Chapter Text
“I must say… I never expected this of you, Daniel.”
Edward Howell said it quietly.
That was always worse.
Rain tapped steadily against the tall study windows, uneven rivulets crawling down the glass in thin distorted lines. The room smelled faintly of dust, old paper, and the lingering bitterness of pipe smoke that had long ago settled permanently into the curtains and rugs. Even after all these years, the scent remained, stubborn and inescapable, like something the house itself refused to forget.
Dan sat opposite the desk with his hands clasped too tightly together between his knees, one leg bouncing despite every effort to keep still. Across from him, Edward remained perfectly composed behind the heavy oak desk, cuffs straight, posture immaculate, every inch of him controlled in a way that made the room feel smaller around him.
The clock on the mantle ticked steadily into the silence. Once. Then again.
The study had always made Dan feel younger than he was.
As a child he had stood outside the door rehearsing apologies under his breath before entering, stomach twisting itself into knots while he tried to guess how angry his father might be. Later had come the lectures- discipline, manners, expectations, responsibility- all delivered in the same measured voice Edward used now.
He never needed to shout- the quieter he became, the worse things usually were. But this afternoon something about the room felt different. Not louder, just heavier.
The shelves lining the walls seemed taller somehow, the dark wood oppressive against the grey light filtering weakly through the rain-streaked windows. Even the air felt too still, thick enough that breathing seemed to require conscious effort.
The vodka sitting unpleasantly in Dan’s stomach wasn’t helping. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the carpet.
“If this is about the fight-”
“The fight?” Edward repeated.
Not angry. Somehow worse. Dan swallowed hard and looked down further, jaw tightening slightly.
His father folded his hands neatly atop the desk. “Do you have any idea how fortunate you are?” he asked evenly. “Another boy would’ve been expelled before he’d even had the opportunity to explain himself.”
Dan let out a short breath that almost resembled a laugh.
“Right,” he muttered. “Because that’s what you’re worried about. School reputation.”
Something shifted briefly in Edward’s expression. Not enough to call emotion. Just enough to notice. Silence settled again.
Outside, rainwater crawled slowly down the windows in crooked silver trails. Dan stared at them instead of his father. If he looked too long into the glass he could almost see Friday reflected back at him in fragments- shouting across the hard courts, fists colliding with bone, blood bright against pale uniform sleeves.
The worst part was that for one terrible moment he had enjoyed it. Not the blood, not the aftermath.
Just the silence afterwards.
“You put a boy in hospital,” Edward said flatly.
Dan felt his stomach twist unpleasantly.
“He shouldn’t have started it,” he muttered automatically.
Edward exhaled softly through his nose.
“Oh, don’t embarrass yourself further.”
Heat rose immediately beneath Dan’s skin. He hated that tone. Hated how easily his father could make him feel small without ever once raising his voice.
Dan dragged a hand through his curls and looked away toward the bookshelves lining the wall. Near the centre sat the old brass clock that had belonged to his grandfather. He remembered breaking it accidentally when he was nine and crying harder over disappointing his father than over the punishment itself.
Funny. Now disappointment felt inevitable.
“Don’t think that’s all, boy,” Edward said.
Dan stilled. The dull buzz of alcohol behind his eyes softened the edges of the room without making any of this easier to endure. His headache pulsed steadily near the base of his skull.
He had known from the beginning that this conversation was never really about the fight.
“I know more than I let on, Daniel.”
That made him glance up despite himself. Edward was watching him carefully now, expression unreadable in the dim light. Not furious. Not yet. Just observing him with the same measured attention he used when evaluating staff at school.
Dan looked away almost immediately. The surface of the desk was marked with tiny scratches and dents accumulated over decades. As a child he used to trace them silently while being lectured, inventing shapes from the lines so he wouldn’t cry.
His heartbeat felt suddenly too loud.
“I may have heard,” Edward continued calmly, “that your recent academic performance has not been… consistent.”
There it was.
Dan pressed his tongue hard against the inside of his cheek. For one brief horrible moment he was back outside examination halls again, hands shaking faintly at his sides while he stared at grades slipping lower no matter how desperately he tried to drag them back up.
The fight hadn’t really been about the insult, or not entirely. It had been the smirk, the lazy amusement in the boy’s voice when he mentioned Dan’s marks outside the dormitories. Asking whether the headmaster knew yet. Wondering aloud what Edward Howell might think of his brilliant son failing half his classes. Then laughing.
Dan had hit him before he properly realised he meant to, the memory churned unpleasantly in his stomach.
“You’ve been drinking as well.”
Dan blinked hard. His head lifted before he could stop himself.
Edward regarded him steadily across the desk and the silence that followed felt suffocating. Dan became abruptly aware of the lingering smell of vodka still clinging faintly to his clothes despite the rain outside. He had thought coffee would cover it. Apparently not.
“How-”
“I am not blind,” Edward interrupted.
Humiliation burned hot beneath Dan’s skin. He looked down quickly, jaw tightening hard enough to ache. Part of him wanted to lash out immediately, to say something cruel enough to finally crack the unbearable calm sitting across from him.
Another part of him simply wanted this to end. Outside, the rain seemed heavier now, striking harder against the windows.
Edward leaned back slightly in his chair.
“When I sent you to that school,” he said, “I did so because I believed you capable of something better than this.”
Dan laughed quietly under his breath before he could stop himself. The sound carried no humour whatsoever.
“That makes one of us.”
Edward’s eyes hardened fractionally.
“You are not stupid, Daniel.”
“No,” Dan replied tiredly. “Just disappointing.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them. For the first time since the conversation began, Edward hesitated.
Only briefly, but Dan noticed.
Something unpleasant twisted quietly in his chest at the sight. He almost wished his father had simply stayed cold. Anger would have been easier to survive than those brief moments where something softer threatened to appear beneath it.
The clock ticked steadily into the silence.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Edward reached at last for a sheet of paper beside the closed file on the desk, aligning its edges with irritating precision.
“Of course,” he said evenly, “this matter does not need to leave this room.”
Dan frowned faintly but his father continued before he could speak.
“Your teacher was surprisingly willing to overlook certain things once I assured him the situation would be dealt with appropriately.”
A slow knot tightened in Dan’s stomach, the phrasing unsettling him immediately.
“What situation?”
Edward ignored the question.
“The drinking stops immediately,” he said. “As does this appalling decline in your studies.”
Dan rubbed tiredly at his eyes.
“You make it sound very easy.”
“It is easy,” Edward replied sharply. “You stop behaving like a child and take responsibility for yourself.”
Something hot flared suddenly through Dan’s chest.
“I am trying,” he snapped before he could stop himself.
The words rang through the room louder than intended and Edward’s expression cooled several degrees.
“Trying?” he repeated quietly.
Dan regretted speaking immediately, but the frustration had already escaped now, impossible to force back down.
“Yes, trying,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion more than anger. “You think I enjoy this? You think I enjoy waking up every morning feeling like I can’t bloody breathe there anymore?”
Edward stared at him silently and Dan laughed again, harsher this time.
“You have no idea what it’s like.”
“No,” Edward replied after a pause. “I imagine I do not.”
The calmness of it somehow made everything worse. Dan looked away quickly, jaw tight. His eyes burned unpleasantly.
How pathetic.
Seventeen years old and still sitting here feeling like a scolded child. He became suddenly aware that his hands were trembling faintly against his knees. Whether from nerves or leftover alcohol he couldn’t tell. Probably both.
Edward studied him for several long moments. When he finally spoke again, his voice had become quieter.
“You look exhausted.”
Dan almost laughed at the absurdity of it, what a ridiculous thing to say now.
Instead, he pressed the heels of his palms briefly against his eyes before lowering them again.
“I haven’t been sleeping much.”
“No,” Edward said softly. “I can see that.”
Again, that strange almost-kindness flickered unexpectedly through the conversation. Dan hated it.
It would have been easier if his father had simply shouted.
“I cannot allow this to continue,” Edward said at last.
Dan felt something sink heavily in his stomach. There it was, the real conversation.
Edward closed the file before him with careful finality.
“You will be taking some time away from school.”
For a moment the words failed to settle into anything meaningful.
“Away?”
“I’ve already arranged it.”
Rain hammered harder against the windows and Dan suddenly felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
Edward folded his hands once more.
“It means,” he said calmly, “that you will be leaving London for the foreseeable future.”
Dan stared at him. A hundred possibilities crashed violently through his mind all at once. Suspension. Expulsion. Military school. God.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I assure you, I am entirely serious.”
Dan stood abruptly, the chair scraping harshly across the wooden floor.
“You’re sending me away?”
“You leave in three days.”
The room tilted unpleasantly for a second. Three days. Three bloody days.
“You already decided?” Dan demanded. “Without even speaking to me first?”
Edward’s expression hardened again.
“You lost the privilege of discussion when you hospitalised another student and drank yourself half senseless instead of facing the consequences.”
Dan opened his mouth angrily before shutting it again, because the worst part was that none of it was untrue.
Silence stretched painfully between them.
Finally, Dan laughed softly under his breath, though the sound cracked badly around the edges.
“Right,” he muttered. “Of course.”
He turned toward the rain-streaked windows before either of them could see too much on his face. Outside, everything had blurred grey and for one brief irrational moment he was overwhelmed by the childish urge to run.
Not somewhere specific, just away. Away from the study. Away from the school. Away from the unbearable feeling of disappointing everyone around him.
Edward’s voice came quieter this time.
“This is not punishment, Daniel.”
Dan barked out a sharp humourless laugh.
“Then what exactly would punishment look like?”
Edward said nothing. That silence answered enough on its own.
Dan swallowed hard and dragged a hand across his face. His headache pulsed viciously now behind his eyes.
“When do I find out where I’m being sent?”
Edward reached calmly for the file again.
“You’ll be informed tomorrow.”
Dan nodded once. Then again. As though movement alone might keep him from completely falling apart in front of his father.
“Fine,” he said eventually, voice flat.
Edward watched him carefully. Dan hated that look too. The quiet observation. The constant measuring.
Like his father was waiting to see whether he would finally break.
“You may go,” Edward said at last.
Dan turned immediately toward the door before stopping halfway across the room. His hand rested briefly against the brass handle.
Without looking back, he asked quietly:
“Were you ever proud of me?”
The silence afterwards felt enormous and Dan wished instantly that he could take it back. Behind him the clock continued ticking steadily on the mantle.
Finally, Edward answered.
“Yes.”
Just that.
One word.
Quiet.
Certain.
Dan closed his eyes briefly, then he opened the door and stepped out into the dim hallway before his father could see how much worse that answer somehow made everything feel.