The Hidden Number (008) | F. Hargreeves

The Near Future Is (Not) Thriving

Hey y'all! Sorry for the long wait for updates I've been preoccupied with other activities and online school is a pain because I have to now convince myself to do the work and caring about having a future I'd so much harder now..... Thanks Corona.

Anywho, enough about that. He's the next chap!

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𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝑩𝒐𝒚 𝑹𝒖𝒏

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Max had been in his room, painting when it happened.

Which wasn't anything, unusual really; he never ate with the family for the same confidentiality purposes for why he did little to nothing else with the family at all.

Max didn't mind though—he was always indifferent to his rather independent life and besides—he had Five, didn't he?

Speaking of the boy, that was who the painting was for. It was a large, detailed portrait of him. It was to be a surprise, really—one that had nearly taken the boy about a month. But in a few minutes, Max would finally deem the portrait done. He was especially excited for it because he knew Five wasn't expecting it—he'd kept it hidden well—and it was the only painting that he'd ever gifted anyone in his life. Sure, he'd given his family some small ones here and there, but they were never a surprise—only ever requests.

But this; this was something special.

Max made the last detail on Five's gorgeous green eyes, a wide grin split across his face. He couldn't wait to show him.

SLAM!

Max frowned. That was.... the front door.

He rose his eyebrows. Someone dared to leave the mansion? Someone dared to get up during mealtime???

He wondered who it could be. Probably Diego—maybe the boy had finally reached his tipping point with dad or Luther. He couldn't fathom any of his other siblings going. The only other ones who would have a reason to leave was Max and Vanya, but the latter was much too timid and proper to act out; and Max had Five—why would he leave?

"Get back here at once!" His trained ears picked up his father's disgruntled tone. Max idly kept painting as he listened in. "Number Five!"

Max dropped his paintbrush.

That..... that wasn't Diego's number....

Max knew he shouldn't—he knew he wasn't supposed to—but that didn't stop him from running towards the dining room anyways.

"What's going on?" He asked frantically, his siblings looking at him with surprise. Max's eyes darted the room and he frowned. "Where's Five???"

"Number Eight, go back to your room," Reginald said gruffly, lofting his newspaper as if nothing ever happened. He was muttering something about "brats" and "learning the hard way."

Max glowered and the paper in his father's hand soon turned into dust. Reginald started with shock as the kids gasped while mom just looked upset—well, as upset as she could convey.