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When I spotted him walking up the hall towards our apartment, I could immediately see the toil that today had wrought. Richards had given me a heads up when he logged back in with faction security. I stepped away from the door and waited for Eric to punch the code into the lock. He swept inside, a small, square container tucked under his arm.
The first few holidays were the roughest, especially the birthdays. I knew from experience.
“Everything alright?” I asked. He didn’t lean into my touch when I pressed a hand onto his shoulder. His head wasn’t here, not yet. Eric’s eyes watered and I saw how red his cheeks were.
I took the package from his grip and placed it on the table so that I could properly wrap my arms around his torso. “You’re a good son,” I murmured. He pressed his face into the crook of my shoulder. When he finally let go of me, my shirt was damp.
“C’mon,” Eric said finally. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat to properly speak. “He wouldn’t’ve wanted the cake to go to waste. It’s vanilla, his favorite.”