There really isn’t any slash until at least chapter 2 or so—maybe even the third chapter. Sorry guys, but I need to develop the relationship between father and son first before the son’s relationships with his other friends.

And I swear there is NO incest!

Prologue

In a sea of black there was a man. He was clad in black like the rest of the crowd, but he also held in his hand a small bouquet or flowers, one that made him different. Those around him showed sympathy in his direction, using apologetic words when needed and lending a shoulder-patting hand when need be.

Tissues were handed to those that needed, especially when time came to lower the casket. Such a sad man he had been, that man, as the monotonic priest began to chant a small prayer for the deceased woman; yet even as his wife was lowered six feet into the ground he did his best to hide his tears.

“You okay…?” a woman whispered into the man’s ear. “Matt?”

Matthew Rivers trembled, but he did not cry.

-

Three more hours and a small baby was in the arms of the now-single man, crying softly as the man rocked him slowly in his arms.

“He won’t sleep,” Matthew told his sister as he paced around her room. “Either that or he’s crying about….” But three hours after her funeral and he still couldn’t quite talk freely about her death.

“Did you give him coffee?” his sister replied with a small laugh—but such a laugh wasn’t returned to her in response. “I think it’s just because you have him here at my house. Your arms aren’t exactly his cradle.”

“I know that, May,” said Matthew; “it’s just…. He won’t stop crying. He’s usually fast asleep by now, even if it’s just after noontime. But today… nothing.” Presumably both siblings knew why Matthew’s son wasn’t so easy in sleeping soundly, but bringing up such a cause into conversation wasn’t a likeable idea.

“Did you remember to feed him?” suggested May, shrugging her shoulders. “Though knowing you, you probably did, but it could be a good—”

“Oh,” and as Matthew left the room to search for the bottles of formula he had brought along his older sister shook her head in disappointment.

When Matthew returned May continued. “Matt, I know you’re aren’t really in you right mind and all, but forgetting to feed your own son…?”

“Don’t worry,” the man said as the baby quieted. “Mike’s a pretty strong guy.”

“He’s not even a year old.”

“So?” The man did his best to flash his sister a convincing smile as he turned to his son once more. “You happy now, Mike?—oh, that’s my boy….”

“Matt?” The man didn’t respond, but May continued with his sentence anyway. “Matt, I know I’ve asked you many times before, but you should still reconsider my offer….”

“No.”

“But Matt! You can’t possibly expect to—!”

“I said it once, and I’ll say it again. No, I will not let you raise Mike for me!”

“You’re still raising him!” May exclaimed. “You’ll just have Jim’s support, as well as mine.” She gave her brother a serious and stern look, though it seemed not to convince the man even the slightest. “You being a single parent now, it’ll be hard supporting the two of you, you know.”

“He’s my child,” snapped Matthew, almost taking his sister aback. Though, noticing the new fear in May’s face, he was quick in apologizing. “Look, I really do appreciate your care and support. It’s just….”

“I get it,” muttered May. “I’m sorry for forcing it upon you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Matthew, glancing at the now peaceful Michael Rivers. “Besides…. Mike’s a strong kid. I’m sure he’ll do just fine.”

-

Once Michael had properly fallen asleep that night Matthew found himself staring intently at the photograph upon his desk.

“Caroline…” Matthew whispered to the dim-lit room as he gazed into a photo taken five minutes after their wedding. Her in all her stunning white glory and him in his sharp-looking suit (or had it been a tuxedo?), the both of them looking quite pleased and blissful.

Eight months after their honeymoon Caroline Rivers had given birth to their premature son Michael. But now she wouldn’t be there to see their first and only child grow up….

“I’ll take care of him,” Matthew hissed from pursed lips, finally letting his tears out in the darkness of his solitude. “I’ll raise him to be the best son you would’ve ever had. I promise.”

-

Three years later, at the supermarket, with one hand hostage to his son’s double-hand grasp, with his free hand grasping a pair of dollar bills, and with a smile plastered upon his face, Matthew Rivers had become the happiest man alive.

“Six dollars and seventy-nine cents, please?” asked the woman at the cashier, extending a hand as the man placed the money into her palm. “Is that seven dollars?”

“Daddy!” exclaimed the young Michael, reaching out his hands.

“Hold on,” the man said to the boy—and then, to the woman; “A five and two ones, yep.” In a few seconds he was handed back both the money and a bag of groceries, and he quickly glanced inside to make sure he had everything before leaving.

“Daddy!” exclaimed Michael once more.

“Wait till we get home,” said the man, reaching into the bag and revealing an apple. “We need to wash it so you don’t get sick!”

“Okay!” exclaimed the boy, letting go of his father’s hand and running far ahead of him. The older man laughed, watching Michael as he stepped himself onto the weighing scale, and later as he ran through the sliding doors as if it were some sort of a game.

“Careful,” Matthew called out. “Careful, Mike, you wouldn’t want to get slammed shut with those door now, would you?”

Michael frowned. “No…. Sowwy.”

“Don’t worry about it,” his father replied. “Daddy’s only watching out for you because he loves you.”

A bright smile flashed upon the boy’s face, and as he pressed himself against his father, and as he held onto his hand while crossing the street, he replied simply; “I love you too, daddy.”

-

Next to the wedding picture was a photo of Caroline only moments after giving birth to Michael. His face was disastrous, eyes welled in tears and face as red as a beet. Her face was much happier, with a look of relief and excitement figuratively written in permanent marker all across her face.

What saddened him the most, however, was that throughout the one year she had spent with her first son there was not one picture Matthew could find that had all three of them smiling happily into the lens of the photographer’s camera.

-

At the dinner table one night, many years later, Michael asked his father one of the toughest questions he might ever ask him in his entire life.

“How was school?” Matthew had asked his son that night. Of course, as his son was only in the second grade still, he hadn’t quite expected such a difficult answer.

“Good,” the boy replied, frowning slightly. “Hey, dad…?”

“Yes?”

“There was this thingy today… we talked about mothers…” and almost instantly his father knew where the conversation was headed. “All the kids talked about how good their mothers were and stuff.”

“I see….”

“And then, the teacher asked me ‘coz I was being really quiet and stuff.”

“I see….”

“I didn’t know the answer, daddy!” Matthew Rivers did not even look at his own son as he spoke of his late wife, yet he refused to let out even the slightest of tears be visible to his only son. “Daddy, was mommy a good person?”

“Oh…. If you had ever… known her….” The tears would not fall, Matthew reasoned, yet he knew he was quite close to releasing them nonetheless. “She was… the best….”

“That’s what I said… like, after.” Michael smiled, but upon noticing the distraught expression on his father’s that quickly vanished. Instead the innocent boy stood up and walked around the table, giving the man the tightest hug he could muster. “I’m sure she’s happy now, right?”

The man could only nod. Saying anything more would’ve caused a grand flood of tears.

-

Matthew had never actually told his son his mother had died; somehow, Michael seemed to have figured it out on his own.

-

Michael was in middle school by the time he could freely ask questions about his mother without having to think twice before speaking.

“Did mom have blue eyes?” Michael asked one day while he washed the dishes in the kitchen.

His father nodded slightly. “Yeah, she did. Quite pretty they were too… and dazzling. Why?”

“Well,” began Michael. “You have green eyes, and our science teacher was saying today that you inherit traits from both your mom and dad. So like since I have blue eyes and you have green eyes, I figured mom must’ve had blue eyes.”

“Ah, genetics…” said Matthew under his breath. “You know, Mike—”

“Michael,” corrected the boy. “I don’t like it when people call me that. You should know that, dad.”

“Sorry.” He placed several plates onto the counter for his son to wash before continuing. “Michael, you know there’s more to genetics than stuff like that. There’re stuff called recessive genes; there are things you have that maybe neither of us actually had.”

Michael only stared at his father confusedly, shaking his head after several moments. “Whatever. That makes no sense.” With one last clang of dishes unto a plastic rack he took off a pair of rubber, yellow gloves and said, “So then, if you have brown hair, did mom have black hair?”

A chuckle had been the response. “No. She had brown hair, too.”

-

In the silence of his room, long after Michael had fallen asleep, Matthew found himself staring at a photo of his wife once more, holding onto the picture frame cautiously as he smiled weakly at her image.

“He’s growing up just fine,” he said softly, setting down the image. “You’d be proud of him; I know it.”

- fin -
(for now)

I promise not all of the chapters will be this choppy. This was actually the mood I wanted to set for the prologue, which pretty much sums their lives before the actual setting of the story.

I know it’s only a prologue and there’s no slash or romance at all yet, but… reviews? I strongly encourage them, since I’ve most definitely stepped out of the box on this one (relative to my usual style of writing). Reviews would be nice (and, I’d probably consider them as early birthday presents if you gave them…).

- Zakuyoe -