"Do you have tape in a different color?"
Cloud was excellent at keeping his cool in trying customer service situations. He never offered too-bright, fake smiles to start with, so he did not have to worry about his composure faltering. Cloud rarely flustered, too, which was always a good thing.
"I do," he answered, staring dully at an elderly woman who was sucking up all his time. He was supposed to pick up some boxes of hers that were already packaged, but he'd gotten there and one of the boxes still wasn't done. "We have a darker gray and a gray that's even darker, but that's because it's dirty and has been in my truck for about four years."
She laughed awkwardly at his joke; Cloud continued to stare, waiting patiently. She decided to just go with the tape Cloud had grabbed originally, in black. Cloud loaded her boxes onto his handcart and wheeled them down the sidewalk leading from her expensive Midgar townhouse to his truck, waiting in the road with its flashers on.
Highwind's was a famous delivery megacorporation with chains all over the continent. They specialized in getting things around Gaia fast; hell, they even used airships to get the really expedited items around quickly. Luckily for Cloud, he was just a ground guy (he got rather airsick, and boatsick, and…).
Driving a vehicle himself was no problem, though, and he blared his music as the truck rumbled to life and he took off. Denzel particularly liked riding in his truck because it had no doors.
"What's gonna keep you in if you get in an accident?" Denzel had asked once, sticking out his arm so the wind whistled past it. He tilted his hand up, amazed as it coasted upward as if pushed from below. (Lift, Cloud had explained—bernoulli's principle. Lift is generated with differences in air pressure. When your hand is tilted like that—it has what they call a 'positive angle of attack.' Air's going above and below your hand, right? It's in these slipstreams—like tubes. Tell me, what happens to the water when you put your thumb over half of a hose's spout?
It speeds up, Denzel answered, thinking of how he'd done that and sprayed his Dad with it, who'd let out a shriek; it had been funny.
Yeah. The water accelerates. When you tilt your hand up the same amount of air now has to go through a smaller space on top of your hand in the same amount of time, so the air on top moves faster. Yeah—just like the hose; exactly, Denz. And air has a weaker push if it's moving quickly than when it's slow. So. You've got fast air on top, like water out of a hose and... what kind of air on bottom?
Slow, Denzel had answered, after some thought.
Right. Fast air on top of your hand, with a weak push—and slow air on bottom, with a stronger push. Air makes your hand go…
Up!
Yeah. That's lift. Just 'cause you tilted your hand up, air is gonna push it up. Ever wondered how airplanes got up into the air?
Yeah. It doesn't make any sense—they're so big!
Airships are a little different, but for planes—there's the shape of the wings. The leading edge is curved, like your thumb over the spout of a hose… makes the air on top accelerate. Then if you tilt the wings up a bit, like they do on take-off…
Air will push the plane into the air, like my hand!
You got it, Denz.)
But as for what will keep them inside the truck with no doors if they were to crash— "Our seatbelts," Cloud answered dryly. "Simple physics."
Fortunately, nothing like that happened on his way to his drop-off point. He parked the truck beside all the other Highwind's trucks and took care of his statistics for the day. He reported to his superior, clocked out, and got on his own ride.
Fenrir was happy to see him, and purred in delight between his legs. "Easy, boy," Cloud murmured, trying not to move his mouth too much lest his coworkers know he sometimes talked to his motorcycle.
At this time of day traffic was a nightmare, but luckily for Cloud, bikes were a little easier to navigate around town than cars. He made it to ShinRa elementary a couple minutes after the kids were let out for the day, but he was late most of the time last year when he got Denzel; the kid knew not to worry if he had to sit around a little bit before Cloud showed up.
It was always kind of weird being back at first after a whole summer away from school; Cloud remembered that from his own time in them. Small things changed, but they were always fairly jarring anyway. There had been a large banner in the lobby for the entirety of Denzel's first grade year that was gone now, and Cloud only noticed the banner now, in its absence.
Room 2-8. Cloud strolled inside with his heavy work boots clomping on the smooth tile of the hallway. It transitioned to muted blue carpet.
Nice place. Busy, though—elementary school classrooms were always far too busy for Cloud to handle. He knew they had given Zack trouble when he was a kid; too much to look at all at once, too much to distract him from the teacher sitting up front. There was a large calendar near the wall and things written under each day of the week, shelves of colorful books organized by reading level, strings hanging across the ceiling so work could be clothespinned to it for all to see…
A place like this would be the last place he'd want to be if he was hungover, Cloud decided. There were cubbies against the wall—Cloud's eyes found the word DENZEL right away.
"Dad!"
Denzel was sitting at his desk, and for a moment, looked like he would get up. But much like how he would not call Cloud Daddy in public anymore because it apparently wasn't fitting for a second-grader, Denzel did not run into his arms, and relaxed back into his seat.
So Cloud took his time. He pretended not to hear his son, putting his hands on his hips and strolling over to a motivational poster about standing up for yourself. There were a few other people in the room. A trio of girls were showing a few adults some pieces of paper stapled to a wide area of red paper against one of the back walls.
Cloud made a show of sauntering over to the teacher's desk. There was a box of tissues. No apples—guess this wasn't like when his grandma had gone to school. Cloud pretended to use a tissue, dropping it into the nearby trash can.
Teachers here really had some fancy computers—it was amazing, especially since the Midgar school system simply didn't have as much funding as schools outside in the suburbs, since the value of the homes nearby determined the amount of tax funding that went to the schools. Awful stuff. The school must have received a large donation over the summer; it made Cloud's heart warm.
"Dad!" he heard Denzel hiss from somewhere behind him.
Cloud lingered a little longer, studying the leather jacket slung over the back of the teacher's chair and the nice leather shoulder-bag beside it. The desk was quite neatly organized.
"Dad!"
Cloud finally turned around. Denzel was hunched over his desk, his brown eyes imploring. He was blushing. Cloud looked left and right before pointing at himself. "Oh," he said, "You talkin' to me, kid?"
Denzel's glare was nothing but adorable. Zack said he'd gotten Cloud's scowly face. Cloud chuckled but finally headed towards his son, taking pity on him. As he strode towards Denzel, whipping off his brown Highwind's hat, he realized that a man in a sweater-vest had turned from the middle-aged woman he was conversing with to eye him. Probably Denzel's teacher, going by the description Zack had given him earlier that day when Cloud had visited him at work.
Eh, fuck him, Cloud thought. He was just playing with Denzel; the kid secretly loved it when Cloud teased him, and his smile was a mile wide as Cloud reached him. Cloud crouched and drew Denzel into a warm, lingering hug. Denzel seemed to forget he was too cool for such a thing and returned it eagerly.
His son smelled like scented markers and oranges. "You spill anything on yourself at lunch?" Cloud asked, drawing back. Denzel nodded—and kept nodding as he plucked at his sweater vest.
"Yeah," he said, "Papa gave me one of his drinks, and I drank it, and my hands were kind of shaky so when I was eating the fruit cup my spoon kinda…" Denzel demonstrated, spilling imaginary mandarin oragnes and light syrup all over his shirt.
"Oh d—ear," Cloud said, laughing kind of nervously. He rather hoped Denzel's starey teacher hadn't heard that. "How was your first day, Denz?"
"Awesome!" Denzel stood, bouncing on his toes. He'd gotten new boots recently, and had somehow found the one pair that also managed to have light-up soles. "Tifa said we would have homework the first day and we don't—that's how cool Mr. Leonhart is."
"He's cool, huh?"
A muffled chuckle made him look up. Denzel's teacher had actually strolled closer, now leaning slightly against the other side of the 'table' that was formed from Denzel and four other students' desks.
"You'll have homework tomorrow," he warned. "And I'm not all that cool. Tonight's homework is for him, not you."
Mr. Leonhart walked a bit closer and tapped his finger against a folder sitting on the top of Denzel's desk. Cloud eyed it.
"…No," Denzel said, glancing between the folder and Cloud several times. "That makes you extra cool, Mr. Leonhart."
Both Cloud and the teacher let out unexpectedly loud laughter at that one. Kids were so fucking funny. "C'mon, Mr. Leonhart," Cloud implored, standing back up and holding out his hands as Denzel laughed behind a fist, "What did I do to deserve homework? Can't you just let it slide?"
Denzel's new teacher was certainly a vision. He brushed some of his hair behind one ear and seemed to be considering Cloud as intently as Cloud was him. The muscles of his forearm, exposed by his pushed-back sleeves, flexed as he picked up the folder, and pushed it to Cloud's chest. Cloud had a thing for forearms (and for hot men pressing folders into his chest with flirty smiles). "My apologies," Mr. Leonhart said, "But all my students have to do their homework."
"Or what?" Cloud asked, fighting a smile.
"You lose two stars on the board," was the response, along with a finger pointed at a bulletin board near the door. "You get one every time you do it. With enough stars you get prizes—a book of your choice off the shelf is the first one."
"Oh man." Cloud eyed Denzel and patted the folder, taking it from the teacher. "Looks like we gotta be extra careful you're getting all your work done, Denz."
Denzel nodded seriously. "I was going to even if there wasn't prizes."
"There you go." Cloud was proud. Mr. Leonhart also looked approving.
"Squall Leonhart," he said, and shook Cloud's hand. His smile was no longer teasing and playful; Cloud was sure he hadn't imagined it, though. Cloud introduced himself.
"I want to show you something," Denzel said, and tugged on Cloud's hand. He led Cloud to the back wall, where the small crowd had been earlier. On display were twenty-five drawings. Of…
Mr. Leonhart had followed, and Cloud could feel his presence behind them. "We drew our families," Denzel said. "Do you like mine?" He pointed at one near the top.
It was a crude stick figure drawing. The crayon coloring had gone outside the lines; Denzel's artistic ability had yet to bloom. There were three figures… Yellow, Black, Brown. Cloud, Zack, Tifa.
Cloud's shoulders tightened and his stomach flippd. He was suddenly acutely aware of Denzel's teacher standing behind him. It—it wasn't—
—Cloud couldn't stand comments about his unconventional family.
His breathing shallowed as his mind raced; what on Gaia did the teacher think? Was he going to say something shitty about polyamorous couples, thinking that's what this was? Or—did he think he and Tifa were a straight couple with a bisexual experiment, Zack? Were he and Zack together and Tifa was—
Squall did not comment on any of that, however. He said, soft amusement making his words lilt in a gentle accent, "There were three different students who drew the pet they want in the future on their pieces today."
Cloud blinked and refocused on Denzel's art. There was a tiny gray blob at the bottom with four short stick legs and triangle ears. "…He does really want a dog," Cloud said, his voice coming out uncharacteristically shaky.
"Two," Denzel said simply, "But one seems easier at first, you know?"
Cloud started to answer, but he was interrupted by a booming voice from the entrance of the room—"Well! If it ain't Spiky and mini-Spiky!"
Oh, this was awesome. "Barret," Cloud greeted with a grin, his anxiety forgotten. If Barret was here, that meant— yes, there she was. Barret's daughter Marlene scurried out from behind the cubbies; Cloud had missed her earlier.
Barret lost one of his arms from just above the elbow down serving on a military tour three years ago. He had a prosthetic he wore sometimes, though was without today. He grabbed Cloud when he got close and tugged him into a gruff hug. "Haven't seen you all summer, Spiky!"
"I guess not." Cloud turned to Marlene, who was now hugging her dad's waist. "How come you didn't say hi to me, Marlene?"
"Helen and I were talking over there, I was busy," Marlene answered, as adorably sassy as ever.
Denzel and Marlene had been in the same kindergarten and first grade classes—second grade put them three for three. Cloud had known Barret back in college. True to form, as their kids talked Barret whipped out his phone and showed Cloud a graph that had just been emailed to him within the hour.
"The solar panels we installed on the roof of our building over the summer have been seriously successful," he said. Cloud had never met anyone as passionate as Barret about making Midgar a sustainable place to live, and finding cleaner, alternative energy sources for the city to run on. Cloud saw the graph of readouts and almost gasped.
He said, taking the phone for himself, "That's incredible!"
Barret started telling him all about the new film they had on the panels that helped facilitate the movement of the photons better, and a new generator on the roof that—
"Daaaad," Marlene whined, "Mr. Striiiiife. Stop talking science already!"
The two men glanced down at her. Denzel, beside her, looked equally as bored.
"Ugh, alright, alright," Barret said, accepting back his phone, "You got us. 'Till next time, Spiky."
Cloud chuckled. "Later Barret, Marlene. It's good to see you two again."
They grabbed Denzel's stuff from his cubby. Denzel bade his teacher goodbye and Cloud nodded at him. Squall's eyes met his, intense and stormy gray. He was frowning slightly in thought. Cloud felt better once out in the hallway, without the teacher's heavy presence behind his back or over his shoulder. It was a strange sensation.
"You ready to go home? You tired?"
"No way," Denzel said, still buzzing. He's gonna be out by six, Cloud thought.
Denzel strapped on his bike helmet and Cloud lifted him up to the seat he'd had installed on the back of Fenrir. It buckled in three places and would hold Denzel on tight; they'd adjusted the sizing a couple times as Denzel got older. Eventually he'd be able to be without the special harness and sit on the small elevated seat on the back—and later Cloud could get Fenrir refurbished and get rid of the seat altogether. A pre-teen Denzel could simply sit, turn with the curves along with him and wrap his arms around Cloud. Until then, though—safety. Denzel would go flying on this thing if Cloud didn't strap him down.
Newton's first law—an object in motion will move at a constant velocity unless acted upon by an outside force.
Cloud double-checked the clamps on that outside force and straddled the bike himself. He could almost feel Denzel pruning behind him. The kid loved to be seen on the back of Cloud's motorcycle. It made him cool to all his friends and he knew it.
They rolled out of the parking lot (turning the heads of a group of moms talking by the playground as their tiny children played) and out onto the main road. It was so warm out—Cloud had done something he didn't do often, and forewent his leather jacket. They weren't going at speeds high enough from here to Seventh Heaven to risk anything, really; it was stop-and-go traffic all the way to the bar at this time of day.
At red lights Denzel shouted to Cloud about whoever his partner was for 'morning meeting,' whatever that was, and eventually Cloud called back, after only getting snatches of the conversation, "I can't hear you, bud—tell me when we get home, okay?"
There was a parking spot in the tiny lot behind the bar with a reserved space for Fenrir, and Cloud parked him. He picked Denzel up and balanced him on his hip as they went inside. Denzel was too big for this, but he still loved it, and Cloud handled enough heavy boxes every day to make it easy for another year or so until Denzel grew too much.
"Tifa!" Denzel called when the back door shut behind them.
Tifa was there in the empty room, adjusting the chairs around some of the tall, circular tables in the back. Seventh Heaven had a long bar counter and some booth tables as well. Sounds came from the kitchen; one or two of her part-timers must have been in, preparing the food for tonight. The bar opened at five p.m. every day for a quick happy hour and then the dinner/late-night crowd.
A wide, warm smile spread on Tifa's face as Denzel hurried up to her. She crouched and met him in a hug. "You look so handsome!" she gushed, holding his head to her shoulder and ruffling his hair. "I knew we picked out a good outfit."
Denzel was nodding and nodding and nodding. Tifa tilted her head, eyeing him, and glanced at Cloud, who was fighting a smile. "He was up all night because he was so excited about today," Cloud explained. He started fixing the chairs Tifa had abandoned. "Zack gave him one of those energy drinks he likes in his lunch."
"Oh, I see." Tifa plucked at Denzel's vest. "Don't those taste gross?"
"Yeah." Denzel made a face.
Tifa looked at Cloud. She pouted, her lower lip jutting out a bit. She was so damn beautiful sometimes. Her hair spilled over one shoulder as she cocked her head, playful. "Look what you did to him," she said. "Responding with 'yeah' all the time to everything like you do. Soon he'll be saying 'not interested' every time he has to do his homework."
"'Not interested,'" Denzel practiced. The tone was so flat, and his voice deeper than usual—he sounded just like Cloud.
As Tifa laughed, Cloud grumbled and continued picking up around the bar. Tifa and Denzel sat at one of the booths across from each other. Denzel's face was far more similar to Tifa's than his own; he had Tifa's nose, and the shape of her forehead, not to mention her eyes. Denzel's feet did not touch the ground and he bumped the backs of his new boots against the boards underneath, making the area beneath the table light up. It made Cloud think of a strobe light at a club.
Soon enough he'll be going to real clubs, Cloud thought, and winced.
Denzel was telling Tifa all about second grade. Everyone in his class was really cool except for Dane, a kid from first grade that had apparently been really mean. Tifa knocked a fist into her palm and asked Denzel if he needed 'the situation taken care of,' and Denzel shook his head with a laugh. He mentioned Mr. Leonhart, making Cloud look up.
"He seems like a nice guy," Cloud offered, supplementing Denzel's declaration that Mr. Leonhart was the coolest teacher in the whole school. Leonhart did. He took his kid seriously and didn't talk down to him like a pet, like some other teachers did. His room seemed neat and organized, like he had his shit together and was prepared to teach his students something this year.
Tifa seemed just as excited about Marlene being in Denzel's class. Marlene had come over for a few playdates last year; Tifa got along fabulously well with Barret. When Barret and Marlene went to Wutai together to visit Marlene's birth family (Barret adopted Marlene on his own when she was three years old) Barret had sent Tifa a bunch of scenic postcards, knowing Tifa loved to travel but rarely had the opportunity.
"Tell her about your drawing," Cloud said. He was flushing out the soda gun, leaning on the bar counter, but watching the duo closely.
Denzel grinned. "Mr. Leonhart said the first day is about getting to know each other. So we played a bunch of games and stuff and then he told us to draw a picture of our families. He told us that not every family is like on TV."
Tifa was smiling softly now, and reached across the table to rub Denzel's shoulder. "Like on TV?"
Nodding, Denzel said, "Yeah. Like, um, a Mommy and Daddy, you know? He said sometimes people have two moms, or just one dad—like Marlene and Mr. Wallace. Or that they live with their grandparents, or a f… um…"
"Foster parent?" Cloud asked. He caught Tifa's eye; they were both red in the face, for reasons they could not understand.
"Yeah, foster parent. Or people you're not related to but still care about you a lot. And that every kind of family is special." Denzel looked a bit awkward now, and looked down at his lap. "I… really liked how Mr. Leonhart said that."
Tifa rubbed Denzel's shoulder a moment longer, then let go of him, folding her arms on the tabletop. "I bet you did."
"His drawing was really, really nice," Cloud offered, coaxing it out of his son.
Denzel looked pleased. "So for mine I drew Daddy, Papa, and you." He looked at Tifa as he said it. "And when it was my turn to share, I said, 'This is my Dad and this is Papa. This is Tifa. I came from Tifa's belly because two men usually can't have a baby on their own. My parents are divorced because they said they're better as best friends, so we don't live in the same house anymore.' But then I said that it's okay… because I get to see all three of you all the time now, and everyone is happier."
Cloud and Tifa did not answer at first. Both of them stared at Denzel. "…Wow," Tifa said weakly.
Cloud came around the counter and crawled onto the seat to draw Denzel into a gruff hug. He squeezed until Denzel started growling at him, wiggling his arms. Cloud didn't care that Denzel was too cool for hugs; he held his son until the thundering in his ears and the clenching of his gut had subsided. Much to Denzel's misery, Tifa got up to hug him when Cloud moved away.
It was amazing, Tifa told him a minute later as Denzel went into the kitchen to grab a snack off one of the part-timers, how much kids could understand. Adults tended to underestimate them. Denzel was so… at peace with the situation too. The divorce itself had been rough on him, as any divorce was, Cloud was sure; but he and Zack had been open with Denzel from the beginning. Yes, we still love each other—but as friends. No, we're not fighting. No, we're not mad at each other. Yes, we will both still be here with you, and we'll be here for each other.
He'd come a long way in two years. Cloud was proud of him.
He was proud of Tifa, too, and kissed her cheek. "I've thanked you a million times," Cloud began.
"So you don't need to do it again," Tifa answered. She bumped her forehead against his, and tugged gently at the front of Cloud's shirt. Cloud hadn't specified whether he was thanking her for taking him in after he left the home he shared with Zack, or thanking her for what had gotten them here in the first place, for offering to be his and Zack's surrogate. He'd thanked her for both many times at this point.
Tifa was never going to birth any other child. Both aromantic and asexual, Tifa was uninterested in searching for or having a partner of her own. She and Cloud had fucked six separate times, eight years ago, trying for pregnancy, something she had viewed like a really weird biology experiment. They'd both gotten a kick out of it; Tifa said it wasn't awful because it was Cloud, her best and oldest friend, though nothing she'd like to do ever again. Denzel came along nine months later and that was that.
Cloud loved his unconventional family desperately. With his whole heart. With everything he had. In a variety of complicated ways.
It was good. So good.
He bumped Tifa's forehead back in return and rubbed her arm with his thumb. She had to get the bar ready.
Cloud and Denzel continued to help out until the bar opened, and then both disappeared upstairs, to the apartment above. Cloud and Tifa had very strict rules about Denzel being allowed in the bar during open hours—simply that he wasn't, unless he was with Cloud, Tifa, Zack, or one of the other employees, who knew to look out for him. A small child surrounded by drunk adults; it was a bad combination.
Denzel was good about it though, and had his TV, some gaming systems, a ton of books, and his own room. And now—he also had homework. Or, rather, Cloud did, this night.
True to his expectations Denzel was snoozing within an hour of going upstairs. As the crash from all that sugar and caffeine hit him his eyes drooped and his hands on his game controller grew sluggish, and he started tilting sideways onto the couch. Once his breathing had evened out Cloud carried him to his bedroom, got him out of his fancy clothes and into some pajamas, and let him be.
There was no kitchen in this apartment, with the large, fancy one downstairs. Cloud sat at table in the 'living room' (half of it was Cloud's room, a bed separated by dividers) and opened up Mr. Leonhart's folder.
Now that he thought about it… it was good Denzel had told him about what he'd said to his class. Squall knew Cloud was divorced. If he hadn't, and was flirting with a (presumably) married man… what an asshole. Cloud let it slide, twisting his mouth as he opened the folder. The first thing enclosed was a letter to guardians. They'd gotten one over the summer, sort of, that was also addressed to the kids, instructing them about their homework assignment, a 'personal narrative' about the big things to happen to them over the summer.
This one was just to adults, welcoming them, saying Leonhart was pleased to have their children with him, and that they had a lot in store for the coming year. Yadda yadda yadda.
Over the summer they'd filled out forms with emergency contact information and the like. These were mostly about what guardians thought their child might need in terms of education… because it would take time for Leonhart to get to know every kid, and it would be better if he could get a head start.
There was a multiple-choice questionnaire. Cloud smiled as he pulled it out; he really was back in school, huh…? (The thought made his heart hurt a bit, school—he ruthlessly pushed the feeling back and refocused on the packet in front of him.)
Your child likes to learn by:
a) playing games (eg. Fraction Fissure, Esuna the Elephant, Deusericus Vocab Bingo)
b) incorporating exercise
c) taking turns being the teacher
d) all of the above
Cloud circled d) all of the above. Denzel responded well to trying out new things, and things that kept his brain occupied. What he liked least was a traditional method of teaching where he sat in his seat and tried to pay attention. He'd seen Denzel's papers from last year, littered with small doodles of people with 'geostigma,' a disease in a fantasy world he'd invented. Save it for your first dystopian novel, kid, Zack had told him.
Zack…
Cloud frowned, tapping the eraser of the pencil he'd grabbed against his lips. Earlier Zack had been… needy. Obviously. When they divorced they'd said that they weren't going to hook up anymore, weren't going to play that awkward dance some divorced couples did, where they bounced back and forth between being 'done forever' and 'dating again.' That always fucked their kids up.
There was no question—there were no romantic feelings between Zack Fair (once Zack Strife) and Cloud Strife. But… they'd started out, back when Cloud was in college, as best friends who fucked all the time, to boyfriends, to husbands. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into 'best friends,' those who knew perfectly every inch of the others' body, knew exactly how they liked to come most after years of dating and marriage… that physicality had never died. Sometimes Cloud still looked at Zack and really felt it, the urge to throw him down and slide off his jeans and…
Cloud sighed, raking a hand through his spikes. Since their divorce Zack had never been extremely happy. He'd loved married life, and was suffering a string of mediocre dates and had been for two years. Cloud knew it frustrated Zack, seeing Cloud so 'content' with living modestly at Seventh Heaven, with very no dates and no energy spent looking for a new partner.
Cloud wasn't nearly as content with it all as he let on, but that hardly mattered. That wasn't what Zack saw. Zack wanted to be someone's husband again—and he'd been so damn good at it, too. Zack was a fantastic lover, a doting, loveable dad, just a caring, magnetic person…
Cloud was frustrated too, though. He was stumbling through this single dad thing, loving Tifa's support and fiercely adoring his son, but stumbling all the same. It was hard sometimes, navigating what to do with Zack. It was hard keeping Denzel in a cramped apartment above a loud and occasionally rowdy bar. It was hard being the parent to receive child support; Zack made so much more money. It was hard having Denzel be more dazzled with the parent who could afford to buy him the things he wanted, take him to the beach, and had the vacation hours to do so.
That insecurity welled and welled inside Cloud, until he was getting up from the table, and tiptoeing into Denzel's room. His son looked very small under his blankets.
Cloud cared a ton—but was that enough? He put his all into raising Denzel—but could he ever keep up with Zack, who seemed like he was born to be a father? Would—
He forced himself to leave. He looked back at the packet. He answered the questions, trying his hardest to think of Denzel as a person, not just someone he was tasked with keeping safe and bringing up to adulthood.
The final question: as a parent/guardian, are you interested in?
a) helping with special events (eg. Valentine's Day party, Special Person's Day)
b) joining Home & School Council
c) volunteering during field trips (eg. Junon Aquarium visit, Mideel Watershed)
d) none of the above
e) all of the above
There were steps he could take. If he wanted to be the best dad he could be—if he wanted to be as good a dad as Zack, or even better—it all started somewhere. Zack had always been the one to get involved with Denzel's extra-curriculars and all this… complicated school shit.
Cloud glanced over the list again, the point of the pencil hovering over the different options. The indecision was a nightmare.
Eventually he circled the last option, e) all of the above.
