Work Text:
Michael crept out of his room and past the doors of his sleeping siblings, tip-toeing his way downstairs. Unfortunately, the stairs were never good at keeping quiet since every step was followed by an annoying creak ; it didn’t matter how loud. But that wasn’t a big deal right now. Father was late at work today, which meant Michael had the perfect opportunity to slip into his father’s workshop-library (or whatever his father called it) and read for a while…at least before his father returned. So Michael could worry about the creaking stairs later.
The steps led him down to the uneventful, barely lit living room. His siblings' toys were scattered everywhere, and a static noise came from the TV. It showed a “Please Stand By” screen, the only light source. He turned past one of the sofas to get to a green-painted door. He took a deep breath as he stood in front of the door, his hand holding the golden knob. He could do this. He’s done it many times before; he could do it again. Repeating that to himself, he twisted the doorknob with caution. The door opened with a faint squeak .
Now all Michael had to do was get down more stairs. After all, the target location was in the basement. Luckily for him, these stairs were carpeted. So he made his way down with graceful silence. He walked into the undersized REC room, darker than the top and first floors combined. But he knew where he was supposed to go. He stopped in front of espresso-finished double doors. Its golden doorknobs were shiny yet reflected no light. And when he touched one, the coldness sent a slight shiver down his spine.
Once Michael opened the door and turned on the light, he was in a new world.
Cherry-wood bookshelves were lined up on each side of the room, leaving no walls visible. There were some bean-bag seats, and a desk and chair stood on the right side of the room. The desk had a few books (some open and some closed), a wrench, and some gadgets on it. On the left side stood his father's black, rectangular workbench. Not all the drawers were closed properly, and one had wires hanging out of it. An open toolbox and more tools, screws, and gadgets were scattered on top of the workbench. A rolled, blue paper stood in the toolbox. That must have been one of his father’s blueprints. There was also a thick book with a burgundy cover.
Walking over, Michael picked up the book, which was heavier than it should have been despite its thickness, and turned it the other way so that the front cover was facing him. The golden words of the title read, The Secrets to Successful Animatronics . Curiosity getting the better of him (which it always had), he opened the book. The scent of the papers gave him some satisfaction as he skimmed through the author’s note to get to the intro and first section. As he actually began reading, he subconsciously sat on the floor.
Michael had no idea how much time had passed. By the time he reached part two of the first section, the book had lured him in like a fish in a hook. He couldn’t quite understand everything he was reading but didn’t care. The pictures and diagrams did help a bit, though. What got him the most mesmerized was the fact that how such a little screw or gadget could impact the whole robot!
After what seemed like an hour, Michael decided to stop reading and closed the book, stretching with a yawn. It was way past his bedtime.
He went to put it back where he found it so that his father wouldn't be suspicious, but he stopped to look at the cover again. His father was probably using this book as a reference to work on his latest project.
Michael attempted to put it back, but he just couldn’t. It was like a force was blocking him. An urge burned in him to keep reading, to know how the mechanics worked, and learn how to attach the centerpiece, headpiece, and arms. He ached to understand the things his father did, to be able to help him out by doing what his father enjoyed.
Just one more page.
“I’m sure father wouldn’t mind,” Michael comments aloud, “It’s not like he’s coming any time soon. And by the time he arrives, I’ll already be making my way to my room. He wouldn’t even notice I was here.” He gave himself a grin for the plan, “I knew I was so smart!”
“Oh really?” Came a stony voice from behind him, one that he knew too well.
Michael turned pale before his cheeks turned pink. He spun around, hiding the book behind his back, to face a tall, older male staring at him with his arms crossed. The icy-cold, empty gaze caused Michael to shiver. Even though the man didn’t display much emotion, Michael knew exactly what he was indicating; Michael would have some explaining to do. The man lifted an eyebrow as if to say, “Well?”.
So, Michael spoke, not entirely sure how he’d get out of this one,
“F-father! Heh, w-what are you doing home so early?”
His father continued eyeing him like a hawk, replying,
“I just happened to finish my portion at work for today. But what’s more important to know is why you are out of bed, at 48 minutes past midnight, in my workshop.”
“W-well, I was just, uhh, I thought I heard something!” Michael lied in haste.
But his father, like always, saw through it. “Mmhm, so you wouldn’t mind telling what’s behind your back, would you?”
Michael froze. He began to turn a bit pale again. Now, he was caught. There was no escape. But yet, he still tried.
“W-what! There’s nothing behind my back, eh-heh.” Some sweat began forming on Michael’s face.
His father gave him an unconvinced look, which just happened to be another death stare. Nobody could tell what his father’s expression was implying since that was almost the only one he carried, especially in public. It wasn’t easy for just anyone to read his father. But Michael was his son, after all, so it wasn’t as difficult for him to know what his father was portraying.
“Is that so?” His father asked, pointing at Michael’s arms, “Then if I were to tell you to raise your hands, would you do so without any issue?”
Ok, maybe Michael shouldn’t have tested his limits. Honestly, there was no point in pushing further; he would be caught sooner or later. Bringing the truth would be better than making up more things to the point where Michael would be in a bigger mess. What’s the worst that could happen? Yes, maybe something unpleasant, such as being unable to go out. Or worse, not being able to read these books. But what else could he do? He already felt guilty for lying, not just because he couldn’t make any good excuses. So, taking a shaky breath, he confessed.
“Um, no, father. The truth is… I was reading a book. More specifically,” Michael brought the book in front of him to show his father, “this book.”
His father looked at him with a very unreadable expression. Yes, Michael did say he could easily read his father, but he’s never seen a look quite like that. Since he didn’t hear any response from his father, Michael continued,
“Actually, father, I’ve been coming here for a while now. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to, which I’m probably not, but I couldn't help myself!” Michael’s heart beat faster as he explained himself, “I really enjoy learning new things and knew that you had a lot of books on different topics!” He moved his gaze to the side, away from his father, “So, I started to come here almost every time I got the chance. I wanted to read; I wanted to learn. I’m sorry, father, for doing something I wasn’t supposed to. And I’m even more sorry for trying to lie to you. Please forgive me.”
There was an extreme silence. After a few moments, Michael looked up to his father, whose eyebrows were slightly raised. The regular ice in his father's eyes had melted. Michael wasn’t sure what this meant and was about to break the silence until he turned rigid and dumbfounded when he saw a small smile creep on his father's face.
His father seldom smiled. This was probably one of Michael’s most precious and lucky moments in time. And he almost felt like fainting when his father began to chuckle. That didn’t mean Michael wasn’t happy about his father being happy. But the situation sure got bizarre.
Seeing his puzzled and shocked look, his father looked at Michael and said in a gentle voice,
“Oh, son, you don’t have to worry about it. Now, I’m not saying you shouldn’t have told me you went in here without permission, but I’m genuinely happy that you have a passion for learning.”
Surprised by his father’s response to his semi-rebelliousness, Michael blurted out,
“Wait, y-you do- I mean- really?”
“What? You thought I would be infuriated or something?”
“I mean, kinda,” Michael admitted
“Why would you think that?”
“I came here without permission.”
“Yes, you did. But like you said, you couldn’t help it, so it is understandable.”
“Understandable?”
His father gave Michael another soft smile, walking over to him to ruffle his hair.
“You're a complete mix of your mother and me.” His father told him, eyes speckling with fondness.
“Uhh, how so?” Michael asked.
His father gave a small laugh, “Well, you got your mother’s trait for doing things you might not be allowed to do, then feel bad for doing it right after.” He began, “And you inherited the desire for knowing things, no matter what tries to get in your way. You got that from me.”
“Really?” Michael asked, feeling weird about turning everything he said into a question.
His father nodded, “Yes. The truth is, I would also try to read any books my father had when I was about your age.”
Michael’s eyes widened with fascination; His father also used to read books from his father! “Did Grandpa ever allow you to?”
“Actually, he did. He didn’t let me read all of them, of course, but I found it a blessing either way. Sometimes, he'd even teach me things; it would be a learning experience for both of us.”
“Woah…” Michael whispered. That sounded incredible, to have your father teach you what you wanted to learn. Michael felt an urge to ask, which he did, “Did you enjoy it when your father taught you things?”
His father looked at him, his eyebrows raised. Then, his father turned to look at the ceiling and replied, eyes softening a bit, “Why, yes, I did enjoy it. I enjoyed it even more than learning from books. I loved it when we would sit together and learn something new, it was what I would look forward to the most.” Then, his father closed his eyes, “If there was at least one thing I would want to do again, it would be to experience that feeling once more.” His father opened his eyes and sighed, but it sounded a bit sad. Well, not exactly sad , but a sigh one would make after thinking of a memory.
After Michael had listened to his father's response, he felt another impulse. But really, it was an impulse Michael had felt for a long time now. An instinct that he had always felt nervous about acting upon. But now, he knew it was the time to do it.
His father had shared a deep feeling with Michael. His father wanted to relive a memory all over again. And who said he couldn’t? But instead of asking him directly, Michael decided to take a longer route. Taking a deep breath, he looked at his father and asked,
“Then why don’t you?”
His father looked at Michael, slightly confused, “What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you experience that feeling again?”
“Like I said, I wish I could. But I can’t, even if I wanted to.”
“Who said? You can do it again!”
His father looked surprised at Michael’s diligence in making his wish a reality.
“How so?” His father asked, “My father is not here, and it’s not like anyone would be willing to share the same passion with me.”
“Actually, there is,” Michael responded, his voice quieting.
His father stared at him, still looking a bit bewildered. “Who?”
Michael looked his father straight in the eyes with a burst of determination and said, “Me.”
His father's eyes noticeably widened. And although Michael wasn’t too sure, he thought he might have heard his father gasp, just slightly.
His father whispered, “Are you saying….”
Now, this was it. This was the time to say it. To tell his father what he felt.
“Father,” Michael began, looking at the floor, “You’re usually busy with work and come back late, so we never really have a chance to spend time together. And, I understand, really I do, why we hardly get that chance. But still, I’ve always had that bit of selfish desire for us to do things–y’know–together. You and I have always loved reading and learning. And after what you just told me, I feel this could be the perfect opportunity to feed my desire. So, father, would you- would you like to experience that joy again? Would you share that feeling…with me? Would you teach me things I want to know, the things that you learned?”
Michael looked back up at his father, who had just gazed back at him with an indecipherable expression. Michael worried that he was starting to lose his skill at comprehending his father’s emotions.
But what Michael was more anxious about was what his father’s reply would be. What if his father thought he really was being selfish? What if his father didn’t want to spend time with him, especially by sharing something he loved? Maybe Michael shouldn’t have pushed it; his father was a reserved man and hardly shared his feelings and stories with anyone. Those would be rare moments when he did. Maybe Michael shouldn’t have tried to assume that he could make his father re-experience his favorite memories. After all, like his father said, Michael’s grandfather was not here anymore, so it could make his father sad if they were to do something that reminded him of his father. Maybe Michael’s idea was ridiculous, and he was just thinking of himself. He just wanted to do something with his father that they would look forward to doing together, just the two of them.
Michael was so deeply held captive by his thoughts that he didn't notice his father was shaking his shoulder and calling his name.
“Mike!”
He immediately snapped out of his thoughts after his father said his name a tad louder, making Michael realize he had called him more than once.
“Y-yeah? Sorry…just got lost in thought for a bit.”
“That’s alright, Mikey.” His father replied.
“Um, s-so, what do you think about what I s-said?”
His father looked at him once more and drawled, “Well, son, you see…,”
Alright, there it was. The rejection was about to come. It was inevitable. Some part of Michael wished he had never offered such a stupid idea, while another didn’t quite regret it. He could feel something wet forming around the corners of his eyes. He looked down at the floor, not wanting his father to see him on the brink of crying. Why was he so upset? He knew this would happen the moment he asked his father.
And then Michael got pulled out of his thoughts again by getting pulled into a tight hug. He looked up to see that his father was holding him and smiling. A genuine, stunning, full-fledged smile. Michael had no idea what to say as he stared at his father, perplexed and astonished. Seeing his reaction, his father chuckled, “Oh, son, I would love to. I know we never had many chances to do things together, but I will try my best to change that. Anything you want, whenever you want, just ask me.”
At that moment, it felt like the sun had come to Michael’s mind, drying all the doubts and thoughts pouring down on him. He hardly noticed that his mouth was forming into a big grin. His father would be reliving his dearest memories…with him! Michael would make his father happy by doing what he loves and what he himself would love.
Still smiling, Michael replied, “Ok, father!”
His father then ruffled his hair and hugged him tighter again. Michael reacted by wrapping his arms around his father's back.
After a few seconds, Michael asked, “So, can you teach me something now?”
His father looked at him with a “nice-try” expression. “Do you even know what time it is, little fox?”
“Um, no?” Michael lied, knowing quite well that it was way past “past his bedtime.”
But his father saw right through it and said, smirking, “Don’t give me that! Come on now, back to bed.”
“Aw, but please.”
“Michael.”
“Please.”
“Michael, seriously,”
“Please!”
His father sighed, “Alright, fine. Just this once.”
“Yes! Can we continue from where I left off in the book?”
“Ok, sure, bring it over.”
After grabbing the book, Michael and his father huddled together on the floor. His father placed the book in between them and began to read. By the time he finished reading a portion, Michael was sound asleep against his father’s shoulder, his breathing gentle. Giving a quiet chuckle, his father closed the book and placed it beside himself.
He put an arm around Michael, bringing him closer. He knew it would be a real challenge if he attempted to take Mike back to his bed without waking him up. He could never put his finger on how his son was such a light sleeper. So, he decided they would just spend the rest of the night here. Leaning back against bean bag chairs for support, he kissed Michael’s forehead and began to doze off into slumber.
<.><.><.>
He stood behind those espresso doors, which now had a hanging sign that said: “Do Not Disturb.” He knew what this meant, but he didn’t care. It had been forever since Michael last got to speak with his father, let alone be taught by him. There had been a barricade between them ever since his father’s business escalated. Whenever Michael attempted to ask his father if they could spend some time together, he would always reply, with a heartbroken look in his eyes, “Sorry, son, I can’t right now. I’ll try to as soon as I get the moment.”
He would be the one to break that barrier. He wanted to feel the joy of learning from his father again, just being with him again. He wanted to feel it once more.
As tears began forming in his eyes, he took a deep breath. Putting his hand on the nippy golden knob, he twisted it open.
In there stood a tired-looking man screwing up an arm to the body of an animatronic. He wasn’t smiling. Instead, he had a cold, expressionless face. But it softened once he saw Michael standing at the door. He gazed at Michael with a questioning look.
Michael tried to suppress the tears that risked falling down. But he knew he couldn’t hold them forever. Smiling, he looked at the older male and asked, as a single tear left his eye,
“Hey, Father, can you teach me…?”