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Kyle does not lack a father.
This fact makes itself evidently known as the years pass by. He’s always present, always screeching into Kyle’s ear about this or that—yelling, scolding, you name it. All of it is known behavior, expected, even. There’s nothing Kyle can do to please his ever-changing father, his mood flickering like a light switch, something that won’t ever let itself be happy with just one thing. He has to do this, do that, turn himself inside out. But in the end, none of it will ever really make his father think otherwise of him.
“You should be more like your twin, Sam. Y’know?” The man scoffs, and Kyle loses his voice when he wants to correct him.
‘Her name is Serena.’ He tries to force out, but his throat closes up when his mouth opens. Nothing comes out as his mouth is left slightly open, wanting to speak up, but his voice has never really been his own to control.
If only his mother was here, she’d have the strength to argue back. Kyle has never had that strength, no matter how much he wished he did. The ability to say what he truly thought and wanted, not having to run and cower behind people who could.
The envy that lies within his heart is more prominent than he’d like.
”—Take initiative, you’re not supposed to be weak—“
He wishes he could try a little harder, be a little stronger, a little less pathetic. Maybe then he’d be able to defend his own sister. But he can’t help the feeling of helplessness that overwhelms him when he tries to confront his dad. It’s something he hates, the feeling of shrinking down on yourself, it happens all the same.
Just a helpless child, one who won’t ever learn.
Powerless, pathetic, incompetent, defenseless. Catering to a child who will never learn. Always running to the arms of someone bigger, stronger—someone who can handle the big things, someone who can do it all. He’s smart, but what will that do for him? He can never take action, only spends his time cowering. He takes his ‘own pace.’ But was there ever really a pace or path to begin with?
”—Your mother is too soft on you—“
Kyle has never really felt big in the world, more akin to something to be stepped on without a second thought.
Maybe it’s learned helplessness.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
Kyle already tunes out most of his father’s words. They sound like long-nails scraping on wood most of the time, like little bruises and needles. Stinging, stabbing, hurting all the same. Solely because he isn’t as physical, isn’t as active. Solely because he relies on the more rational and competent part of himself, the awareness and patience that others lack—he has.
But really, what are his brains for if they’ll never compare to her brawn?
“—More manly, more strong—“
His father doesn’t really pay attention. He blabbers as much as a man with a superiority complex and an ego of a lifetime would. He talks like he knows it all, like he’s made every achievement a man could. And maybe he does know it all, maybe he did do it all, maybe Kyle should pay more attention to what’s being said. The advice would do him some good, right?
”—Can’t do anything, so idle—“
Smarts were never of value to his dad.
”—God, can you do a single thing right!?—“
Kyle effectively shuts down the rest, just nodding along as nobody is left to defend him. He can’t fend for himself, as pathetic as ever.
The only thing that’s left for him is his own self wallowing and pity.
When it’s all over, his father takes a breather, stares at him for a moment and then says something about a sorry. Or two, he doesn’t bother recounting. The scene is predictable, he never expects anything more than what he gets. Meaningless and pointless, every little spiel, every little rant, it comes back the same way. His own father, uttering something about apologies and how he’s trying oh, oh so hard. How the world isn’t the same, how it’s just so, so different.
Kyle sighs as his father leaves the room. It never ends differently.
In the end, he’s only reminded of one thing.
Kyle does not lack a father.
“You make those yourself, buddy?”
It’s an off day in the mist, which is rare. People are either holed up in their cabins (resting, or doing something else. He does not want to figure out what people here do in their free time, honestly.) or hanging out with the other survivors. While Kyle can enjoy both, he’s just sitting by on one of the tables, just observing his bear trap.
It’s a creation he made pre-mist, his own handmade craft. It’s not half bad, really. Sure, a professional could definitely make one that would probably work like a thousand times better, but who cares? It’s not like it matters in the mist.
Plus he was like, what, a teen when he first made it? Exactly, so it’s totally super impressive.
While staring down at the trap, he hears a cough come from the side, turning to realize that someone had made their choice to sit down next to him. Were they talking to him? If they were, he’s going to have to awkwardly explain that he was too busy ogling his own creation to notice.
”Err—I said… you make those yourself, buddy?”
Oh, it’s the salary guy, Wren… Ren? Whatever, it’s pronounced basically the same way anyways. (No, they are not.)
“Buddy…? I mean…yeah, I do.” He chokes, the friendly nickname is oddly new but he’s heard people call eachother worse in the time he’s been here. He’s sure the old guy (note: probably in his like, forties, but that’s like, ancient to him.) is just trying to be nice.
He awkwardly makes eye contact with the guy. He looks like he’s been through hell and back, probably had his soul sucked out of him by corporate. Kyle could never see himself in an office… wait. Actually, he totally could, he could imagine himself working a nine to five in some dingy office counting numbers or whatever. Smarts or something.
There’s a flicker of wonder as he imagines what it would’ve been like to go to college.
Too late for that now.
”Could I… uh, take a look?” Wren(?) asks, and Kyle figures he has no reason to say no.
Kyle just idly sits there as the man takes a few moments to get a really, really good look at his trap. He’s not sure what’s so interesting about it. It basically is all done after looking at it for like, five minutes. But the guy seems thoroughly impressed with his creation, and the pride that blooms in his chest feels oddly familiar.
Akin to the feeling of having your parent be happy with you after an accomplishment.
It familiarizes itself within his body all too quickly.
Wren nods and smiles as he finishes his inspection, he seems pleased. “Hey, uh. Kiddo, how old are you?”
“Nineteen.” He responds flatly, odd question, but again—he’s heard odder. Though not directed to him, some people really do run their mouth when given the chance. Kyle does not feel envy bubble up when he thinks about it for longer than five minutes. He does not, anyone saying otherwise (Serena.) is a liar.
There’s a noticeable pause after his answer. Wren seems lost in thought, whatever is on his mind is a mystery to Kyle.
Then—
Wren ruffles his head.
The action itself is so shocking and out of place that it stunlocks Kyle for a good fifteen seconds. He’s unable to conjure up a response, because what do you even say after? This old-guy whose worked corporate almost as long as Kyle’s been alive is ruffling his head. It stings, like a cruel reminder. At the same time, it feels oddly nice, the gesture has never been given to him very often. At most, he’d be given a laughable ‘Good job, buddy.’ Which sounded mocking at best.
”That’s pretty cool, eh?” A smile is plastered on Wren’s face, Kyle wants to curl up and die. “You’re pretty young, buddy. I’m almost old enough to be your dad.”
”Almost?”
Wren simply shrugs and takes his hand out of Kyle’s hair, mumbling a sorry with a wince. (And no matter what anyone says, Kyle did not feel disappointed when the action ended.) “No, I’d be a teen dad if you were my son…” He sighs, it’s wistful like he’s imagining a completely different scenario. Kyle doesn’t quite understand it, old people things—but he can understand the wishful thinking, that’s just something that doesn’t change with time.
”How… old?”
”I’m thirty seven, kiddo.” Kyle would spit out his drink if he was sipping on one. Thirty seven? He looks like… somewhere late forties. Maybe that’s the way office jobs suck the years out of you. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had gotten accepted to some job like that and ended up looking like he lost ten years off his lifespan. “Ah… but me and my wife, we wanted kids.”
”That sounds nice.” Kyle says, sounding far colder than he’d like. Kids… the taste left in his mouth is bitter, it’s not like he should assume Wren would be a bad parent. It leaves an odd sort of guilt bubbling in his chest, maybe he just didn’t want to come to terms that he had a bad father. That his father could’ve been better.
Kyle has never lacked a father.
He made himself more noticeable than anything. Louder than the word loud, acting as if he was above everyone and everything at all times. Screaming matches and arguments. A man stuck in the past of his glory. His father, unable to change as the times passed him by.
Wren’s expression changes, he seems more gloomy when he says the word.
“Yeah. Would’ve been… nice.”
The silence that engulfs them both is awkward.
“You and your… uh, sister—“ Wren starts, trying to make this conversation work. He appreciates the effort, Kyle has never been good at socializing, the one person he used to talk to at school was Rowan.
(The thought of the other boy now makes his heart skip a beat and then makes it feel like his heart-strings are being tugged on. Kyle has never really won at anything, huh.)
But now, he only talks to… Serena, Yeona and… Riley half counts?
”Twin.” Kyle corrects, though he knows that if Serena was in his place, she’d say ‘older sister.’ Always had to flaunt being born three minutes before him…
“T-Twin, right. Sorry…” Wren scratches his nape, tone sounding really apologetic for a common mistake. Though they look like twins, Serena’s always been regarded as the better one. The favorited one. Their father preferred her as she always went hunting with him, and she actually tried at it too. Their mother preferred her because she had always wanted a girl, trying to have girls days and nights with Serena. And he wasn’t jealous of her or anything, he’d just watch from the sidelines with an odd feeling in his heart.
“Well… your twin… Serena, right?” Wren tries again, and Kyle nods, issuing him to continue. “You guys remind me… of what I thought our kids would look like.”
”Is there a reason you don’t have any now?”
“Ah, tough topic, buddy.”
Kyle only nods again, deciding that his words would probably make it worse right now. Not like he could speak, his throat feels like it’s closing in on itself.
“Well. I was always a nerd in school. And you made this trap when you were a teen,” Wren smiles, reminiscing. “Reminds me of myself… you’re a smart kid, yeah? Don’t let anybody try to say otherwise, kid. This stuff is impressive.”
There’s no direct response to that. Kyle doesn’t know what to reply to the praise. In a house where everything about him was turned meaningless, grinded into dust and left behind, there’s no scenario where he’d know what to say.
Wren doesn’t ask for anything though. He goes on a little more, talking about Tabitha, his highschool years, (the fact that he was a loner for the most part of his school years hits a bit closer to home than Kyle would like to admit. Plus having met someone on coincidence? Yeah, definitely too close to home.) and everything else about his life.
Kyle finds that he doesn’t really need to contribute as much, but he feels like he’s bonded with this guy more over the course of a few hours than he has with his father. That’s saying quite a lot, actually.
Some salaryman guy whose stuck in a death-loop-trap game thing with him has felt more fatherly than his own dad of nineteen years.
There’s some irony in that, probably. But Kyle knows to be grateful for the few good things that come his way, especially in this situation.
When the mist returns, there’s an unspoken alliance between the two. Wren teaches him how to fix wires more efficiently and how to make sure the generator doesn’t explode. Kyle does his best to assist him with traps, which gets him a pat on the back (or head.) regardless of if it worked or not. He hasn’t felt like this in ages, but Wren feels like what he thought his dad would be like when he was younger. He doesn’t really expect success or the best performance from Kyle, he’s just…proud that Kyle is trying. It makes him realize something.
He’s never lacked a father, only the love that comes from one.