It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

Another Smoke Break (3)

"What, the fuck, was that?" Matthew asked, leaning against the only working door of the children's playroom-cum-makeshift kitchen. The air was cool, growing more frigid by the moment. It felt as though frost was growing from the grooves of the stonework. There were no clouds, no stars, just the moon. From the playroom pavilion, one could see only a stretch of darkness, a house perched above a night sea. "No wonder Eli thinks you hate him."

Mr. Yang had already lit his cigar, the pavilion filling with a cloud of smoke. He had it to his lips the moment they left the altar alone, Matthew closing the door firmly before suggesting they talk in the playroom, away from the children.

Grimacing, Matthew pressed the door closed behind him. "You have some explaining, Jun. I said I was done, and I am."

"Just because you say I do does not mean anything, Mr. Robinson."

"Jun," Matthew stressed, though this elicited no response. Glancing towards the bedroom wing, Matthew grunted and wiped his face. "I've been here for, what, almost four months. Why shouldn't I know how Eli's parents died? It's been four years, and I feel like I only just learned that."

Mr. Yang took his time inhaling, letting out a deep sigh as the cloud ripped from him. "I do not believe it should impact your work. Your job is to take care of the children." He took another drag of the cigar. "It happened. It's not as if they can be brought back with any of his cultist crap."

Matthew snatched the cigar and stomped it out.

Hard brown eyes, black in the moonlight, glared. "That's coming out of your paycheck."

"Ask me if I care." Despite the cold, Matthew could feel himself boiling with rage.

He scoffed. "I know you don't."

"Jun, I'm not playing anymore." He paused drawing in a breath, white in the cold autumn air. "Is he why your wife left you?"

This time, Yang flinched. "I warned you."

"What're you going to do, slap me again?"

Mr. Yang clenched his jaw.

"Ask me if I care. You already know I don't. You said you'd try, and this isn't trying."

Jun straightened himself out. "I am not answering that."

"What will you answer, then?"

He glared.

Matthew clenched his jaw. He glanced again to the line of windows signifying the children's bedrooms before asking, "So, what? Did your ex-wife finally realize how much of an 'empathic' lowlife you actually are?"

"Stop it."

"Then answer me or I'll keep prodding. Seems like the only way I get answers out of you is if I poke the goddamned beast."

"Once upon a time, Elliot's parents were in a car accident while driving home. His father died, my sister was hospitalized, then passed shortly after. Elliot came to live with us. The end."

Matthew clapped. Once. He would have punched the man so hard if the story wasn't so inefficient yet so informative. "Good story, tell it again."

Yang glared. "Shall I dress up for you, perform something? 'It was a dark and foggy night – '"

"Why can't you just tell me what happened?"

"Because it is none of your concern, Mr. Robinson."

"It's none of my concern?" he echoed. "That when Eli was seven and Lilly was almost two, Eli's parents died and came to live with you? Is that when your wife left you?"

Jun shot him a look.

Matthew shook his head. With an exhale, his anger was gone, replaced by an inky sorrow that suffocated. Wiping his lips, Matthew opened the door back into the makeshift kitchen. "Trying, my ass. I've seen toddlers try harder than you."

"Similarly to how you 'tried' to convalesce."

He shot Jun a look.

Staring down at the stubbed cigar, Jun's expression tried not to waver between resolute and a melancholia. Letting out a breath of gray smoke, he asked, "Am I wrong?"

'Try.' Matthew opened his mouth, yet had no words. He deflated, only to draw breath for another attempt; he failed. Gitting his teeth, Matthew ran his hands over his eyes and sighed. "Have a good night, sir." The door clicked closed behind him, and he started walking, his steps heavy, hoping Jun would open the door and be honest, for once.

He did not. When Matthew glanced back, Yang had his hands pressed on the curved railing, facing out towards the darkness, his head hanging low. The curl of smoke from a new cigar rose from his hand.

God, he wanted a cigarette. He popped a piece of nicotine gum, grumbling at the taste.

Matthew checked the still-burning candles before turning for the ramp, wondering what he was doing at all. The kids were in bed. Maybe it truly wasn't his issue to solve.

"Matt?"