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Edited by: Starry-Night-Wish
The rhythm and dry sound of the ball ricocheting on the wall and ground filled the large space, along with the squeaking of tennis shoes. Heavy, yet controlled breathing accompanied the quick movements, drops of sweat glimmering on fair skin.
Every time the yellow ball returned, Dean followed the movement skilfully, hitting it back. Regardless of prowess, it wasn't the game that occupied the player's mind.
Exams were over, his grades had been up to his standards, and he still had that weekend to relax. The new semester awaiting him on Monday was a considerable reason for tension, but not everything about it was a bad omen, as he would be able to see his friends.
Including Blake.
The racket hit the ball a bit too hard, causing it to bounce back with too much speed, ending his streak of success. Dean stood on the court, panting as his dazed eyes followed the lost ball's course up until it stopped.
Only a couple of days before, he had spent the evening at the dorms after his last exam. As he had expected, laughter and conversations had filled their time together, putting him in that relaxed state he could only be around Blake. Until they had decided to watch that movie.
Dean had seen countless movies throughout the years. As someone that hadn't lead the most common life, such media was a good portal to the rest of the world, so it wasn't as if it was something new to him.
That particular movie, however, had drawn him in like no other ever had. There was no dramatic storyline, no plot twist, just the realistic life story of a young boy. The young boy he could have been.
Out of the whole hour and a half, the lake scene had the biggest effect on him.
The protagonist sat by the water with the girl he had been crushing on for the whole movie, their fingers grazing in a slow progress that graduated to them intertwining. One could see the exact moment when the boy realized what was about to happen, and the giddiness took over.
Dean's heart swelled as the two kids awkwardly and adorably got closer and closer until their lips touched.
It had been awkward, and brief, and anticlimactic, but it looked real enough to have him thinking about all the experiences he had never had. A childhood crush, a first date... a first kiss.
When he had asked Blake about it, it sprouted a foreign concept in Dean's mind. Blake had kissed someone he didn't know, just because it was part of a game, and he had felt like it. For some reason, erasing some of the implicit significance made him even more curious.
In a momentary surge of courage, the idea of trying it sped through his mind, but he never intended on putting that idea forward. Blake wasn't like him, however. Blake had little to no reservations, and it hadn't taken long for his friend to read his mind like a piece of paper and propose that they kiss.
At first, Dean's whole being recoiled, and the sirens in his mind went off, begging him to escape. But he didn't. He didn't because that was Blake, because curiosity crept up on him, because it made sense.
Blake was his best friend, the person he trusted the most, and the only person he could touch. If he didn't do it then, who knew if such an opportunity and surge of courage would align ever again. Miss Pam had said it herself that sometimes being impulsive could be a good thing.
Of course, he was terrified, and it had probably been rather noticeable, but that didn't mean he was unsafe. He knew that if he wanted to back out of it at any moment, Blake wouldn't object, and that his friend wouldn't go too far either.
So, they kissed.
It happened as it did most times when he stepped into uncharted territory; part of his consciousness shut down, as if he was merely watching from afar. Still, even days after, he could feel Blake's warm breath on his face, the softness of his dark lips, and the weight of them on his.
He also recalled the aftermath.
Blake had pulled away and, for a few seconds, the two stared at each other while Dean's mind short-circuited. The adrenaline and confusion-laced fear left him laying in silence as Blake disappeared from his line of vision.
He was still trying to process what had just happened when a sound startled him back to reality. Beside him, though Blake did his best to hide it, even Dean could tell he was cracking himself up.
The obnoxious voice in his head offered the option that Blake was laughing at him, but Dean quickly shot the idea down. Looking at his friend's stifled smile, he found the situation hilariously awkward as well.
After they were able to control themselves, both agreed it would be for the best if they went to sleep. He stayed in the same bed while Blake took Finn's, so Dean could have a chance at falling asleep. Obviously, going to bed meant another hour of senseless conversations, laughter, and even an impromptu pillow-throwing competition.
They had kept in contact, as usual, but neither would bring up the kiss. Dean was more than pleased with the silent agreement, as every time the memory insisted on flashing through his thoughts, his face would turn a not-so-flattering scarlet shade.
Just like at that moment, when he heard his name echo through the court.
Looking at the entrance, Dean gave the best smile he could manage between heavy breaths. His mother reciprocated, grabbing the water bottle placed by the door to bring it to him.
He thanked her, exchanging the tennis-racket for the water bottle after wiping his damp hands on his shorts.
- You have been down here for hours, are you not tired?
- I won't have much time to exercise once classes start. - He took a big gulp of the water, cleaning his upper lip area with the collar of his shirt. - I was about to finish up.
She looked at him for a few seconds as he emptied a large portion of the bottle.
- Your grandfather requested to talk to you today.
The flow of water immediately stopped. Slowly, he lowered the bottle, not looking at his mother as he closed it back up.
- Is there a problem with my grades?
- I'm sure that's not it; you did amazing.
- Than why does he want to talk to me? Usually being informed of my grades is enough.
- You are his grandchild, sweetie. It's normal for him to want to see you.
His heart skipped a beat at the words, reflecting in the widening of his eyes.
- See me?
Her lips pressed for a moment.
- He requested to video call with you.
Some of the pressure left his chest, but the overall sick feeling remained. He dreaded the prospect of talking to the head of his family through the phone, let alone a video call, yet both were still preferable to a personal visit.
His mother appeared to notice the reluctance. Her eyes softened, and she stepped towards him, keeping her hands close to her own body.
- Sweetheart, do you want me to call back and try to dissuade him?
- No, no. - he forced out, keeping his head down as he retrieved the racket. - There's no need.
- Are you sure?
He nodded with a confidence he didn't feel.
Oh, how he wanted to accept her proposal and avoid the situation, but he knew Sunan Metharom wasn't one to accept a "no" as an answer, and that it would be fruitless to put his mother through the trouble. Besides, if she tried and was unsuccessful, he could end up berated for attempting to escape.
- At what time is the call scheduled?
- In half an hour.
- Right. - He walked past his mother towards the door. - I will wash up.
The heir took to his bedroom, where he took a short shower and changed into a more suitable outfit, being careful to check his presentation in the mirror. As he busied himself arranging his still slightly damp hair, he looked at his reflection to check the credibility of his attempt at a not-scared expression.
Once he was ready, he grabbed the keychain off the bedside table, stuffing it in his pants' pocket, finally leaving the room with ten minutes to spare.
Every step down the stairs aggravated the invisible cord around his neck, and once he sat on the sofa in front of the TV, the cord was so tight he could barely breathe. His mother sat next to him as Mr Abe prepared the camera and program for the call.
- Are you feeling well, sweetie? You look a bit pale.
Dean smiled to the best of his abilities.
- I am pale.
The weak joke did appear to ease some of the concern, but she persevered.
- I know your grandfather can be intimidating, but you don't need to get nervous when talking to him. He might not be the best at showing it, but his intentions are good.
- I know.
Once again she ran her eyes over his face.
It was clear that the heir was uncertain, regardless of his answer, but she didn't insist on the matter. Instead, the woman smiled more openly, changing the subject.
- What do you say, after this, we both bake some Hazelnut-and-Chocolate Meringue cake? We haven't made it in forever.
The reference to his father's favourite dessert formed a sour taste in his mouth.
- I don't really feel like baking that. - he responded instantly, but found himself regretting it as soon as the smile on his mother's face began to dwindle. He cursed himself internally, yet didn't waste time, lifting the corner of his lips. - But we could do cheesecake. You like cheesecake.
A wave of relief swept through him as her smile returned.
- I do like cheesecake.
- Madame. - Mr Abe called, gesturing to the sign on the screen that indicated an incoming call.
Dean felt his blood freeze in his veins, and he immediately got up while his mother remained seated and gave the go ahead for Mr Abe to accept the call.
After a glimpse at the loading screen, the image turned to that of a grand office, the laptop transmitting it as placed on a desk where a tan-skinned man sat, piercing the camera with his dark eyes framed with wrinkles that drew a picture of time.
The eyes of the CEO of the Metharom Corporations skimmed the faces in the room for a moment. When his gaze met that of his grandson, the boy immediately responded with a small head bow of reverence, in turn receiving a signalling movement, encouraging him to sit.
He followed the indication as the older man officially ended the tension-filled silence, shifting his attention to Dean's mother.
- Good afternoon Elizabeth. - he said. - I hope everything is going well.
- Everything is going well, thank you. - she smiled. - How are things over there?
- Busy, I must say.
Dean listened to the conversation with his hand already busy fidgeting with the keychain, but when his grandfather turned his attention to him, the fiddling turned into a grip. Inexpressive dark eyes scanned him, fuelling the nervousness.
- You look restless. Is there a problem?
- I just finished training, sir; I'm just tired.
A pair of greying eyebrows drew higher.
- Training?
- Tennis, sir.
- I was under the impression you didn't play anymore.
Dean paused for a second.
- I started again a few months ago.
- Hm, I see. - The man shifted his attention to a stack of papers in front of him, rummaging through them. - Keep taking care of your health.
- Yes, sir.
- Then, let's skip to your grades, shall we? - Without looking at the camera, Mr Metharom picked up a particular paper, quickly browsing through the information. - You were able to keep the high marks even with the change in schooling, I see.
Usually Dean would have taken that as a compliment, but the monotonous tone left him unsure.
The man on the screen looked up from the paper, and suddenly, the atmosphere around him constricted once again.
- How are you dealing with it?
- I... I think I'm doing well.
- I was informed in the beginning of the year someone was hired to guide you through university. I was personally not a fan of the idea, but your mother was insistent on it.
Dean recoiled internally at the mention. He didn't like the idea of his grandfather seeing Blake as another faceless employee. Not that the CEO had a habit of mistreating his employees, but workers could be perceived as replaceable, and his best friend was everything but that.
- Regardless, how are you dealing with university?
His toes curled inside his shoes.
- Better than expected, I think.
- You think or you know?
- I know it, sir.
- And the treatment with the therapist - is it making progress?
- I... Miss Pam helps me very much, sir.
Mr. Metharom leaned forward, intertwining his fingers in front of him.
- Have you touched anyone yet?
An uncomfortable warmth spread through his body, and he could only wish that others couldn't tell. He glanced sideways to his mother before his eyes darted back to the screen.
- No.
The man's face tightened, just like the feeling in the younger's chest.
- Have you had any more of those sleepwalking episodes?
Dean paused, and his hand discreetly squeezed the trinket in his pocket.
- Yes.
- Did you escape your room?
Another pause.
- Yes, sir.
His eyebrows wrinkled as he now stared at Dean's mother.
- Are all the doors and windows locked?
- Every night, multiple locks each. - she replied calmly. - He always seems to find a way to overcome them, even codes.
- Perhaps we should reconsider alarms.
Dean wasn't surprised when his mother's expression stiffened, but it didn't make him feel any less guilty.
- We have tried and we have seen that it's not a good option.
The boy's eyes fell to his lap.
- Elizabeth, it has been years; he was a child.
- He's much stronger now; he could hurt himself even more if the alarm startles him awake again. I won't have him drugged or restrained in a hospital if I can avoid it.
The conversation was interrupted by a ringing sound. Mr. Metharom sent them an excusing gesture, answering the call without leaving the camera's focus. Said conversation was so short and to the point that Dean couldn't even use the opportunity to try to relax his stiffened neck before the man ended the call, returning his attention to the computer.
- I have a situation that needs to be taken care of, so the alarm discussion will have to be put off for later. - he stated to his daughter-in-law, but his eyes quickly went back to Dean. - Before I go, I need to talk about the main reason for my call.
Suddenly, Dean's heart palpitations doubled in pace. The grades were supposed to be the reason for the call.
- I was recently introduced to a group of mental-health professionals that specialize in rare and extreme cases such as yours.
Dean's hand squeezed around the keychain.
- All of them are very much commended and have been awarded as distinct figures in the field multiple times. I'm considering bringing you to the States to be treated by them.
The boy's stomach rolled, and he had to refrain from letting the shock show in his expression.
He didn't want to go to America. He didn't want to leave his family and his friends and go to a new place with new people. He didn't want any of that.
- It would be beneficial for the business as well. - he continued, either unaware or uninterested in his grandson's state. - If you are to end up taking my son's place as the heir to the Metharom Corporations, you will need to be trained not only in the professional field, but also in the public matters.
The word "public" added to the stack of weights that seemed to be falling on his shoulders, making breathing strenuous.
- I wouldn't be the only one participating in your education, of course. Your cousin has been training for the possibility of taking over, so he would be accompanying you as well.
He didn't want any of that to happen. He didn't want to have a cousin he barely knew judging him at all times, or some therapists trying to get information out of him.
- Wouldn't that change be a bit too brash? - his mother chimed in, and Dean just wanted to hide behind her at that moment. - Such drastic changes could be hard on him.
- If there is no progression, we need to do something about it, Elizabeth. I'm giving him the opportunity to be treated by the best in the field; he can't keep letting his fear drive him from getting better.
The old man's eyes locked on his, and the strain in his hand bordered on painful.
- I won't interfere further for now, but at the end of this school year I will make my final decision. Are we understood?
- Yes, sir.
The rest of the conversation went by in a daze. Dean didn't know what was said or how he was able to keep up with it, but somehow it happened and the broadcast ended, leaving the living room in a tense silence, as if those in the room were waiting for a ticking time bomb to go off. The pointer reached the top, but there was no big explosion or noise - instead Dean's head fell into his hands. His thoughts scrambled in his mind as he ran his hands from his face to his head, standing in an abrupt movement.
- Excuse me.
He began turning, stopping for only a moment when his mother stood as well, clearly intent on comforting her son. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes pressed closed, as if that could transport him out of there.
- Mother, please. - he cut her off, before any words of consolation or courage could come his way. He couldn't handle it, he couldn't hear a "You don't have to do it" because that wasn't true, not for him.
Letting go of his head, he turned to the exit. It was rude to turn one's back while talking, but he wouldn't risk giving them confirmation of the faint layer of stress-induced tears in his eyes.
- My head hurts. - was the best half-truth he could come up with. - Do you mind if we bake together another day?
His own words added to the collection of guilt he had been harbouring through the years. He knew very well his mother had much work on her hands, yet still made an effort to spend some quality time with him, but there he was pushing her away like he always did.
- Of course, sweetie.
The sadness hidden in her tone propelled him out of the room, towards his own. The door closed behind him, and he leaned on it for a moment, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.
Languidly, his hand reached inside his pocket, taking out the bunny.
Images of Blake's family passed by, followed by memories of his mother's sad smile and his father laying down, palms up, eyes half closed with a weak smile.
His throat was layered thick, but no tears came out. He didn't deserve the right to cry.
Your first encounter with Dean's grandfather.
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