A Father's Love

The Call

Winter settled heavily over the city in what felt like a matter of days. Autumn had been swept aside by a blizzard, and there was yet to be a morning that the sun didn't rise over a fresh layer of snow since it ended.

Benedict hated everything about it.

Despite his insistence that there was a draft, the security shutters stayed open. He had begun to understand that Hugh had a certain stubbornness about him when it came to keeping the house in order. And while Father could not deny that he had a measure of expertise on the subject, he was not used to bending so easily to someone else's will. He had spent so long being in charge of everything and everyone around him that it felt alien to let someone else handle anything.

But it was getting easier with each passing day. There was no use in denying Hugh's place in his home and in his routine. More than the thoughtfully prepared meals or the intimate hours they shared, Ben was looking forward to just seeing him. Catching glimpses of Hugh going about his day had become the highlights of his own. The smile that would blossom across Hugh's features as their eyes met was the warmest thing in the entirety of Delightful Mansion.

Maybe that was why Ben craved it so much. Ordinarily, heat wasn't something he had to search for. But recently, something was off. He'd never had a problem with his powers that he could recall. It had been more than two years since he acquired them; so to have them suddenly fail him was odd, to say the least.

He had grown so used to feeling their influence at all times. Without them, he had gone so far as to rummage through his wardrobe for anything that would keep him a little more comfortable. Wearing a coat in the house was far too conspicuous, and he realized very suddenly that all of his suits' coats were thin.

With a frustrated groan, he took a step back from his closet in the hopes that something else would catch his eye. Surely enough, the corner of a box could be seen on the shelf, pushed back far but not quite far enough. Immediately, something in him ached, but he knew that the solution he was looking for was hiding there.

For the first time in years, he pulled the box down and sat with it on his bed. He spent another few minutes shivering before he finally lifted the lid to reach inside. Buried beneath the framed photos, the paperwork and the clipped news articles, he found it: the tackiest robe he'd ever seen. He carefully slid it from under the rest of the contents and held it up to take it in, in its full effect.

The fur that lined the hems were bubblegum pink, and the robe itself was made of a thick velvet that was a shade of yellow more suited to Spring. It had been a personal mission of the creator to find the most luxurious feeling fabric in the loudest colors possible. Ben held it between his hands and thought that it would have been enough to spark that dark and familiar feeling. But the embers were still burning low. He had no choice but to put it on with the tragically matching slippers.

With the work day already behind him, he retired to the den instead, sinking into his chair by the already lit fire. He couldn't help but to imagine just how pathetic he looked: bundled in his ridiculous clothes, showing his ridiculous face, grappling with ridiculous memories. If he could just get a handle on himself, none of this would even be on his mind.

He was grumbling to himself about it, cramming more tobacco into his pipe, when the phone on the end table gave a rare and startling ring. After fumbling a bit, he set the pipe aside and snatched the handset off the receiver.

"What?" He had no time for pleasantries; there were only a select few people who had that number, and only one person would ever think to call it.

"Ah! You actually answered." Even through the phone, Ben could hear the smile from the other line.

"I wasn't expecting it to ring." Ben shoved his glasses out of the way to scrub his hand across his face. Hugh must have plugged the cord back in.