Work Text:
A young boy stands in his kitchen. His name is John Egbert, and today he turns nine. Wearing his favourite shirt and rocking back and forth on his heels, John keeps his eyes trained on the microwave. Besides the humming of the microwave and the popping of the corn inside, the house is completely silent.
On the counter beside him is a cake, the immaculate icing spelling out 'Happy 9th, Son' completely undisturbed. It's one of many such cakes that he ignores, having learned his lesson last year when he tried to eat three of them at once. For now, he merely watched his pop corn corn pop, pausing only to congratulate himself on the impressive wordplay.
The humming continues, and John closes his eyes to think. As clever puns fill his head, so too does the smell of burnt food. The boy nearly squawks, flailing up onto the counter in a mess of limbs to yank the ruined popcorn out of the microwave.
The young man sits down on the floor to salvage what he can from the blackened mess, and the house remains silent.
His popcorn sorted and the meager remains placed in a bowl, John runs into the living room and vaults over the couch arm, tripping over his feet only to successfully slide over to the tv stand, not a single kernel harmed!
Yes! A victory worthy of a dance! He laughs gleefully and sets the popcorn on the table. This kind of achievement deserves a showing of none other than Nic Cage himself!
John drops to the floor and pops open the CD, only to watch as a paper falls out. The movie is flung to the side and forgotten as the boy scoops up the note, the small document a greater treasure than any that Nic Cage could dig up.
'Dear John
You are growing up so fast.
Soon enough, you'll be able to lift the TV on your own.
I’ll be home soon to give you your presents.
I’m so proud of you.
Love, Dad.'
---
A young boy stands in the entrance to his living room. His name is John Egbert, and today he turns 16.
The room in front of him is dark, a fine layer of dust covering all but the most well-loved of surfaces. The house, as always, is quiet, but today the quiet carries a new and unexpected strain of loneliness. It settles deep into his bones and permeates the air, so thick he can barely breathe.
Shaking off the looming finality, the boy begins to walk around the room. Everything gets picked up, inspected, and put down. A porcelain jester receives a quiet sigh, and an abandoned set of cake tins earns a cringe of disgust. Every book was reshelved, every pillow put in place.
Unable to avoid it any longer, John turns towards the TV stand. With a loud grunt of effort, he carefully maneuvers the electronic to the floor. And just as promised, beneath it is a note.
The newly minted young man of 16 scans the note, and then he can avoid it no longer.
Alone in his living room, John Egbert finally allows himself to cry.