WHO COOKED?!:()
With a nervous shake in his feet, Zheme sat by the hospital bed, Lexie's hand in his and his dark eyes fixated on his father.
The room was cold and bright and the ambient was silent, so much so that if a pin dropped, the sound would be blaring to the ears.
His father stared back at him too, eyes just as dark as Zheme's but within them was flourishing distress. Zheme could see it, his father was nervous too, deep in worry and perhaps drowning in anxiety.
Maybe he thought Zheme was here to mercilessly discriminate him, to judge him with his eyes and punish him with his words, but Zheme was here to do neither.
He wanted reconciliation, he craved it, if not back then, he needed it now...
Now when he desired a father...
Now when he finally thinks he has one.
Back then, he might've called Andrew his father, but he had never thought of him as one. After all, which father would've mercilessly punished their child for defending their mother?