicker than lightning, although a familiar prickling made itself known behind those jaded eyes. “...I-If…If--” he regrettably sniffled, begging with whatever force in charge of the universe to not have Henry notice, “--if such a science existed, I wish I could just…just. Bring him back.”

This time, the unbearable silence did not last nearly as long, and before William could register what the hell was going on, he was being pulled into a tight embrace. Soft and welcoming arms were wrapped around his torso, a reassuring hand patting his mid back. Unless it was with Elizabeth, William was not one known for hugs, giving or receiving, but…when was the last time he’d actually gotten one? The pity-worthy truth was that he was able to dig back deep into his memory and still not be able to recall. In a strange way though, it did do something in terms of comfort for him, even if the level was miniscule. His friend’s lightly citrus-scented cologne was an oddly familiar and homely scent, something that took him back to their younger years; meeting at university in their early twenties. Two inseparable friends studying up at unholy hours of the night in one of their dingy little dorm rooms, or getting tipsy on cheap beer and watching stupid television. William always despised the taste of it, but hey, it was the stuff they could afford, and it made him feel quite funny after downing a few cans. Oh, how he’d give anything to go back to those days…not a care in the world, just the two of them.

“Oh, Will, ” Henry said his name with so much care that it shook William to his core, “it’s okay to cry--men don’t get told that enough. You are grieving your son , there is no reason to be ashamed.” So he had noticed the pitiful wetness that glossed over his eyes, heard the sniffling, picked up on the weak body language. Obviously he had-- his friend wasn’t a dumb-ass, for God’s sake.

“But…but I--”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. You’re always too hard on yourself…” William met his eyes for a moment, eyebrows creasing together, which made Henry exhale a little sigh. Not an unkind one, though. “...forgive me friend, but it’s true. Listen, you’re a single father--much like myself-- running a booming business, who recently lost somebody extremely near and dear to him, who has a growing seven-year-old and a rebellious teenage son, both who are mourning their younger brother in their own ways. That’s a lot for anybody on this planet to manage! I mean, ‘a lot’ is the biggest understatement ever.”

William was unable to stop that mouth of his when he spat out, “Yes, but Michael is the one who fucking caus--”

“William. Afton.” While Henry was still hugging him, his grip had significantly loosened once Will spoke those words with such fiery. “I understand that you’re upset, I mean, what kind of a father wouldn’t be? But please, please, do not blame Mike. He’s…” his friend breathed in, as if trying to select the correct choice of words, “...a teenager, and I know that doesn’t excuse what he did, but I can say with one-hundred-percent certainty that that boy would never do it on purpose if he knew. I grew up with siblings, Will, and what Mike did was give into peer pressure from his friends to play a cruel prank on Evan. Never, in a million years, did he think that what…happened was going to happen. Now what, he’s sneaking out and getting wasted? It just…it sounds to me like your son needs you more than ever. He’s in just as much pain.”

Perhaps Henry was right. He usually was, the showoff. If those words came from anybody else, William would simply roll his eyes and shake his head, but considering that he genuinely had such a bond with the man hugging him right now…those, truthfully, beautifully-put words held a bit more weight to them. 

Taking a deep breath, William reached a hand up behind his friend’s shoulder and began to wipe his downcast eyes in shame. He knew the other could tell what he was doing, because he’d received a little head nod of approval and some soothing little rubs on his upper back. Had he ever cried in front of Henry before? In front of anybody ? It was a rare sight to behold. 

“There you go…it’s okay...” Henry’s voice was just a careful whisper, words for William and nobody else. He’d reluctantly shoved his face into his friend’s shoulder, leaning down, because he’d rather hide the shameful tears running down his face than not. He felt so frail, like a scared child. “I’m sorry I had to get stern there for a second. I just… I don’t want you putting the blame onto Mike is all, okay?”

“Mhm…” Was all Will answered. 

“Thank you...” He could hear the smile in his friend’s voice, “...and, hey. I’m proud of you for being so vulnerable with me- that isn’t an easy thing to do, Will. Trust me.” He laughed softly, keeping up with the calming little back rubs. 

Before any sort of answer could be given, the sound of a squeaky door opening filled the near dead-silent room. William froze, eyes shooting open. Who in the hell-

“Dad?” A little voice questioned, and Henry was quick to then snap his full attention onto his precious daughter, little miss Charlie Emily . The slightly shorter of the two patted Will’s shoulder and gave him an apologetic expression.

“Oh- hi, sunshine!” William watched his friend kneel down to match the young girl’s height, using the sleeve of his violet button-up to wide away some of the access tears still staining his pale cheeks. “Whatcha you got there?”

“Rocks! I found all the pretty ones outside n’ put them in this lil’ cup.” The kid shakes around an empty plastic cup from the gas station that probably once contained a slushy, and her father acts like it is the most wonderful thing in the world. 

William realizes that he… misses being pressed so closed against his business partner, the sudden lack of warmth and, more importantly, lack of affection on him was more or less startling.

“Uncle Will! Why’re you sad?” Little Charlie was a sweet kid, wasn’t she? So why did he feel such an unexplainable sense of envy? Envy that was bright, screaming green. Resentment, even. Was it towards the girl herself or her father? Both? They were so goddamn happy. It made him feel nauseated. A merciless reminder that his life would never, ever feel such a way again. 

“Ah, I’m…” The brunette met Henry’s kindhearted eyes, the man giving him a little thumbs up, “...I’m not rea--”

“Is it because of Evan? I heard he got hurt bad and--” If there was any color left in his face, it would’ve drained in a matter of seconds.

“ Charlie- - hey, hey honey, I don’t…um, I don’t think uncle Will wants to talk about that right now, yeah?” William’s blonde friend mouthed “I’m sorry” as he scooped the young girl up into his arms, which made her giggle. “Wow! You’re almost too big for me to do this to ya, Char!” He laughed so joyfully, so carefree , as if the friends weren’t just having the most harrowing heart-to-heart on the topic of his dead child. William’s jaw was beginning to get unbearably sore from the way he was clenching it.

“I’m gonna take you up on that offer and go home, Henry. I’m…” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the lucky father and daughter. Jesus, he forgot what the hell he was even going to say.

“Oh-! Uh, yeah, Will, please get some rest. If you need anything , I’m just a call away. Even if it’s the middle of the night.” Henry chuckled softly, something William did not return.

“Thanks…’preciate it.” 

The troubled man did not have the slightest care about how unhinged he must’ve appeared to his business partner when he slammed the door on the way out. 

—————

  Knock knock knock

There was a pained groan from the other side of the door.

“Michael, it’s dad. Can I come in?” William’s other hand was stuffed into the pocket of his black slacks, staring at the old wooden door to his teenage son’s bedroom. He stood there in silence for an uncomfortable length of time. Hell, it was so long that he would’ve assumed the kid was passed out sleeping if not for the noises of discomfort he’d literally just heard. 

Knock knock kn--

“ Fine .” The teenager snapped, voice muffled. William’s eyes closed as he exhaled a pained sigh, mentally preparing himself for this interaction. 

‘It sounds to me like your son needs you more than ever.’ 

Damn you, Henry, Will thought. Damn you for being right. You’re always right, aren’t you?

As the boy’s father creaked the door open, he was met with Michael, eyes shut, brunette hair an intertwined rat’s nest on his pillow. Beside his bed was a trashcan, the floor decorated by a slew of empty water bottles.

“Uh…how’re you doing, kid?” He hadn’t called him that in months. The man swallowed, visibly on edge. It’s just your son, William. Remember how you used to be with him when he was little?

The hungover boy lifted his head up extremely slowly, eyes half-open, eyebrows raised.

“What is this.”

William just stood there, arms crossed now, watching his son unamused. He almost said, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Michael,” but stopped himself.

“You’re hungover, and… I assume this is your first one, right?” The older of the two spoke slowly, careful and calculated. 

Michael took a few seconds of just staring at him, although his expression had softened vaguely from just a minute ago. The boy then nodded, 

“Yeah…feel like death . Can’t stop throwing uppp…” He held a weak hand up to his forehead and slowly just dragged it down, exhaling another fatigued groan, “...and my head. Fuuuuck …”

“Language.”

“ Whatever .”

“Uh huh. Well…they say the first hangover is always the worst.” Did they? It sounded correct enough in his head.

“That’s helpful…” His son murmured sarcastically, shoving his face into the pillow. His father bit his bottom lip as if going step-by-step in his head, navigating a way to approach this situation. 

“Well, it’s true. Can I sit down?” Will asked as he took a step forward, tapping the edge of Michael’s bed. To his astonishment, the boy responded with a tiny “mhmmmm…”

“Dad…?” Michael looked up once he felt the end of his bed dip, and as some miracle, actually opens his eyes fully. The sight of those ocean blue eyes did something to alarm William, despite the truth that that was his son . Ever since Evan’s passing, his oldest had hardly even looked in his general direction (while sober, at least), much less make eye contact . 

He guessed the last time those blue eyes had made such striking contact with him was on that day. That horrible, fateful day. Michael’s face splattered with droplets of blood, his goddamn stupid friends scurrying away once William entered the scene.

That was one of the few sparse times Michael’s father had yelled . It must’ve shaken his son to the core. Good . 

“DAD--DAD, I-I DIDN’T….I--”

“What the HELL DID YOU DO, MICHAEL?”

“Dad.” Back in the present moment, the hangover boy spoke up again. William shook his head and inhaled a quick breath, gripping the bed railing in an effort to ground himself. 

“Ah-- yeah, Michael…?”

“Mmm…how many times have you been hungover?” What the hell. What the hell? The beginning of a conversation? It was understandably quite unnerving for the both of them, the way the father and son just stared at each other.

“Um…” William exhaled a noise close to a chuckle, “...too many times to count, kid.” He used the term again, despite the way his stomach twisted and turned into knots. Perhaps this was not the best response a father could’ve given his son, because Michael’s expression somehow read both ‘yeah, I could’ve guessed that’ and ‘damn dad, you’re even more of a fuck up than I thought’ . 

“I---uh, I mean,” The man laughed awkwardly, “ah- yes, quite a few times. It’s gonna be a bloody nightmare until you wake up tomorrow, I’ll be honest with you. Give it a few hours and then eat some crackers, or applesauce or something light. Gatorade is gonna be your pal too.” He didn’t quite smile…but his face did not read as unfriendly. Both of them had their grievances with each other, but perhaps it would help to picture Michael as the sweet child he once was. Using ‘Mikey’ as a term of endearment, letting the little boy sit on his lap as he sketched out future designs that could be used in the restaurant him and Henry were in the process of opening…

…but now here they were. A broken father and a snarky, hungover mess of a teenager. Somebody William could not even fully look at without picturing the worst fucking moment of his life. His entire being desperately ached for things could go back to the way they were. The family used to be delightful…as pretty-as-a-picture. 

He noticed Michael studying his expression and instantly sat up straighter, trying his upmost to soften out that sullen expression. 

“Okay…” the young man began, “will do. If I can stop vomiting.”

“You’ll get there, son.” He almost reached over to pat the kid’s back, but stopped. “And once you’re feeling better, we’re having a chat about last night. Okay? I’m…” There were about a million and one things William could’ve told him right then and there, but ultimately figured it would be better to let Michael’s mind focus on nothing except sleep right now. 

“Uh huh…hardly even remem--” Michael cut himself off, planting his face back down into the pillow. The older of the two exhaled slowly.

“I know, Mike. I know.” 

He hadn’t called his son by that nickname in an unimaginable amount of time. It hardly even felt right anymore.

Chapter Text

The annoying sound of beeping friers filled the humid air as an irritated-looking employee threw down a tray holding a double cheeseburger, a Big Mac, two medium fries that looked weirdly soggy, and two paper cups of ice-cold coke. Michael gave a tiny nod of ‘thanks’ but nothing beyond that, and Henry gave the worker a sweet smile which was not returned. He could hardly blame the (probably underpaid) worker though, he knew how customers could be. If it weren’t for his young daughter, the poor guy consistently felt like he needed a drink or five after a particularly long day at the restaurant. These parents were so entitled! William, who had this…downright frightening ability to switch from ‘charming, cordial manager’ to profoundly intimidating if he so chose to be, was usually the one to put the difficult customer in their place if Henry’s down-to-earth approach did next to nothing. Their very own little “good-cop, bad-cop” dynamic.

“Y’know Mike,” Henry began as he picked up his burger, “you look more and more like your dad every time I see ya.”

“Don’t say that.” The exhausted teenager quickly fired back with little emotion, which made the smile on the older one’s face begin to fade. He knew the father and son’s relationship had been rocky ever since… Evan, but he did not understand the extent of it.

“Oh. I, uh- I just meant that you look grown up!” To Henry’s astonishment, that got a smirk from the teenager. Not a sarcastic one, either.

“That’s what older people always say.” Michael let out a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-God laugh. It was short and quiet, but it was something!

“Old?! You better watch that mouth of yours, I’m only 40!” The blonde chuckled as well, thanking the good Lord above that things, right now, were being kept light. He watched as Michael playfully rolled his blue irises as he took a sip of his carbonated drink.

“Ha--yeah, only.” There was a long pause, which gave Henry a moment to begin enjoying the food they’d ordered. He was pleasantly surprised that Michael felt comfortable enough to make eye contact and willingly want to meet up for lunch; that was a great sign. The kid looked like he wanted to say something else too though, awkwardly unwrapping his cheeseburger and just staring down at it like it was the most interesting thing in the room right now.

“Hm...that burger’s not gonna eat itself, kid.” Henry reached over to grab a white napkin, wiping some of the grease off of his mouth as Michael looked up. His father’s striking eyes were a trait the boy had absolutely inherited; it was uncanny. He looked extensively like William in his younger years--a near two decades ago when they’d met in college--a spitting image! Strong genes in the Afton lineage, apparently.

Michael carefully lifted the now room-temperature burger but stopped midway to speak, “... I, uh, I’ve missed you, Uncle Henry.”

He states simply as if it’s nothing, but coming sincerely from a notoriously moody teenager? It meant the entire world to Henry. The way he still used the title of ‘uncle’, despite their lack of blood relation, gave him this indescribable feeling of gratification. How incredibly sweet was that? He’d known Michael since the kid was literally in diapers, and had always been especially fond of playing the fun, laid-back, familial figure role to all the Afton children- but especially Michael. Mike was his boy.

“Ah, Mike…! I’ve missed you too, buddy. I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” Praying that his smile wouldn’t come across as one of pity, Henry reached over to pat the teenager’s arm. This earned the teeny-tiniest ghost of a smile in return, and a shaky breath that the older of the two decided to classify as a laugh, of sorts.

Although Henry had been dying to reach out to his quote unquote “nephew” for quite some time now, he never knew the right way to contact the kid without sounding like he was desperately prying for information, or attempting to play the role of some savior or discount therapist. Everybody worked through trauma in different ways, but once the mention of alcohol came in…something needed to be done, full stop. The man himself was somebody who had been around the block when it came to drowning problems in liquor, that’s what he’d been partaking in a few years back once he’d realized how very much not attracted to his ex-wife (or…any woman, for that matter), and extensively into his best friend, his number one confidant, his business partner William-fucking-Afton he was.

Before the divorce had taken place, the two often went to the local dive bar, Jr.’s, after a painstakingly busy day (“Sorry honey, I’ll be at work late..!”), William providing this metaphorical and physical shoulder to lean on that he’d come to crave.

“You’re gonna divorce her? Ha- why, you meet a different lady? You’re OH so popular with them.” He recalled Will asking with a sly smirk, already half-drunk, watching how his Adam’s apple moved when he downed another shot of whiskey. If there was one thing his British, brunette friend wasn't, it was stupid. Stupid people don’t design state-of-the-art robots and run a successful business. So that question, in his mind, must’ve been a little jab, right? The spoken form of a wink, a roundabout way of saying ‘I know you’re a flaming homosexual, Henry Emily, I’ve known you for how many years?’. It didn’t take a certified genius for somebody so dear to him to figure out that female company was never what he fancied, after all. If it weren’t for his ex-wife getting pregnant with his dearest Charlotte, the two would’ve never gotten hitched in the first place.

If only Will knew that the company Henry craved was HIS. He admired the man. He would do anything for him.

As it would turn out, Will happened to be the one to inadvertently give the final push for Henry to reach out to Michael. The pair had just finished closing up shop, his taller counterpart leaning against the outside brick wall of the restaurant smoking what he said was a ‘much needed cigarette’. While he wasn’t the hugest fan of how the smoke smelled, Henry’s eyes very much enjoyed how his friend looked while partaking in the activity. The fashion he held that burning cigarette between his fingers, the way his lips moved so carelessly as he blew the gray smoke out. He looked back on how William’s free hand undid a few buttons of that lovely violet dress shirt while relaxing in place, and Jesus, Henry could’ve died. The man’s prominent collarbones were quite the distracting sight, as well as the tiniest bit of brunette chest hair and how it contrasted perfectly with his porcelain pale skin.

“Bloody…fuckin’ Michael, Hen. A migraine n’ a half. I’m—ugh.“ Henry was too busy struggling with the good-for-nothing key on the door’s lock to look at him, but recalls hearing one of the most defeated sounding sighs ever let go from his friend.

“He’s…” He always had to choose his words carefully, “…struggling, Will. Like you. I think he needs somebody to talk to, y’know? Like…ah, I guess I’m just sayin’ that it can’t be good for the kid to be hiding away in his room all day.”

“Uh huh…but the little bastard will barely look at me.”

“William.” Henry remembers shooting his companion a considerably pissed-off look. It’s difficult to stay upset with the way his friend speaks of his quote unquote ‘nephew’, because if he tries to put himself in William’s shoes, he can see where the other man is coming from. The human mind was a complicated thing…dealing with the weight of grief while taking care of two children had to have been fucking with his brain in ways Henry could never fully grasp himself. If something—anything— ever happened to Charlie, he…well. He wouldn’t be able to go on, he imagines.

And so, here they were. Thankfully, Michael had taken a bite- albeit a microscopic one-- out of his burger, which Henry was sure was cold by now. The poor kid had noticeably lost a few pounds, much like William had. Grief was a strange and horrible feeling though, and he did understand how much of a daunting or nausea-inducing task getting some food in one’s system could be while going through it. Jesus though, he shuddered at seeing Michael like this. Same with the boy’s father. Young Elizabeth was…confused, to say the least, the many times he’d babysit her since Evan’s passing. His stomach felt sick with sympathy when he recalled the time the little girl eventually broke down in tears while he’d been reading a picture book to her and Charlie; apparently one of the little boys in the illustration looked similarly enough to her late brother that it had sparked a slew of negative emotions.

“You…um. You okay?” Henry’s own emerald eyes met Michael’s, the boy’s voice bringing him out of those memories.

The blonde man gave another soft smile to his ‘nephew’, dipping a lukewarm fry in the little paper cup of ketchup, “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright! How ‘bout you, though...? I mean-- I…well. I…” He had to approach this carefully, “I can tell that things feel like…for a lack of a better term, hell right now, Mike. I can’t understand, I know, but I empathize with you n’ your family. And… I uh, want you to be able to talk to somebody, yeah? And I-- ah. I guess what I’m tryna say here is that I…want you to talk to me. And I know it’s heavy stuff- I’m not expecting a ton, just…a run-down, I guess. ‘Cause like I said, I’ve missed you.”

He is simply met with a stare that is not unfriendly, but rather…defeated? Michael could be tricky to read.

“...and hey,” The older one adds, “after we talk? How ‘bout we go see a movie? Theatre’s right down the road- I’ve heard Vacation is a funny one.”

Michael breathes out a noise which Henry chooses to believe is a laugh.

“Are you bribing me?” The teenager speaks up, his tone just about a teasing one. This causes Henry’s serious, sympathetic expression to momentarily transform into a smirk.

“Bribing you? What? Never.” He has to physically stop himself from holding a hand up to his chest when he sees Michael, once again, smile. The mood shifts though, and the wheels spinning in Mike’s head are practically on full display. His eyebrows furrow together as those sky-blue eyes find themselves staring back down at his not even half-eaten meal, fingertips tapping incessantly against the greasy tabletop.

“Well…” The boy rests his head against the back of the booth behind him, “I guess it’s just like. Hmm. Like my…dad.” Michael forces that word out, “that’s… I think…a big one. He-- ah. I don’t know! He gives all of his attention to the ‘golden child’, but I feel like he…since--” his hands are waving around vaguely, “he only seems to talk to me when it’s out of…necessity?”

Hearing this information makes Henry feel like somebody grabbed his heart and violently squeezed it. Despite this, he listens as intently as he possibly can, keeping his mouth zipped shut until Michael is done speaking.

“It’s always… ‘Michael’ this, ‘Michael’ that. ‘I’m gonna be gone late, watch your sister, Michael’, ‘oh, why did you fail your math test, Michael?’ Well, gee! I don’t know, dad! Maybe it’s because my little brother is fucking DEAD?!” A few heads turn in their general direction once the boy exclaimed such a statement, but Henry doesn’t care. He doesn’t take the time to scold the boy on his dirty mouth either. “And it’s-- i-it’s…it’s… God. I’m just--I’m… I’m stupid! I’m so, SO--”

“Mike, hey, you’re not stupid.” His hand is carefully placed over his ‘nephew’s’ in a matter of seconds, which did seem to calm the young man at least a little. The brunette’s expression was one that read as conflicted, like a raging, bloody battle was being fought up in that head of his.

“But I…” The boy begins, tone significantly quieter after his mini outburst, “I’m the idiot who cau--” Henry tightly squeezed that bony hand the instant he heard what he knew was going to be Michael blaming himself. This action made the young man cut himself off in an instant.

The pair sat in silence for some time. Words almost felt inappropriate. He was sure that no adjective in the English language could describe how damn remorseful this poor teenager must have felt, and…well, perhaps some actions spoke louder than words. Henry watched Michael intently, even if the boy’s eyes couldn’t bring themselves to make meaningful contact at the moment. His calloused thumb rubbed small, consoling circles on Michael’s pale hand, knowing the boy would speak when he wanted to; if he wanted to. There was no use in forcing it.

“We…used to be kinda close…y’know?” Although it had been no longer than five minutes, it felt like hours had passed. Henry’s kind eyes widened a bit at the sound of the kid’s voice once more as a small, but encouraging smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Y… Yeah. I mean, he was busy a lot. Guess that’s just what it’s like when your dad owns a booming business- but like… when I was a little kid, he used to call me dumb stuff like ‘Mikey’ for God’s sake! Now he…he--” there was a chance that the older one was imagining it, but he could have sworn he saw the kid’s lip quivering. ‘Anxious’ was not a trait that was often used to describe Henry Emily, but something about watching his nephew in everything but blood visibly fight back tears whilst unable to easily express what he was going to say about his father had his brain jumping to the worst conclusions.

“...you can tell me. ‘S alright.”

Michael considers this, and eventually spits out: “--he hates me.”

Green eyes stared at the blue ones for multiple impactful moments. What was one supposed to say to this? Surely, Michael believed what he was saying to be the absolute truth, the way he spat out the phrase without an ounce of doubt.

“He doesn’t hate you.” Henry finally lands on; something short and simple. He means it as well. William couldn’t hate his own son. The younger of the pair seems less than convinced by the statement though, crossing his arms and shoving the tray of food away from him. The older one sighs softly, “...he’s… I think he’s concerned.” Whether or not this was actually the truth, Henry is telling himself that it is.

“That’s hilarious.”

“Mike. Your dad, he…” the blonde clicked his tongue, debating on whether admitting the next part out aloud was going to be a good idea. Fuck it, “he cared enough to mention your recent drinking to me.”

The little color there was visibly drained from the boy’s face when those words were spoken, and his head snapped back to Henry so quickly he could’ve sworn he’d heard the kid’s neck crack.

“I’m not here to scold you- I just…” his foot was tapping against the dirty restaurant floor as he thought through the various things he could say, “...please. You don’t wanna go down that path. I’m glad you had a friend that got you home safe, but… Michael. I’m not your dad, I know. I guess I can’t really be telling you what to do- but then again, you are like my nephew. Yeah? And ‘cause of that, I just really wanted to drill this into your head-- alcohol is not a thing you wanna rely on. I’m speaking from experience here.” Perhaps that last part was a bit too much information, but trying to relate to Michael may have been a way of actually getting him to listen. It was worth a shot.

“From…experience?” The harsh exterior previously displayed on Michael’s face was fading, his expression transforming into an inquisitive one. Henry responded with a short nod, taking it upon himself to subtly push the tray of barely-touched food back towards his ‘nephew’ in hopes he’d take at least a few more bites while listening.

“I’ll keep it real with you, buddy. Your ‘uncle’ here used to have a bit of a…hm…reliance on alcohol when he was married. I won’t bore you with the details, but…all I’m saying is; I get it. Trust me, I do. It makes you feel all funny, and in my case, happy, and it sure as hell takes your mind off of the dumpster fire that is life sometimes. But Michael, listen to me. Please don’t make this a habit. You’re newly sixteen, and in the grand scheme of things, that is way too young to be getting blackout drunk.”

While the young man remains silent, just as Henry suspected he would be, it’s apparent that such an admission must’ve had some effect on Michael. His expression scrunched up a bit, as one’s face would while deep in thought, eyes adverted. The older one watched in relief as the other picked up a few fries though, shoving them into his mouth. Even if it was to avoid talking, at least the kid was getting some more food in his system.

“... I won’t.” The amount of time that had passed after Henry last spoke, he didn’t keep track of, but eventually Michael did speak again. Sapphire eyes flickered back up to meet his gaze, but didn’t stay put.

“Thank you…that’s all I ask. Y’know you can call me if you need, right? I’d rather you talk to someone than get plastered. Or something else.” Michael’s ‘uncle’ offers, reaching over to pat the boy’s arm with a little smile. While the response he receives isn’t a verbal one, he does get a nod, and that’s good enough confirmation in his book.

For the rest of the meal, there isn’t much riveting conversation happening…and that’s okay. It was, for the most part, a comfortable silence. While Michael did in fact not finish his entire meal, he managed to consume most of it, and Henry is mentally thanking his God over and over for that.

---

Little Charlie sat up tall in her bed, resting against the headboard, her eyes lighting up once her dad pushed the door open. She’d spent the day with her mother, and had excitedly relayed all the happenings of her day to her dad the moment she was dropped back off. Henry hoped in particular that the time she said she’d spent at the playground was going to put her to sleep quickly, because he himself was feeling positively exhausted. After all, none of them had truly been getting a good night’s rest ever since Evan’s accident.

“Hey pumpkin, you brush those teeth?” Henry asks her kindly as he steps into her cluttered bedroom. No matter how many times over the last few years of her being on this planet, the man’s heart always melted at the sight of those enormous brown eyes peering up at him like he was his daughter’s whole world.

“Uh-huh! Look-” His little girl grinned widely so that her teeth were on full display, seeming quite proud of herself. Henry laughed and playfully held a hand over his eyes, pretending he was being blinded by a bright light.

“Oof- hey, warn me next time, kiddo! I think I’ll need a pair of cool shades to be able to look at those pearly whites.” His hand is then busy ruffling the girl’s silky brunette hair as he earns a loud giggle from her at the joke. Charlie scoots over so that her father can sit on the bed, but her previously joyous expression had begun to shift into a more concentrated, almost serious one. Henry gives her a moment to collect her thoughts on whatever she is going to say- if she decides to share whatever’s on her little mind.

“Daddy, I’ve been thinking about some stuff that’s sad, ‘cause…’cause, I…um...” The young girl pauses, locking eyes with Henry. His eyebrows crease together a bit as he offers a little nod of encouragement.

“Hm…what kind of sad stuff?”

The child swings her legs over the side of the bed so that she is now sitting directly beside her dad, pressing close to him. He instinctively wraps a consoling arm around her tiny body and pats her shoulder, earning a small hum of contentment from Charlie.

“I’m just really sad about Evan…! He was more little than me and, and he was always scared all the time of like, the robots I think, but…but I liked him so much! And-” frightened eyes made contact with his once more, “it’s scary.”

Henry remembered sitting his daughter down after everything had happened. The pair had gone to the boy’s funeral too, of course. She had been there on the day of the accident, though, but thank GOD she had not been in the room to witness it. Even still; the wailing siren from an ambulance in the distance being drowned out by children’s crying and, the stomach-sinking sound of a petrified Michael Afton explaining the situation to William by yelling through gasps and sobs…well. That combination of sounds alone would be enough to terrify a young girl. She’d been having a few nightmares-- hadn’t they all?-- and often spent nights curled up next to him after a particularly bad one.

“I… I know, honey. It is scary and sad, and it’s very normal to feel that way. I…” Henry swallowed, “I’m sad too. Little Evan was like family, wasn’t he?” Truly, the death was extremely difficult to talk about. He was still in shock that something so horrific had even happened involving one of his and William’s own creations! Sure, in the back of his mind the man knew that caution was needed, but neither of them had ever thought to plan for ‘a teenager holding a crying young boy’s head up to the large mouth of this metal machine, the moisture causing the springlocks to activate’, but who would?! Perhaps the shock of losing Evan and the situation surrounding it hadn’t fully set in for him yet…

“But! But what if something bad like that-- like--” The brunette girl is now anxiously bouncing one of her legs, “like with Evan! What if something like that happens to me?!”

With that, Henry’s comforting embrace pulled his baby closer, her frantic question giving him this metaphorical slap in the face. Dear Lord. A seven-year-old worrying that she might die some horrific death.

“Shh, shh…hey, no sunshine, don’t you say that. Charlie--can you look at me?” The older one spoke softly, making his tone as kind as possible. She does as he asks, big eyes now glossed over with tears threatening to spill. He continues, “Charlie, baby, you’re going to be safe. I promise. I love you so much, and I will never let ANYTHING like that happen to you. Yeah? Shh, c’mere…” The father and daughter were hugging now, and hugging tight.

The kid presses her face into his shoulder and squeaks out, “You promise?”

“I promise.” Henry responds without a second of hesitation. He feels tiny arms squeeze his torso.

“Okay…and I love you too, by the way…! Love you soooo much, daddy!” Charlie’s tone is now more joyous, and her father is relieved that his words seemed to get through to her. He watches the girl pull her face out of his shoulder, giving him an adorable gap-toothed smile. God. This was his purpose in life, wasn’t it? Despite all the stress about raising a daughter as a divorced parent, about his same-sex crush on the man he called his best friend, and everything else surrounding the most recent event of Evan’s --his “nephew’s” -- passing… Henry found himself slowly losing his mind to that stress and grief. At the end of each day, he wanted nothing more than to pour himself a glass of Coke and dump a hefty amount of vodka in it without even attempting to measure. But no. Charlotte was his purpose, Charlotte made him want to better himself when things got rough. He adored his babygirl, and fuck, she plainly adored him more than anything right back.

“And I love you more, sugar pie.”