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When Silver comes to, it’s to the scent of salt in the ocean breeze and the chill of the night’s air against his exposed skin.
He shudders, teeth chattering as he hunches into himself, instinctively moving to hug himself. Something soft and heavy wraps around him, draped over his shoulders, the fluffy fabric shielding his skin from the cold night. Blinking in surprise, he glances up, watching as a face comes into view — crimson red eyes, black hair with streaks cut into a stylish bob. It takes a little while for his exhausted mind, muddled with fog, to catch up, but Silver eventually relaxes as he recognises the sight of his father.
“Silver,” Lilia murmurs, hands coming to rest on the fabric cloaking his shoulder. Silver drinks in the sight of him: dressed in a loose sweater and sweatpants, feet covered by boots. A warm hand reaches up to stroke his cheek; “How are you feeling?” his father asks him, voice low amidst the sound of the sea breeze.
“I’m…” Silver swallows, throat dry. “I’m fine,” he replies, leaning into the touch.
Lilia exhales, a small smile gracing his face. “That’s good,” he says, leaning away from him. As his father takes a step back, Silver takes a moment to glance over his shoulders, to peer around where they are. He twists his foot against the ground, the grooves of the wooden planks below rubbing into the soles of his cold feet — together, they stand on one of the many piers along the beach their town is most known for, the silence only broken by the crashing of the waves against the poles of the pier they are on.
“Ah,” Silver breathes, eyes transfixed by the mesmerising pattern of the sea, swishing back and forth as though she were a graceful dancer. He turns away as he feels a hand come to rest on his arm, meeting his father’s concerned eyes. “Did it happen again?” At Lilia’s wordless nod, Silver stifles a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Father,” he murmurs, heat flustering his cheeks; he truly does feel ashamed. “How late must it be…? You should not have had to sacrifice your own sleep to stop me.”
“And let you walk into the ocean asleep?” Lilia retorts, a sudden fierceness seizing his words. Silver squirms as he feels a finger tap against his forehead; “What must be going on in that mind of yours to say such a thing? I am your father, Silver. What kind of a parent would I be to let my son go sleepwalking off the pier?”
He presses his lips together, not knowing how to respond to that. In all fairness, his father has a point — if it were Lilia who was constantly walking off in a sleep-struck haze, headed each and every time to the ends of the creaking piers, Silver would gladly give up every minute of sleep to stop him and guide him back home. But because the situation as it stands involves the opposite — Silver walking, and his father stopping him — Silver cannot help but feel bad.
He knows his father is not young, even if he does have an awful habit of staying up into the wee hours of the morning. Silver hates the thought of burdening him in any capacity.
A hand reaches for his own, fingers interlocking together before squeezing tightly. “Come now,” his father tells him, a soft smile on his face. The faintest etchings of wrinkles crinkle his features — even at his age, he still retains a youthful allure he takes pride in. “Let’s go home, Silver.”
And Silver obliges. He allows Lilia to pull him away from the pier’s edge, his bare feet — cold and aching, the extent of the abuse seeping in with each step taken away, his head and senses clearing as he comes back to himself — padding against cold, wet wood, before landing on soft sand and then a coarse path. His other hand creeps up instinctively to clutch at the soft fabric draped over his shoulder, and upon closer examination, glancing down as Lilia leads him away, Silver realises that his father’s coat is wrapped around his shoulders.
“Father,” Silver calls as Lilia leads them across a deserted road, barely any vehicles driving about in the dead of night. Above them, the stars twinkle bright; here, with the lights switched off in this small town of theirs, with only some flickering street lights to guide their way, the sea of stars wink down from up high. “Are you not cold?”
“I’ll be fine, Silver.” His father waves his free hand as though dismissing his concerns. “Really, dear, it’s sweet of you to keep fussing over me, but you ought to spare a bit of concern for yourself.” Glancing over his shoulder, those dark eyebrows press together as Lilia looks at him. “Again you’ve sleepwalked to the beach on your own, and yet you continue to fuss over me. Ah, I should have brought an extra pair of shoes with me…”
“Father, it’s fine!” Silver blurts out when he sees Lilia stop, moving to tug his boots off his feet. “Really,” Silver insists when his father gives him a hard stare. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t think your shoes would fit me anyway…”
“Right,” Lilia sighs, abandoning the plan. Pressing a hand against his chin, he shakes his head morosely. “Really, why must you have grown so tall, dear? I do miss the days when you were much smaller than me; how adorable you were back then, toddling around in my shoes, trying to be taller!” “Father!”
A cheerful laugh echoes out in the cool night, and Silver cannot help but relax at the familiar sound, the sweet melody of home, of his father. Lilia continues to lead the way, their hands intertwined, low voice beginning to tumble into a tangent about how he wishes Silver were smaller, if only so he could carry him once again! Silver leans into the sound, allowing it to trickle into his ears and consume his thoughts; his heart fills with such a fierce warmth — the powerful love he holds for the man who took him in, who raised him into who he is today.
(And yet, with every step taken away from the pier, the beach, the endless rippling waves of saltwater, it is like something weighs down his every step. Some innate part of him struggles to go home, to leave the sea — come back, she sings to him, a siren’s song luring him back… back…
…What was he thinking about again?)
Click!
Warm lights flood the house as they step inside. Silver shudders, his feet sore and utterly cold, but he still forces himself to hang up his father’s coat as Lilia takes off his shoes, leaving them by the door. “You ought to go warm yourself up,” Lilia tells him, stepping over to press a hand all over Silver’s face before glancing down at his poor, abused feet. “Why not take a hot shower?”
So Silver does. The warm water reignites him, muscles relaxing into the gentle spray of heat as he washes off any lingering traces of sand and sea. By the time he’s done, changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas, his previous ones dirtied by his unplanned excursion, he comes down to the kitchen to see his father brewing something with the kettle. “Here,” Lilia tells him, sliding a mug across their wooden dining table; Silver wrinkles his nose at the strong smell that wafts off the dark surface of the liquid, far too many intermingling scents overpowering his nostrils. “A nice cup of tea to help you sleep later.”
“Thank you, Father,” Silver says, pretending as though he doesn’t want to gag at the pungent stench. He holds his breath as he takes a sip, choking the hot liquid down. It isn’t as bad as his father’s usual blends, he discovers. Unless I’ve managed to get used to it?
For a while, they sit in silence. Lilia sits across from him, nursing a mug of his own, twin steaming cups of hot tea they both sip at periodically. There is no sound; the radio is off and the windows are closed. Silver finds that he doesn’t mind the quiet atmosphere, not when he can see the serene expression on his father’s face — a smile, intermingled with what Silver thinks is relief.
It isn’t until he’s managed to finish about half the cup and has slid it away from him that he hears his father speak. “How much do you remember of tonight, Silver?”
It’s a question Lilia asks him whenever this recurring incident of sleepwalking to the piers occurs, regardless of whether he brings it up on the walk home, while he’s tucking Silver into bed, or even as they stand at the edge of the wooden boardwalk itself. Silver reaches for the cup — not to drink, but rather to wrap his hands around the warm ceramic, fingers tapping lightly against the smooth surface, a graphic labelled ‘World’s Best Son’ plastered across it (His father has a matching one). He wracks his brain, sifts through his thoughts, only to sigh and say, “I only remember going to bed. Then… nothing.”
Lilia purses his lips, a shadow falling over his face. “So it’s just like every other time,” he murmurs.
Guilt gnaws at his insides. “I’m sorry, Father—”
“How many times must I remind you not to apologise for this?” His father interrupts him, voice stern, and Silver’s mouth immediately snaps shut. Lilia softens almost immediately after, the corners of his eyes creasing as he glances at him before saying, kindly, “This is not your fault, Silver.”
“B-but I know how much you don’t like me going to the sea—”
“If I found out you walked to the piers with the intention of jumping in while conscious, then yes, I would be mad.” A finger painted with black nail polish, chipped and peeling, rubs against the rim of the mug. Lilia presses his other hand against his cheek, though he doesn’t pull his eyes away from Silver, staying focused on his son. “But sleepwalking there with no recollection of doing so? My dear, why would I ever be mad at you for doing such a thing? It would be punishing you for something you have no control over.”
“I wish I did.”
The words come spilling out before he can stop himself. Silver winces, tearing his gaze away. He stares pointedly off to the side, fixating on a potted plant tucked in a corner of the room, leaves flush with green health, a sign of how much effort Silver has put into tending to their houseplants. Eventually, he hears “Silver—”
“I know,” Silver sighs, shrinking into himself. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“Again, why must you continue to apologise?” Steepling his fingers together, Lilia narrows those crimson eyes at him, chin resting on his interlocked hands. “Issues of your health are not your fault, Silver. And while I can understand your frustration about having zero control over this situation…”
His eyes soften. “Try not to be so hard on yourself about it,” he tells him. “Alright?”
And despite the bile at the back of his mouth, the way his stomach twists itself into anxious knots over it, Silver nods silently. What else could he possibly say that wouldn’t cause Lilia to lecture him about his self-imposed standards?
Lilia leans back in his chair. “Good,” he says, satisfied. “It’s rather late. If you aren’t going to finish your tea, you ought to head to bed.”
Silver agrees. Which is why he pushes out his chair, attempting to bring the mug over to the sink only for his father to bat his hands away, assuring him that he will take care of it. But Silver winds up lingering in the kitchen doorway, watching as Lilia dumps the leftover tea down the drain before rinsing both cups and leaving them to dry. His hand wraps around the side of the doorway, hesitating to leave and go climb up the stairs, and it isn’t long before his father notices his presence, turning around and blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. “What is it, Silver?”
“Could you…?” Silver hesitates, glancing off to the side, a sudden swell of embarrassment seizing him. How old is he now, sixteen? And yet he still feels the urge to ask his father to accompany him upstairs to bed, as though he were a child… Really, if Sebek were to see him now, Silver would be in for a slew of remarks about how childish he’s acting. But all the same, Silver is exhausted and, strangely enough, sad; is it so wrong for him to wish for Lilia to bring him to bed?
In the end, he need not voice any of his internal dilemmas. “Would you like me to come with you?” Lilia asks.
Silver nods.
So his father brings him upstairs, tucking him into bed as though he were a child again. He finds Silver’s old plush toy, the one he’s had since he was but a baby — a ratty little bat toy he’d affectionately named ‘Mr Batty,’ when he was old enough to ascribe it a title. “I remember when you were just barely bigger than him,” Lilia reminisces as Silver tugs the plush from his hands, a smile dancing across his lips. “Why, I believe I still have some pictures somewhere of that!”
He feels his cheeks pink, arms wrapped around the tattered toy — patched up with fabric scraps over the years and re-stuffed with cotton filling. Silver leans into his father’s touch as Lilia wraps his arms around him, before pecking a kiss against his forehead; it soothes the part of him that feels vulnerable and strangely sad, a feeling that has lingered with him ever since he left the beach. “Don’t go wandering off to the sea now,” Lilia teases as he reaches for the table lamp, grabbing hold of the chain. “I doubt I’ll be able to wake up a second time tonight!”
And when Lilia leaves the room, his body a silhouette in the doorway as light from the hall streams through the door, Silver raises his head. “I love you, Papa,” he calls out sleepily, the old name he used when he was but a child slipping out without thinking.
Tired as he is, falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, Silver does not notice the way his father lingers in the doorway, one hand resting on the jamb as he gazes at his sleeping son. Nor does he see the expression of twisted regret that taints his father’s features, shielded by the shadows of the room — brows dipping downwards, lips pressed thin, a dull look entering his weary eyes. Guilt, that’s what it is, an emotion so strong it spreads throughout every inch of his body — his tense shoulders, quivering hands, and the almost obsessive way he seems to look at Silver over and over.
“Love you too, Silver,” Lilia breathes, after a while. He closes the door with nary a sound, and retreats back to his room, making sure the old baby monitor he dug out of storage is still working on his end — a way for him to detect sound, to tell when Silver’s begun sleepwalking again.
Remorse claws at him from within, tearing into him with deep gouges. Lilia detests it — the idea of deceiving Silver in any capacity, of the white lies that spill past his lips; he always wakes up because he’s been keeping a deliberate ear out for Silver through the little monitor he’s hidden amidst Silver’s numerous stuffed toys and pillows.
But for as long as that seal’s skin lays under Lilia’s bed, tucked away in its chest, Lilia will keep his secrets close to his heart. In the end, he will do whatever it takes to keep his son safe and by his side.