Chapter 38: Still Breathing

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It felt very strange to be walking next to him. To be that close. The last time we had walked together like that had been the night we left the hospital -the night when Professor Wells was apprehended. That had also been the night when Marco was hospitalized for his injuries. Looking back at it, it felt so long ago. Then again, time was making it feel like everything had happened so long ago.

Still, as I snuck settled peeks at him, I almost couldn't believe it. Jean was walking with me. He was right there. If I wanted to, I could reach out and touch him. I could, but I didn't. I was afraid to make it awkward or weird because that was just what kind of a person I was. So, I kept to myself.

"How is your dad doing these days?" he abruptly asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

I tore my gaze from the sidewalk and glimpsed up at him. He was already looking down at me, those soft eyes peering into me. His features were smooth and even, his breathing remaining natural as we walked. Everything about him was so beautiful to me. Then again, he always was.

I shrugged, "He's...staying positive."

"It's rough, then?" he pressed. "I get that. He's going through a lot right now. His body is going through complete hell. The fact he's staying positive is important."

"That's pretty much what the doctors said," I murmured. "But it scares me. Seeing him weak like this and not being able to help freaks me out. Half the time I don't know what to say or do."

"Just talk to him like you would any other time," he suggested. "Sick or not, he's still your dad and a man. That's probably how he still wants to be seen. He still wants to be seen as strong."

That was the best advice I had gotten. To just acknowledge my father as nothing but that. As Jean said, sick or not, YF/N was still my father. He was still the man I looked up to as a little girl. He was still the man I looked up to then, too. Despite his and YM/N divorce, our strained relationship, and the diagnosis, he was still the strongest man I knew. No matter what he went through, he was the only hero I needed.

I nodded, "You're right. I'll do that."

"That's good to hear," he smiled. "Now, how is your mom handling all this? I don't recall seeing her at the hospital the day I saw you two."

I bit down on my bottom lip. "Umm, as far as I'm aware, I don't think she knows."

That appeared to catch his attention. He knitted his brows in curiosity and kept his stare on me. I could feel the confusion weighing in the air. I forgot that he didn't know about my parents' divorce or how I grew up with my mother. He was utterly oblivious, but for the first time in my life, I felt no shame in sharing my past with someone. He wasn't like the kids I grew up with and we were adults.

"Your mom doesn't know?" he asked, lifting a brow. "How is that?"

I answered matter-of-factly, "My parents are divorced."

His eyes widened at that. "Oh. But he still didn't tell her?"

"Trust me, it's better that way," I assured him. "My mother is...an interesting character. She is a member of the Order of the Walls, so she'd only stress him more if she knew."

"I can see why he didn't say anything," he replied.

We walked in silence once again. The sound of cars driving by and the leaves rattling in the trees was all that we heard. I didn't mind it. In a weird kind of way, the silence still felt natural. I didn't feel like I needed to force a conversation out of him. If he had questions, I'd answer them.

"So, you grew up with your dad, then?" he questioned, keeping his eyes averted forward.

I shook my head. "No. I was raised by my mom. Well, kinda."

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