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Something slammed against the front door. Once, twice, and then finally enough to sound like knocking. That was what woke him up.
Silver rubbed his eyes. He'd fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for his father to come home. What hour was it? Apart from a forgotten nightlight, everything had gone dark.
A sliver of green light slipped under the front door.
Knock, knock.
Silver stood up. They received very few visitors, here. It couldn't be Malleus, who was occupied with the Day of Remembrance, and Father wouldn't be knocking on his own door. Perhaps it was one of the Zigvolt? But hadn't Father gone to see them?
Knock… knock…
The knocking sounded weird, as if it was not fingers but a palm hitting the wood. The door handle jostled, then turned.
"That's where it was," mumbled Lilia as he stumbled in. "Why's even the doorknob hiding from me…?"
"Father?"
The door closed with an absentminded wave of magic. Lilia raised a leg and tried to slip a thumb inside his shoe, but instead lost his balance and nearly went tumbling. The floating green lamp by his side wobbled and fell, flickering ominously.
"Am home," Lilia announced moodily.
"Welcome back…?" Silver turned on the lights just as the green light died out.
Lilia hissed and shielded his face. "Stupid sun."
"What?" It took Silver a moment to realize he'd said 'sun' and not 'son.' "Father, are you alright?"
The overheard lights plainly showed Lilia's flushed face and dazed eyes, seeing without seeing. He mumbled indistinctly to himself and raised his leg again.
"Let me help," said Silver.
He struggled to undo the laces while dodging Lilia's accidental kicks, stumbling on one leg. When he looked back up from laying down the shoes, sat on the ground and sweating from the effort, his father had already stumbled away.
"Do you want me to remove your coat too?"
Lilia patted the wall, using it like both a cane and a map. At least this time he didn't fight off Silver when he removed his coat for him.
"Thanks," he mumbled, eyes swimming over Silver's face. He patted his head. "Has anyone ever said, you look just like my son?"
"What?"
Lilia reached the doorway and felt around it, heading into the living room. As he did, he accidentally flicked the light switch and plunged the house into darkness again.
"Why's the sun so moody today…?"
Silver silently flicked the lights back on.
Poison? Exhaustion? Father had only gone to see Sebek's grandfather… Had someone intercepted him on the way? Should he call Malleus?
Maybe it was dehydration.
Silver guided his father to the dining room table and helped him sit down. "Do you want some water?"
Lilia settled into the chair with a groan. He waved his hand. "No more, no more… Hah, I win this time too… Baul, you lightweight…" he mumbled against the tabletop.
"Win? Did you fight?"
"It's only water?" Lilia squinted in his direction.
"Yes?"
Taking Lilia's slumping as an agreement, Silver ran to the kitchen for a glass of water.
What could have happened to his father? He didn't seem injured: no smell of blood, and though his clothes were untidy, they bore no cut.
And who could defeat his father anyway?
"Silver?"
Half the water spilled when he startled. He ran back to see his father propped up on an elbow.
"Father? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"There you are!" exclaimed Lilia. He stood up and immediately stumbled.
Silver ran to support his weight and tried to get him back into the chair. Lilia didn't seem to notice and instead grabbed him tightly, laughing to himself. He ensnared him around the arms and made him sway along. They nearly fell. Water droplets hit their feet. Silver suffocated against his father's shoulder and tentatively felt around for the table so he could put down the glass.
"Where were you?" said Lilia, rubbing his cheek against the top of his head.
"Getting you water?"
"Water…?" Lilia turned his head. "Oh, you're such a dear. The best son anyone could ask for."
Silver blushed. "Mhm…"
Lilia leaned away. Seeing him flushed red, he grinned with a lazy kind of mischief. "Look at you! Who did you get this bashfulness from, hm?" He pinched Silver's cheek. "Is it from your father?"
Silver vainly tried to defend his cheek. "I'm not a child anymore."
"What nonsense, you've barely reached two digits." Lilia's happy grin became pensive. "But really, I don't remember him being shy at all…"
"Who?"
Lilia brushed Silver's hair out of his face. His fingertips tickled his cheeks, so gentle and tender that Silver's flesh seemed to melt under him. Worse yet was his gaze, so affectionate yet tainted by that awful drowsiness. Could Lilia even recognize him?
"You've grown so fast," he whispered. "Malleus could barely change forms at your age."
"Because I'm human," Silver reminded him.
Lilia froze. His hand dropped down to Silver's shoulder. "Yes, you are human."
All the air escaped Silver's lungs. He shouldn't have said that.
It was then that he understood. His father was drunk. He'd never met anyone drunk before, but novels had told him enough. Too violent, too dangerous. Too honest. Long-hidden truths finally slipping out.
His hands trembled.
"Father, you must be tired. I'll help you to bed." He tried to move away so he could guide his father, but Lilia held onto his shoulder tightly.
Lilia's smile had disappeared. He swayed in his seat, staring at Silver's face.
"Humans grow so quickly. Look at you, you look so much like him."
"Father? Who do you mean?"
"You'll leave me before I know it," mumbled Lilia.
"Father—"
"Well," his father laughed. "I'll leave you first."
Silver froze.
In that terrible silence, Lilia blinked slowly and turned back to the table. He picked up the glass of water and drank it down in one gulp, then yawned. The glass slipped out of his grasp and fell onto the table. It rolled over.
"Never drinking with Baul again," he grumbled, standing up.
He stumbled away. By the time he'd disappeared beyond the doorway, the rolling glass reached the other end of the table and tipped over.
It crashed onto the ground and exploded into countless shards.
One landed by his foot.
It was only then that he moved again. Silver crouched down and, numbly, picked up the broken shards.
"Ugh… my head…"
Who had left his curtains open? Lilia threw his pillow over his head.
Everything hurt. He wiggled in his bed trying to find a comfortable position, but there was no escaping the pains of a hangover.
His tolerance had gotten so low since he took in Silver… No opportunity to drink when you had a kid to take care of at home—although he'd gotten a few days of freedom when he last traveled.
What had he done last night? The last he remembered was Baul's nauseated face as he threw back one last shot. That mournful atmosphere had dispersed the more they drank, until finally they became youngsters competing over who could drink the most.
Ugh. Never again.
Lilia pulled the pillow off his face and squinted at the midday sunlight.
He smacked his dry mouth. Some water would be good.
He couldn't remember coming home last night, but it should have been late. Silver had been asleep, right? By the Seven, what kind of embarrassing thing had Lilia said?
It was only as he swung his legs over that he realized he wasn't alone.
He hadn't noticed him. He sat curled up in the corner between his bed and the nightstand, with his back to Lilia. His head rested against his knees, his hair curtaining his face.
Silver.
Lilia hissed. Definitely saw him last night. Not exactly the side he wanted to show his ten-year-old son. And what an uncomfortable position too! He must have fallen asleep after helping him into bed, Lilia reflected with embarrassment. They would both be suffering from headaches today.
And yet, how sweet his son was!
Heart melting, he could already predict what Silver would tell him. He must have waited for him to come back home and then, seeing him in such a state, helped his old man into bed.
Lilia sighed and crouched down. If only it weren't for that 410th anniversary… At least Silver hadn't been here to witness the results of the 400th.
He brushed the hair out of his son's face, wondering how he could lift Silver into his bed without waking him…
And froze.
A flush clung to his son's cheeks, but when he touched, his skin felt cold as ice, and yet with a strange dampness that smelled of sickness. Testament to a long night, a line of wet, irritated skin ran down from the corners of his eye, dipping low to hide behind his folded knee.
Just then, another tear pearled up.
It went down that well-traveled path, and met its end in the wet fabric of his pants.
Suddenly, not remembering last night wasn't so funny anymore. It wasn't even embarrassing.
What had he said?
What had he done?
Far Cry Cradle rested on his tongue, but he could not open his lips. He could not even check his son for wounds. The possibilities punished him more than the truth ever would.
Lilia watched, despondent, as his son cried in his sleep.