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Santiago (!)
"Hey," Jo greeted, smiling as he dropped his bag.
I hadn't seen Jo in close to a year. Whenever he'd had time to visit anyone, he used that time to visit Lena.
"Hey," I said, smiling. He hugged me and patted my back, pulling away with a smile.
I grabbed his shoulder. "How are you?"
He nodded, looking down. "Better than I envisioned myself being."
I smiled, patting his back. "You guys are staying here, right?"
"Yeah," he said.
"Where's Fred?" I asked, leaning against the counter.
Jo chewed on his bottom lip. "He's outside getting his bag."
I nodded, beginning to walk towards the door but he grabbed my arm.
"Tread lightly," he said, "please."
I'd known that Fred's breakup was far worse than Jo's, but he'd refused to speak to me about it. I'd made every effort I could.
"Okay," I softly said, and we both looked towards the door when it opened.
He pulled off his sunglasses, his eyes meeting mine.
I'd never seen him like this. I'd seen him, I thought, at his worst state a few years ago.
I was wrong then.
"Hey, Dad," he weakly greeted, dropping his bag.
I felt like I knew the boys better than they knew themselves. I felt like I felt all the pain they felt, but multiplied, considering they were my sons.
"Hey," I greeted, clearing my throat. I tried my hardest to not make my pain obvious.
He shrugged out his his jacket, his jaw set. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept a decent amount in months.
"How are you?" I cautiously asked, slipping my hands in the pockets of my slacks.
He smiled a small smile, looking down. "Just peachy."
He brushed past me and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge. Jo and I both turned around to face him.
"You got any beer?" He asked, looking over at me.
"No, and even if I did, you wouldn't be getting any."
He closed the fridge, his jaw taut. "And why is that?"
He placed his hands on his hips, an eyebrow lifted.
I shook my head. If he wasn't currently in more pain than he could handle, I would've snapped off at him.
"You just got in, Fred. I want you to be sober."
"Well, I don't," he deadpanned.
"Fred," I softly said, my tongue in my bottom lip.
"I have a word of advice for both of you," he said, "stop treating me like I'm made of glass."
"No one's treating you like you're made of glass-" Jo began, before Fred could cut him off.
"I am fine," he said, "to be honest, I'm fucking over it. I think if I've come to terms with that, you guys can definitely do the same. Am I right?"
Jo sighed and shook his head, grabbing his bag. "I'm going upstairs."
Fred began to walk off but I grabbed his arm.
