It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

Another Smoke Break (2)

"If you're taking this all as punishment, let me assure you that this is as much punishment for you as it is for the rest of the household." As Matthew turned his gaze back to Yang, he continued, "Ms. Culpepper infuriates me. She might have her own system of doing things, yet what she accomplishes – with the house or the children – is subpar and what she doesn't is left for someone else to do." Sunken brown eyes moved to Matthew. "Presumably, you."

He wasn't wrong there, yet Matthew still couldn't help feeling slightly chastised.

Mr. Yang took another drag of his cigar. Letting the smoke escape his lips, he licked his lips and sighed. "Mr. Robinson, if you won't do it for your job, at least do it for the children. They miss you being around. Being the one at the helm, I mean, and are not afraid to tell me that."

Matthew chewed his gum a little harder, grinding it. "I-I know, but I – " He wrapped arms around his head, tucking his face between his legs. "Please believe me, I'm trying."

The older man sighed again. "I can't. I believe what I see."

"Sir, it's not that easy," he insisted, looking up at him. "Do you think I don't wish I can just turn that part of me off like that?" Matthew snapped his fingers. His breath grew heavy. "Believe me, Mr. Yang, I want to, but there's this, like – this part of me, and I – " The words muddled at the tip of his tongue, and he lost his thought. Matthew curled back into himself. "Just forget it."

The autumn air hung between them before Mr. Yang whispered, "I feel I don't need to say this, but they both absolutely adore you. What needs to happen for you to understand your position is safe?"

Matthew turned away.

A clearly dissatisfied grunt left the man's lips. Another inhale and exhale of his cigar came and went before he asked, "Why not distract yourself with something else?"

He grumbled, spitting the nicotine gum into the distance.

"Take up a new hobby. If you are unable to work, do the thing humans have done for eons and distract yourself." Mr. Yang side-eyed him. "Read. Catch up with your friend and Ms. Doctorov. Step out with that gentleman who flustered you at the grocery store. Do art projects. I do not know what teachers do in their spare time. Do something."

"'Step out'?" he asked, turning one eye to him. "What is this, 1955?"

"Do not mock me, Mr. Robinson. They are only suggestions."

"But 'step out', though?" he asked. "How old are you?"

Mr. Yang glared, clearly dissatisfied with the direction of the conversation, and blew smoke into Matt's face.

Any words Matthew wanted to say after escaped him. He deflated, glancing away, pulling out another cigarette from the carton. Sighing, he sneered as he brought it to his lips. "Any other less embarrassing ideas?"

He sighed, blowing the cigar smoke downwards. "I am not your father, Mr. Robinson." He paused, turning away. "I trust you'll figure something out, even if it's just planning what you want to do when you are fully healed."

Matthew groaned. Before lighting the cigarette, he pulled it from his lips and sighed again, slipping it back into the carton. "This sucks." He drew in a breath, shaking as he curled into himself. "This sucks."

His hand fell on Matthew's shoulder.

Matthew turned to him. "Does it get any easier?" he asked, eyes misting. "This. Life. Does it, does it get any easier?"

Yang frowned, yet there was a softness in his eyes. Sighing deeply, he considered the question carefully before whispering, "If you go at it alone, no. If you find people you want to join you, it becomes...tolerable." He patted Matthew's shoulder before turning away, taking a slow drag of his cigar.

Swallowing, Matthew stood. "I'm going to bed," he muttered. "Doesn't make any sense anymore to stay up late smoking with you if there's no point of it."

The older man shorted. "Consider it cathartic for one of us, at least, Mr. Robinson."

"I hope it's for you," he said. "It's done nothing for me."

He nodded his head, humming.

"Goodnight, sir." He bowed, too tired to curse himself under his breath.

"...Jun."

Matthew paused and met the man's sunken brown eyes. "Sir?"

Mr. Yang padded out the lit cigar against the carport wall. "Call me Jun," he said, standing, a casualness in his tone. "It makes little sense, to me, at least, to disregard pleasantries and you still call me 'sir'." When his gaze met Matthew again, the softness in them had returned.

His eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?"

He shrugged. "Do not make me regret this, Mr. Robinson."

A smirk spreading across his lips, he nodded. "Only if you call me Matt." He held out his hand. "Everyone else does."

Jun took his hand in a firm grip. "Goodnight, Matt."

"Goodnight, Jun." Just as Matthew began turning his back to him, he asked, "Can I call you that in front of Lilly and Eli?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because of the pleasantries I was just speaking of."

"Juun."

"I regret this already."

Matthew bit his cheek and nodded. "Fine, private."

The older man sighed. "...certainly a...year of firsts, Mr. Robinson."

He blinked and dropped his gaze.

"Matt. Sorry, I am still...unaccustomed."

His skin crawled. Something about how he said his name was odd, to say the least. "No worries, sir. I get it."

"Jun."

Matthew's gray eyes moved back to the older man.

Jun stood fully facing him, his posture slouched. "Please do not make me regret giving you this privilege."

He supplied the man with a small satisfied smirk; he nodded. "Goodnight, Jun. Sleep well."

He straightened up, his fingers running down the front of his shirt to smooth out the creases. "Goodnight, Matt." Spinning the cigar in his hand, Jun withdrew his lighter and relit it.

Matthew finally turned away, gently closing his bedroom door behind him. Lingering, he moved to his bed and face-planted into the sheets, his mind running through every possible thing he can do to distract himself.