I Miss You - McLennon AU

18.

7th September 2021

Mike had sat in the kitchen, processing the news in his head, as Paul had cooked their Da' some soup. He was heartbroken about the possible future, as Paul expected him to be. Paul himself was too.

Once the soup was made, Mike had followed Paul up the stairs, turning off to have a shower as the older boy delivered the soup. Paul knocked gently on the door, and a faint voice had soon responded.

"Yeah..." The boy pushed open the door a little, closing it immediately behind him. He was planning on a conversation that Mike didn't need to hear.

"Hey Da'." Paul greeted the man, placing the tray of food on his bedside cabinet. "Mind if I turn the light on?"

"Go ahead." He muttered, miserably.

Paul flicked his bedside lamp on, the room soon glowing in an orange colour. Jim, who was rolled over on his side and towards the empty space in the bed, groaned in slight pain.

"Sorry, sorry..." Paul spoke, grabbing the food once again and made his way over to the other end of the bed. He carefully climbed on, laying down with the tray on his lap. "You ready to turn over?"

"Mhm..." Jim nodded, and Paul helped him turn onto his back, while also being as careful as he could with the soup. "Thanks, son."

"Of course." Paul responded, picking up the tray.

"Ready?"

"Yes." The boy transferred the hot tray from his own lap to his father's, as gently as he could. The soup was steaming, and smelt amazing. "Thank you." The man spoke, gently.

"It's okay." Paul smiled back, patting the man's shoulder kindly. "I just want you to feel better."

With a slight smile, the man picked up his spoon, beginning to eat. That was the first smile that Paul had seen him give in a while. It brought comfort to the boy to see his father smile again. It reminded him of old times.

He decided to wait a few seconds before bringing his subject up. He wanted his father to be able to eat as much as he could without feeling down. Paul knew more than anyone that negative emotions could put you off of food.

So Paul sat there in a comfortable silence, staring at the plane white wall ahead as his father ate.

"Go on." The man suddenly spoke, being only halfway done. He caught Paul off guard.

"Huh?" Paul asked, confused, as he turned to face the man.

"I can hear you making those noises, the ones you usually do just before you pluck up the courage to ask or tell me somethin'." The man finally turned around and looked Paul in the eyes. "So go on. Just say what's on your mind, son."

Paul didn't wish to waste time, it was the perfect opportunity.

"Have you quit your job?" Paul asked, deadly serious.

The older man averted his eyes, a frown appearing on his face as he looked down to the half full bowl. He moved it to the side, looking down to his hands.

"Yes." He admitted, cautiously.

There was silence for a few seconds, the only noise heard in the whole room being the shower water hitting the floor from in the next room.

"Why didn't you say anythin', Da'?" Paul asked, sadly, his tone desperate.

"I-I just couldn't..." He frowned, shelling up.

"How long ago?"

"Three months ago..." The man told Paul, who was taking everything as well as he could. He felt sick, however, in the pit of his stomach... "Doctor Azari informed me that if I want to try and get better, I should quit. So, after thinkin' about it a lot, I- well, I did."

"Oh, Da'..." Paul sighed, a frown on his face.

"God, Paul. I'm so sorry. I know I should have told you, but I just felt so shameful. I just didn't want you to think any less of me than you already do." He rushed out, distressed. "I didn't want to be the father who didn't work-"

"God, Da', I don't think low of you. I never will. You're my Da', and I love you, and I'm so proud of you for being so fucking brave." He felt his eyes grow teary.

"I'm unstable." The man admitted, his voice hesitant and wobbly as he looked his son in the eyes.

Paul shook his head, biting his lip so not to cry.

"I quit, and even then I don't feel better." Jim explained, heartbroken, placing his head in his hands. "I just can't feel good anymore. There's this cloud in my head of sadness and loneliness that I just can't get rid of. I'm constantly anxious and on the edge. Therapy isn't helping, nothin' is. God, I'm going insane and I just don't know what to do, Paul. I don't think I'm ever going to get better."

"Don't say that Da', you will get better..." The tears were threatening to fall. "You're not a bad father, God, not at all. I can help you, Da'... We can help you, Me and Mike. I- I'm going to start workin', and we can get money back on track and- and we can get you back on track too."

"Paul-"

"Da' it will be fine, I promise!" Paul called out in desperation, practically whisper yelling. He had tears running down his cheeks, and he felt his heart breaking. He was a reck, properly sobbing now. "Da'..." He whimpered.

The older man immediately embraced Paul in a tight hug. It hurt him, moving fast like that, but he didn't care. Paul was properly sobbing now, crying into Jim's stomach. Jim felt like crying too, but didn't let himself. A few tears slipped down the man's cheeks, but he managed to contain himself.

Paul was heartbroken, so heartbroken. Everything was breaking once again.