[And then he pulls his arm from Sirius' grip, and pushes forward into the kitchen.
He doesn't know what he was expecting. Some monster, he supposes. A manticore with slavering jaws, leaping forward at him, snarling and murderous. Something horrific - some vision of carnage.
Instead:
Oh, good. I wasn't sure you'd make it home in time for dinner.
It's Dad. Dad, standing there in an apron over his slacks and button-down shirt. A bowl in front of him - meatloaf, the only food Dad knew how to make. Mom's recipe.
It's strange to see him now. It's strange to hear him. He realizes that his voice sounds a lot like Dad's. He hadn't remembered that. He looks a lot like him, too. He sees that same wide mouth in the mirror every morning, and the same heavy jaw, and the same broad shoulders. But Dad's smiling right now, and even though it's been thirteen years since Miles saw that smile - he doesn't have any photos of Dad smiling - he remembers it.
You're a summer intern, you know. You don't need to be working junior associate hours.
Dad mixes the meatloaf with his hands. He's wearing gloves. His smile fades a little bit as he looks at Miles' face; then it comes back.
I heard you talking to someone. Do you have a friend over? We can certainly set the table for three.]
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[And then he pulls his arm from Sirius' grip, and pushes forward into the kitchen.
He doesn't know what he was expecting. Some monster, he supposes. A manticore with slavering jaws, leaping forward at him, snarling and murderous. Something horrific - some vision of carnage.
Instead:
Oh, good. I wasn't sure you'd make it home in time for dinner.
It's Dad. Dad, standing there in an apron over his slacks and button-down shirt. A bowl in front of him - meatloaf, the only food Dad knew how to make. Mom's recipe.
It's strange to see him now. It's strange to hear him. He realizes that his voice sounds a lot like Dad's. He hadn't remembered that. He looks a lot like him, too. He sees that same wide mouth in the mirror every morning, and the same heavy jaw, and the same broad shoulders. But Dad's smiling right now, and even though it's been thirteen years since Miles saw that smile - he doesn't have any photos of Dad smiling - he remembers it.
You're a summer intern, you know. You don't need to be working junior associate hours.
Dad mixes the meatloaf with his hands. He's wearing gloves. His smile fades a little bit as he looks at Miles' face; then it comes back.
I heard you talking to someone. Do you have a friend over? We can certainly set the table for three.]