The day that Connor left was rather bittersweet, at least to Haytham. He tried to be happy for him, and he really honestly would, but he was sorry to see him go too.

Haytham could easily tell that Connor was more excited than unhappy to leave. He had a calendar in his room, crossing off the days until his departure with an enormous red marker. Now that the day had arrived, he paced the living room, checking his phone frequently for texts and looking out the front window.

Haytham, who was sitting on the couch, flipped through his book idly. "She'll let you know when she's here," he said, peering up at him over his reading glasses.

More often than not, Haytham found himself looking up at Connor. Two years ago he had hit his growth spurt and now, at eighteen, Connor was now more than six feet tall and was taller than Haytham himself by about four inches.

"I know," said Connor, exasperated, running his hands through his shorn hair.

When Connor turned fifteen, he had begged Haytham to let him have a mohawk because he said that it looked cool. Haytham, of course, had disagreed ("Absolutely not, young man! When you try to get a job, no one will take you seriously!" In response, Connor had called him old fashioned and refused to speak to him for at least a day). Nevertheless, Connor ended up getting his wish at sixteen when Haytham's father came to visit and took the teenager out of the house to get his hair cut how he wanted, completely taking Haytham by surprise (this had lead to a big fight between the two of them. It was Connor that ended up bringing peace between the both of them before Edward's departure).

The last couple of weeks Connor and Haytham had spent time alternately packing away most of the former's things and going around town to visit their favorite spaces. They ate at The Aquila practically once a day, played at Mario Auditore's parkour gym, visited Kadar's gravestone, and more. There was so much to do and so little at the same time.

"Sit down," Haytham said, waving his hand at the seat on the couch next to him. "Aveline is not going to arrive any sooner if you keep storming around."

Connor ignored him and kept pacing. Haytham sighed, bookmarked his novel, and removed his reading glasses. "Do you have everything packed?"

"Yes," snapped Connor.

Haytham put his hands up in a defensive posture, raising his eyes. Connor continued to scowl for a moment before he sighed and muttered an apology. The eighteen year old began to pace again.

"Everything?" prompted Haytham.

"Yes," Connor said again. "Well, except for a couple of pictures and old clothes, but I wanted to leave those here."

"Of course," Haytham said smartly. "Those can stay here for when you come back every weekend."

Connor sneered slightly. "I'm not going to come back every weekend."

"Of course not," said Haytham with a shrug, "just most of them."

Connor shook his head. Haytham smirked at him. The teenager sighed, exasperated, running his hands through his hair again.

"Patience is a virtue, son," Haytham said. "If you really want something to do while you're waiting, you can take those boxes out to the front sidewalk." He nodded his head at the multitude of boxes full of Connor's things that were stacked neatly near the front door.

Before Connor could reply, they both jumped, as someone had started leaning on the horn of a car outside. Connor grinned broadly. Haytham sighed and muttered, "I always forget she does that."

Aveline's parents had gotten her a van for her sixteenth birthday and whenever she was going to pick up Connor to go anywhere she always announced her presence by honking the horn. Once she had startled poor six year old Desmond so much that he started to cry.

Connor grabbed one of the boxes of his things and bolted outside. Haytham swept to his feet and retrieved another box, joining the two eighteen year olds outside. Connor was still holding his own box and was leaning through the passenger window of the van to talk to Aveline. Haytham cleared his throat.

"Oh, hello Haytham!" said Aveline cheerfully. "Hang on, I'll pop the trunk."

He could hear the tell-tale chunk. Haytham moved around the back of the van, balancing the box on his leg while he pulled the trunk open. There were lots of boxes in there already, undoubtedly Aveline's things, but there was still plenty of room for Connor's things, just as she had promised.

Haytham and Connor each had to make several return trips back to the house until the rest of the boxes were in Aveline's van. Connor made to get into the passenger seat, but Haytham grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Are you sure you can't start college next year?" Haytham joked.

Connor rolled his eyes, but he was smirking. Haytham knew that Connor already had it planned out; he was going to be living on campus, his room mate someone by the name of Bayek. Connor was going to major in Environmental Sciences and minor in Native American Studies, although Connor didn't know what he wanted his actual job to be. Haytham had made sure that his son knew that he didn't have to know yet.

"Or that you don't want my help moving in?" asked Haytham.

"Connor will be fine, Haytham," Aveline said cheerfully from through the window. "And I'll make sure he calls every day."

Connor glared at her, but there was no real heat or anger to his gaze. "You don't need to worry about me," he said, turning back towards his father.

"I don't worry," Haytham insisted. "You know very well that it's your grandfather who worries."

Haytham opened his arms. He knew that Connor, even after four years of living with him, was still not very comfortable with such casual physical affection. Nevertheless, it seemed that Connor felt that the situation called for it, because he moved into Haytham's arms without hesitation. The two stood like that for, in Haytham's opinion, not long enough.

"Be good," said Haytham when they broke apart.

"I will," Connor said. "You know I will, dad."

Connor clambered into the passenger seat of Aveline's van. She revved the engine and they began to drive away. Haytham stood on the sidewalk for a long time, starring after them, far after they disappeared from sight.

End.