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Noah’s head rested on his arm, his body slumped over the table before him as he blinked slowly in the dim lighting that softened the sharp edges of the glass before him. Amber liquid rested in the tumbler, the color warm and inviting, encouraging him to take another sip, another swallow that he knew would slide down his throat and heat his chest up in the most pleasant way imaginable.
He reached forward, lifting his head as he gulped down the remaining liquid, resting his head back on his arm as he let the gentle heat from the alcohol warm him. It was fleeting, he knew. The warmth never lasted, not like he wanted it to. He sighed softly, closing his eyes as he recalled his past. Before he met Claudia, his life had been rather cold. Growing up with an abusive father had left its mark on him, leaving a dark cloud over him that blocked out any warmth the sun may have granted him. He went about his days pretending he was fine, but when he was alone, Noah would chase the warmth he missed, drinking more and more until he became addicted to the bottle.
It wasn’t until he met Claudia that the cloud over his head had lightened, finally letting in a few streams of sunlight that warmed him to his core. He wanted to feel more of it, and as Claudia started going out with him, the cloud over his head slowly faded away as they fell in love. She had been so understanding about his past and helped him to kick the habit. By the time Stiles was born, Noah was three years sober, and as he held his newborn son in his arms, the sunlight that had taken root in his chest seemed to grow twice as bright.
Things were good, but then Claudia got sick. Slowly, as her health degraded, the sunlight faded away. There were days that she didn’t even know him, days that ripped away bits of her warmth little by little. When she died, she took the sun away with her, leaving Noah and their son behind in the shadow of a cloud.
It didn’t take Noah long before he slipped back into old habits, chasing the warmth of a good whiskey, hoping it would make him feel like Claudia was back by his side, if only for a moment. Stiles hated it, and when sober, Noah did too. So he tried to resist and ignore the lure of the golden liquid. For a while, he did. But then… He gave in again. A gruesome case, a victim that looked just a little too much like his wife, and there he’d slipped again.
“I thought I was getting better.” He murmured to the empty glass, eyes drifting to the similarly empty bottle behind it. The warmth in his body was already fading, leaving nothing but cold emptiness behind.
At length, he leveraged himself up from the table and headed to his room, stopping to pause in the doorway of Stiles’ bedroom. His son was sleeping soundly, and Noah’s chest ached with guilt as he stared at him. Stiles was so young, so hurt from the loss of his mother, and Noah was doing nothing but making that hurt worse. Still, as he watched his son, a little flare of warmth flickered in his chest like an echo of his mother. Noah sighed softly, closing his eyes as he focused on the small ray of light. It was tiny and strained, but it was still there, and for Stiles, for Claudia’s memory, Noah would find the strength somehow to kick the habit once more. He was sure of it.