#x-rybread-x

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These little things define us. [young!Will and young!Ryleigh RP]

Will was not a happy child. Though from time to time, he would feel content. He was content with routines, and of coming home to his dad not being home yet from work and having to start the stove, and setting his dad's favorite beer on the counter for when he did arrive. He was content with starting his homework immediately afterwards. 

But this time it was different. He turned on the stove quickly, set the beer on the counter and ran to the bedroom with his book bag, hoping to finish his homework before his dad arrived home. Maybe he could finish it so he could go outside beforehand, now that he actually had a reason other than to sit by the lake and that was normally with his dad anyway.

When he did heard the door slam of the one bedroom house, he rose from his desk and saw his father bring in a large cooler, presumably full of fish. Mr. Graham set it besides the stacked boxes that neither he or Will had touched when they moved in, and proceeded to the kitchen. 

"Hey, Willy," said Mr. Graham cheerfully. "How was your day?" Will just assumed he was happy to be home. Cheerful behavior meant nothing. 

Normally his father was stressed out about bills, always burying his head in a pile of papers scattered around the floor or the table if they had one. Will asked if he could help once. On sight, he had no idea what it all meant. Being happy now didn't mean he was going to be happy later. At least he was happy now.

"Fine," Will answered. "I'm going to go finish my homework and go outside."

"Outside? And what are you going to do out there?" 

Mr. Graham knew. Ever since he sat and spoke with Ms. Whitaker, Will's guidance counselor, he knew Will had a reason for everything. They advised him that he had autism. Will wasn't sure what that meant, but at first, he thought it was some kind of internal disease. He just assumed he was sick all the time. Whatever it was, Mr. Graham and Ms. Whitaker didn't get along very well and disagreed with each other often. Eventually, Mr. Graham accepted it and began to treat Will differently, explaining things much slower to him despite the fact he could remember the facts he taught him perfectly. Will saw them vividly and in lucid color day to day, along with what his teachers taught him, along with what he saw on the walk from school, and perhaps how many steps he took if he thought about it long enough. 

"I made a friend today," said Will finally. 

"A friend?" said Mr. Graham, almost as if he assumed his friend was imaginary. It was still popular for kids his age. "And what's his name?" 

There was a light knock on the door. Mr. Graham furrowed his eyebrows and set his beer on the table, and opened the door. 

Butterflies were released in Will's stomach.

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He heard the door open, then the ringing. It wasn't a pleasant ring, it was piercing, almost like when you're in a fight or flight response and you're torn with one you should choose, otherwise, it's just regret. It's not a common feeling, but Will felt it too often. Like now. 

Will watched the man walk effortlessly into the room, both eyes watching him. Will was now an animal locked inside a cage and John Reid was the circus master, finding his new act. There was no way to escape this, not this time, not like he normally did.

They were grown men now, but he knew this was going to be a child picking a fight. John had a way of doing that: finding a flaw and exaggerating it to the point of humiliation. Ryleigh had gotten the blunt of it as a child, and as for Will, it wasn't just the humiliation. It was the deep seeded hatred rooted so far inside him, that Will actually feared him as a child. 

He didn't fear him now. He wasn't the monster.

John planted his feet and gazed at him for a moment. Will dodged his eye contact. He could never keep it with him, maybe it was the bitterness he left coiled around Will's brain or the metaphor of shooting daggers was absolutely correct. 

Instead, he shot him a simple, "Hi." Funny a simple, nearly meaningless word could be laced with such repulsion.

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He didn't know what to think. Caleb was dead. He only met him a handful of times and deep in his cerebral cortex could he see him slain with a puddle of blood surrounding him. What a sight to behold. But there's a gray area, a dark silhouette of how this could've happened and no matter how hard he tried to place a face to it, with such little details, the memory of Caleb was lost. 

Will heard the buzzer. He lifted his head and saw Ryleigh, the air screaming an ill-concealed weakness: a grief that could not be mended with words. His scrutiny dropped back down, hearing her footsteps approaching him, then the soft rubber soles of the guards as they went up into their nest. The two exchanged a silence, where Will opened his mouth, but not a word could be spoken. He sighed instead. 

He would be ready to speak when she was.