I own nothing.
Will stood at the door. Wednesday had arrived, same as it always did. A political science class first period. World history second. On and on, Will and his schedule had done their best to keep a few Idiots out of the world. But now his schedule and lesson plans had abandoned him, leaving him on the cold doorstep of Heather's home. He rapped on the dark wood.
She came to the door and he caught that look in her eye. The same look had been there when he first asked her out, the same look had been there when they first went to bed. It quite clearly said "I'm not sure how good of an idea this is, but God dammit I'm going to try it." He loved that look.
"Hey." She said, watching him. He was biting his lip, a little bit slouched. She would never quite get used to seeing him as a teacher figure; he was forever engraved in her brain as a tall symbol of rebellion. The boy who made her parents squirm. The boy with the darkest hair that would never abide to any rules. The boy she had loved more than anything, until she had become a force and set of rules he had to deal with. She turned around. "Come on in."
Will followed Heather into the kitchen. She nervously straightened the pile of magazines on the coffee table, letting her brown hair fall as a curtain. He remembered when she'd chopped it short, and instantly regretted getting rid of "a curtain to separate her from obnoxious bitches."
"Did you ever cut it again?" Heather jumped. "Your hair. You hated it short."
A smile escaped her. "Nah. It's been this length or longer since Johnny got back from the city." The smile left as they knew what time period she was avoiding. It'd been that length since she left and he didn't chase her. She cleared her throat. "You need anything?"
"Could I use your bathroom?"
"Just down the hall." Will nodded and went, more looking for a way to hide for a few minutes than anything. As soon as he closed the door, he heard another door in the house open. Footsteps went past. A third door slammed, and muted music began. Like father, like son.
Will washed his hands and walked out the bathroom door. Heather was standing in the kitchen, which he could see down the hall. He caught her eye and pointed towards Aiden's door. She nodded, and started rubbing her temples.
Will rubbed his hands the same way he did before a particularly long lecture and knocked on his son's door. It opened. "Hey, Aiden."
"Will."
"Mind if I come in?"
"Why are you here? Does Mom know?"
"Yeah, she knows alright. She wants me to talk to you. So really, it doesn't matter if you mind if I come in or not. Easy or hard road, Aiden?"
His son rolled his eyes and opened the door wider. Will walked in and shut the door behind him.
Classic Nirvana played while his son sat on the twin sized bed with his back leaning against the wall. The room wasn't dark or dismal like he'd suspected; it seemed to mirror the way Heather saw Aiden. The walls were the same stormy grey they had been last time Will had visited, and the windows let plenty of light in. Sure, a few posters adorned the wall that made him see Heather's point. But it was better than Will's room growing up.
Will focused on Aiden. "Mom says she's worried about you. Tell me why."
"Why should I? You don't know me, when's the last time you visited? More accurately, when's the last time you visited and weren't this awkward man who doesn't know what to say?" Aiden rolled his eyes and Will saw what Heather did. Aiden was Will, from the pitch black hair to the bright blue eyes. Pants just a smidge too short showed a recent growth spurt, and the scowl on his face showed the fire that flickered in and out of everything. School. Music. Girls. Friends. This was the world of Aiden and his adolescent father. To a certain degree, it was Heather's world too, but she didn't know what to do with it except leave it. She couldn't make Aiden leave, the same way she couldn't make Will leave. And now, Will understood.
"Look. I know you don't know me, and I don't know you. But I know your mother, and she knows you. She knows you and I well enough to know that this 'teen angst' you've got going on isn't going to help you for long. Sure, you vent here and there and you're fine. She's worried about what you could become though. Do you know why?"
"Because besides early sex, she never did anything wrong? Because her one mistake turned into me, and she's an uptight little bitch about everything now?"
"Because she knows that when a kid cusses about his own mother, something's damn wrong! Your mother is nothing like that, do you even know who she was before she had you? Do you know about Johnny and Tunny and the city? No! If you did, you'd understand!" Will felt uncomfortable yelling at his son, this almost stranger. But if Aiden was Will, sometimes yelling was the only thing that worked.
"Then what the hell happened. Just tell me. She never does, and Dad doesn't either. I ask Mom, she tenses up. I ask Dad, and he goes into how he doesn't know it all; how it's not his place to tell me."
Will looked at Aiden. He rubbed his jaw, trying to ease the tenseness that came with hearing Charlie referred to as his kids dad. "Alright. I'll tell you why your mom is worried about you when you start wearing all black and stop being her little boy. But you're gonna listen to me, because for once I do get to act as your dad right now. And then I'm gonna listen to your opinions and we're gonna have a father-son bond of some sort if it kills us. Deal?"
Aiden, the picture of teen angst, glared at his father. He reached over and paused his music. He lay down on his bed, and spoke with a good amount of sarcasm. "Alright Daddy. Tell me your twisted bedtime story."