Chapter Text
It was 11pm, July 8th, 1982. Brian was only particularly thinking about the time, but I thought I'd give you extra context.
It was loud downstairs. Whispered arguments flooded the quiet of the home. A word or a sentence shouted would disrupt the chaotic rhythm, followed by “The kids are asleep!” shouted in response.
They really think we can't hear them? Brian would ask to no one in particular during nights where whispers were sharp and intense.
Brian laid still in his bed, quietly looping through thoughts. When he had asked his sister when they'd get a divorce, she told him to stop asking her “shit like that”. So, he was still, but awake, in bed on a Thursday night .
The bickering downstairs always made Brian anxious after a while and that quickly turned into crying.
To offset the premonitioned tears, Brian quietly sat up to grab his headphones off the floor next to him. His ears echoed a singing man's sad words into his thoughts. The tears came anyway, the boy's face heated up as each teardrop fell from his eyes and around his mouth. His throat closed up and his breaths lost the steadiness they had when he was only lying in bed.
Ugh, shit. was all Brian commented on the situation.
Even though no one was watching, he still felt a deep sort of embarrassment at his tears. He pulled his knees up to his chest and did his best to wipe away the tears that didn't seem to want to stop.
Snotty nosed, but tears beginning to slow. Brian reached under his bed to grab a cigarette.
Brian got out of bed, making long strides towards his door. The handle clicked and Brian went back to sitting in his bed.
He didn't want to get caught, not that anyone would check on him this late at night.
His sister was dealing with her own shit and their parents were busy with their nightly routine of poorly disguised bullshit.
Brian found the lighter, that he really should've given back to his friend a while ago. He grabbed it from under his bed and lit the cigarette.
He blew out the fire on the cigarette after watching it smolder for a few seconds.
Brian fiddled with the cigarette to be out of the way while he held it, so he could open his window.
Brian leaned out of the window and looked down at his dog. Starbuck never liked the smell of Brian's breath after he smoked.
At least he can't smell it when I'm way up here. Brian thought before gently breathing in the cigarette.
The arguing downstairs quieted as Brian smoked out the window. A knock quietly hit the bedroom door. Brian coughed, choking on a mix of cigarette smoke and the outside air.
Shit, how do I put this out?
He mashed the cigarette into an open candy tin that was on his desk. He closed the tin and threw it under some dirty clothes.
Brian walked out to the door, unlocking it and cracking it open.
***
The kid's room smelled like late night air and cigarettes.
“Hey, bud.” The kid's dad started.
“Hey.” Brian muttered. He looked at his dad's face for less than a second before his eyes darted back towards the floor.
Brian's dad, Greg, took a dramatic breath.
Where is he even getting cigarettes from? Probably a friend, I hope that's not where his chore money is going…Greg's thoughts went in circles, mulling over why his teenage son was smoking late at night by himself.
Greg looked at his son's face. Then his room, posters with singers and characters from shows scattered. He's only a kid. Greg remarked to himself.
“Were you smoking?” Greg said in a hushed tone, he already knew the answer.
“No,” Brian lied, now looking past Greg, out into the hall.
Brian's dad sighed, running his hand through his hair.
It's not good for you. Was the first thing Greg considered saying to his son, It'll give you cancer. He wanted to emphasize next.
“I-” he started before deciding on something else. “You-”
No. Not that...
“Goodnight.” is what Greg decided on. “We'll-”
No, not like that.
“Let's talk tomorrow.” Was Greg's final statement, patting his son on the shoulder.
As Brian closed the bedroom door Greg noticed tear streaks down the boy's face.
He's just a kid.
Greg stood in front of the closed door for a few moments before retreating to his own bed where his wife's side stayed empty.
Maybe I'm just not all that good with words.
Greg laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. Eventually he fell asleep to the quiet sounds the house made.
***
Brian stood, staring at his bedroom door, mind quieted by the sudden intrusion. He could still see his dad's shadow from under the door.
Brian stood over the pile of dirty clothes where his cigarette was hidden. He held the candy tin that withheld the used cigarette.
He couldn't have known. Right?
Brian took out the cigarette, twirling it between his fingers.
This is stupid, isn't it? He asked again to his audience which still only he pertained to.
He reached for the pair of scissors that were on the other end of the desk to trim the smoked end of the cigarette.
Idiot. He said to himself, dropping the cigarette back in the candy tin and under his bed. Brian spent another thirty minutes listening to music while watching his dog wriggle in his sleep. Then he too went to sleep for the night.
***
Greg woke up to the light of the morning shining through his window curtains and a back that ached. Greg huffed, then made his way to his and Denice's shower.
Greg now dressed, walked down the hall and down the stairs. He saw his wife who was preparing breakfast and his heart saddened, remembering their argument from the previous night.
He strolled over next to her in the kitchen, her cooking always smelled amazing. Today she was making pancakes and bacon.
He tried to think of how to start an apology to Denice. I'm sorry about last night. No, no, because then she'll get all huffy. I'm sorry for yelling. Possibly better.
“Good morning.” He said, voice deep and groggy from sleep. Greg scratched his stubble.
“Good morning.” She said, more awake and clear. She had been awake for a few hours, doing whatever an early bird does at 5 AM in the morning.
Greg made himself a coffee and continued to stand side by side with Denice. She seemed very intent on cooking the pancakes properly in the frying pan and stacking them high on the plate.
“I’m sorry for last night…I didn't mean to upset you like that.” Greg looked upon his wife, waiting for a response.
“Greg, I just wish you'd…Nevermind.” Denice stared off after pouring another bit of pancake batter into the frying pan.
Greg sneaked a freshly made pancake into his mouth when Denice wasn't looking and she didn't seem to mind. The two stood in the kitchen with about a foot between them, a safe distance when tension thickened the air. It was quiet, with only them awake, only each other to talk to.
“Denice.” Greg whispered out into the air, voice still tired.
“What?” She snapped back.
“No, Denice, look at me.”
Denice turned slightly to look at Greg and he waited, arms spread out, waiting for a hug. Greg took a step forward and Denice took two. Greg wrapped his arms around Denice’s upper back.
“I'm sorry too.” She whispered into his ear. They hugged for a few moments longer then Greg walked outside to retrieve the morning news. Greg came back slightly damp from the light rain outside. Denice continued to cook, and the two were each back into their own worlds.