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Michael isn’t stupid, he’s aware of the risks smoking. It’s impossible not to be, with how everytime he turns on the TV there’s an ad spreading awareness on the issue, and how the walls at school are plastered with posters against said act.
But, he also doesn’t really care. Michael wishes he could blame his addiction on something, but there’s nobody to blame but himself. He had the option to not do it, but the boxes of cigarettes his father had strewn all over his office were too tempting. And, well, he knew he wouldn’t notice if one was missing.
The lit up cigarette in his hand feels heavy, despite being all but a thin, rolled up piece of paper. Michael considers throwing it away, but eventually gathers the strength to put it up to his lips once again, inhaling the smoke. It’s putrid, and there’s nothing pleasant about it, but somehow, it relieves him. It makes him forget that in the morning, he’ll have to pretend to wake up and live through a repeat of today.
He exhales shakily, smoke billowing out into the night sky. He slowly takes another drag, closing his eyes and pretending he isn’t poisoning himself at the ripe age of 16. Ash falls from the cigarette held between his fingers, landing on his jeans and burning a hole through the denim. The pain doesn’t last for very long, but the moment the ash touches his skin, Michael jumps, forcing smoke into his lungs much too quickly.
Michael hacks painfully, banging on his chest to force the smoke out. His eyes begin to brim with tears, shoulders shaking with the force of his coughs as he folds into himself. He’s fully aware of the fact that he can’t breathe, and that every time he tries inhaling fresh air, he’s met with another cloud of smoke assaulting his senses.
He should be worried about his own life, but all he can think about is how pissed his father would be if he found him passed out on the porch with a cigarette in his hand.
Michael places his hand on his throat, which burns with the smoke painfully escaping and reentering his body. At one point, he begins coughing up blood, but his thoughts are too muddied to focus on his own body's reactions.
He lets out an involuntary whimper, desperately clutching and scratching at his neck, hoping for any sense of relief. He throws the cigarette away angrily, hacking once more.
Michael doesn’t notice the footsteps heading towards him until it’s too late, and there’s a hand laid comfortingly on his shoulder. He can’t hear anything over the sounds of his own coughing, or even see through the black dots clouding his vision. All he can focus on is the hand patting his back steadily, and the muffled voice telling him to calm down and just breathe.
He doesn’t know how long it took for his coughing fit to die down, but when it does, Michael just bows his head in utter defeat, still digging his nails into his sore throat.
“Are you okay?”
Michael jumps, spinning around to face the source of the question. Once his eyes land on Henry, he can do nothing but sit there in silence, leaving his question unanswered.
Henry, the ever so patient man, sits there calmly, a small smile painted on his soft, pudgy face. Michael feels a wave of guilt wash over him once he spots Henry’s cloudy glasses, knowing that they most likely got foggy because of the smoke of his cigarette.
“I…” Michael begins, voice raspy. Henry’s brows twinge in concern, hand raised slightly above Michael’s back, waiting for permission.
Michael nods, closing his eyes and leaning back into Henry’s touch. His hand feels soft on his clothed back, and he swears he could fall asleep to the rhythmic patting. The touch comforts him, helping him to ultimately answer Henry’s question.
“...I guess,” He replies, not daring to look up at Henry, afraid to find disappointment twisted in his features.
Henry seems to notice this, firmly patting Michael’s back and beginning to move his hand in circles. He stays quiet for a moment, which is enough time to make Michael reconsider his life decisions.
“Where did you get the cigarettes from?” Henry finally asks, his voice almost as low as a whisper.
Michael sighs, digging his face into his hands, shoulders tensing. “My Father…”
Henry gives a thoughtful hum, still rubbing his back. Michael gets the feeling that he doesn’t believe him.
“Is that the whole truth, Mike?” Henry doesn’t sound mad, he just sounds concerned. Michael doesn’t understand why he hasn’t barged into his house to tell on him to his Father yet.
Michael groans, fully expecting his skepticism. He thinks about lying, but with Henry, lying isn’t an option. Somehow, he can always tell when someone isn’t being completely truthful, and that’s one of the reasons why Michael both respects and fears him.
Henry, like before, doesn’t push for a quick answer, he just waits with his hand on Michael’s back. Michael finds that he isn’t as scared as he should be. He sighs once again in defeat.
“Of course it isn’t.” Michael sniffs, lifting his head to scratch his nose.
Henry smiles at his answer, satisfied. “Right. Then, can you tell me the truth?”
Michael knows that no matter how nice Henry is, he won’t be satisfied with him not being genuine. So, he relents, briefly glancing at Henry and looking back down at the floor.
“Sometimes my friends bring them to school. Sometimes, I yell at them to stop offering them to me because they’re gross, but other times I give in and just take them…” Michael admits, lowering his head in shame. He can feel Henry’s stare pinned on him. “This isn’t one of those times.”
Henry sits up, moving his hand from Michael’s back up to his shoulder. Michael tenses up.
“Did your dad leave them out in the open?” Henry sighs, trying to study Michael’s face, still hidden by his current sitting position. “I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve told that man to not leave things like that laying around…”
Michael laughs sarcastically. “Doesn’t mean that I should have taken them. Most fathers don’t expect their children to go snooping around trying to take what isn’t theirs.”
Henry just stares at him, shaking his head. “It seems like you’re desperately trying to pin the blame onto yourself. Most teenagers try deflecting it away.”
“Maybe because this really is my fault. Stop blaming your best friend, Henry.” Michael spits, glaring at Henry.
Henry blinks, but doesn’t seem surprised by his answer. “I’m not blaming William, I’m simply mentioning that his cigarettes shouldn't have been as easily accessible as they were.”
“Liar.” Michael accuses,
“Mike, at least try to spare yourself a little bit of guilt.” Henry pleads, gripping Michael’s shoulder.
Michael resists the urge to shrug off his hand, not wanting to hurt Henry’s feelings despite being agitated.
“Did you forget the part where my friends offered me cigarettes? And that I actually took them?” Michael asks, already fed up with Henry’s constant questions.
“It’s called peer pressure, you’re not guilty for falling into it.” Henry says, voice laced with pity.
Michael pushes himself up from the steps up his house without a word, Henry’s hand losing its hold on him from the sudden movement. He turns to head to the door, but stops when Henry lays a careful hand on his arm.
“Michael, wait. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have forced this conversation onto you. I’m just worried about you.” Henry worriedly pleads.
If it were anyone else, Michael is sure he would’ve ignored them and went on his way, but this is Henry, and Michael is completely weak to him. Henry didn’t even do anything to deserve his outlash in the first place.
Michael sighs, sitting back down on the steps. He’s grateful that it’s currently still dark out and his steadily reddening face is hidden from Henry’s prying eyes.
Although he can’t see it, Michael can feel the joy radiating from Henry. When he speaks, it’s like he can hear the smile in his voice,
“Thank you.” Henry says in appreciation.
Michael turns around, staring at him in confusion, “What?”
“For talking to me. I appreciate it,” Henry muses, “You’ve grown a lot.”
Michael twitches awkwardly, tapping his foot on the stained, wooden stairs up the porch. Henry notices this, and sends him a comforting smile. His hand doesn’t go back on Michael’s back or shoulder, but he still feels as secure as before.
“Thanks.” Michael replied dryly.
Henry ignores Michael’s disinterest, instead deciding to return to their earlier conversation, “I’m worried about these friends of yours.”
Michael pauses. Henry’s empathis on the word ‘friends’ makes Michael think that he really doesn’t see them as such. But honestly, Michael doesn’t exactly see them as good company, either.
“Why?” He inquires.
“Because friends aren’t supposed to pressure you into using nicotine. I think you’re aware of that.” Henry states firmly, still staring at him with that dumb, pitying look in his eyes.
Michael rolls his eyes, “What, do you think I’m getting bullied?”
Henry sighs at Michael’s dismissive tone, “No, I just think that you shouldn’t consider those people friends. They don’t care about you, if they did, they wouldn’t insist on you doing what they’re doing.”
“You act as if–!” Michael’s yell is swiftly cut off by Henry, who was anticipating his denial,
“--It isn’t your fault? Of course it isn’t, it’s common for young people to have unhealthy coping mechanisms, you shouldn’t feel guilty for not having anyone or anything to turn to.” Henry’s tone is firm, yet he makes it clear that he isn’t mad at Michael.
“ God , what do you know?! Maybe I just like smoking because it feels good, not because I’m depressed.” Michael retorts, glaring at Henry and crossing his arms in annoyance.
Henry exhales, “I know because I went through the same thing you’re going through right now, Mike. When I didn’t have anyone there for me, I turned to cigarettes.”
Michael sits in stunned silence, anger wavering.
Michael didn’t expect Henry of all people to be a smoker. Henry, who feels more like an uncle than anything else, who’s hugs feel as plush and comforting as a warm blanket, who’s held Michael while he’s had meltdowns, who every man in the neighborhood looks up to and every woman admires. That Henry was a smoker?
“But…” Michael’s words get stuck in his throat.
Henry smiles sadly at him, “Not all smokers are bad people. You’re not a bad person, Mike. An addiction doesn’t make you a villain.”
Michael looks down, feeling very ashamed for basically hating on Henry without even being aware of it.
Henry’s hand returns to his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I don’t smoke anymore, but when I did, it didn’t make my problems magically go away. It only helps for a moment, and when that moment is gone, you start to crave it once more.” He taps his fingers thoughtfully, pinching the fabric of Michael’s shirt. “You’re young. It’s easier to deal with the withdrawal if you stop now.”
Michael doesn’t reply, only melting into Henry’s warm touch. Henry doesn’t urge him for a reply.
They sit there in silence, staring at the dark sky and shaking from the cold, until, eventually, Michael finally finds the strength to speak.
“I can’t,” He whispers.
Henry doesn’t seem bothered by his response. His hand keeps massaging his shoulder softly.
“What drives you to smoke?” Henry asks instead, “I think it would be easier to stop if we get through that first.”
Michael bites the inside of his cheek, suddenly itching to pull out a cigarette from his pocket. He ponders on his answer, not sure if he wants Henry to be aware of how terrible his best friend and business partner actually is.
“...It’s nothing.” Michael lies,
Henry, not one to be deceived, immediately catches on to Michael’s bluffing.
“You can tell me, I wouldn’t do anything to betray your trust.” Henry lets him know of this fact with a light smile pulling at his round cheeks.
Michael, still biting his cheek, glances at Henry thoughtfully. After a few moments, he comes to the conclusion that staying quiet isn’t an option, because Henry will eventually get the truth out of him, whether he likes it or not.
Coming to terms with that fact, he begrudgingly replies,
“Do you promise?” Michael asks,
“Of course.” Henry affirms.
Michael sighs, nervously twiddling with his thumbs, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by Henry, who pats his shoulder in support. He doesn’t push him for an answer, which Michael really appreciates.
“I think that… sometimes, my Father gets too rough with his punishments. But, I deserve them, so how can I even accuse him of going too far?” Michael scratches behind his head nervously, nervousness evident in the way he stumbles over his words.
Henry’s eyes widened in shock, his grip on Michael’s shoulder wavering. “If you think that he’s going too far, then chances are he is. What does he do to you and your siblings when you misbehave?”
“He doesn’t do anything to Ev or Liz!” Michael rushes to rectify, arms flailing around wildly.
Henry offers a strained smile, calming Michael down with a firm squeeze. “I see… Then, does he only punish you?”
Michael breathes out in relief, leaving Henry’s question hanging in the air while he scrambles for an appropriate enough response.
“It’s more like… He punishes all of us, but I always step in before he can do anything to Evan or Liz. I don’t like it when he yells at them.” Michael confesses.
“What kinds of things does he say?” Henry gets that same pitying look in his eye, again , and it nearly drives Michael mad.
“He…” Michael gulps, not daring to look into Henry’s eyes. He looks around, checking if his Father is anywhere to be found, despite being aware of the fact that it’s very late into the night and he’s most likely asleep in his office like usual.
Henry senses Michael’s discomfort rather quickly, and follows his gaze towards the window to William's office, which Michael didn’t even notice he was staring at. The room isn’t dark, but it isn’t lit up, either. It seems like he has a lamp turned on, but Michael can’t detect any movement from behind the curtains.
“He’s not up. You can tell me.” Henry says.
Michael warily takes one last look at William’s office, exhaling shakily.
“He mostly tells me that I’m useless, other times he blames me for Ma leaving. Sometimes he insults me and tells me that I should be grateful he hasn’t let me waste away and die.” Michael finishes, playing with the string of his sweatpants.
Upon seeing the shocked look on Henry’s face, Michael decides that he’s already disclosed enough information.
Henry shakes his head and pushes his glasses up his nose, clearly disturbed. “I can’t believe that he would…”
Michael takes note of Henry’s shaking fist and quivering lip, his grip on his shoulder nearing the bruising point. Michael holds back a wince.
“It’s fine,” Michael awkwardly consoles.
Henry glares at Michael, but his eyes swiftly soften once he remembers exactly who he’s directing his glare at.
“It’s not fine, that’s borderline verbal abuse,” Henry explains, outraged, “Has your Father ever hurt you physically?”
Michael bites his lip, looking away. He resists the urge to quip back saying that William doesn’t abuse him, but opts for keeping that thought to himself, seeing as Henry is already plenty mad.
“Well, yes, but–”
“That– Michael, you do realize that that’s not okay, right?” Henry asks, but it feels more like a statement than an actual question. Michael can feel him staring daggers into the back of his head.
“I told you that It’s deserved. Do you think he would just hit me because of nothing?” Michael retorts,
Henry carefully turns him over so that they’re facing each other, and it’s then that Michael can see the pure concern dripping from Henry’s features.
“Do you think I call Charlie useless because she dropped a cup onto the floor? Or hit her because she spoke up during an argument?” Henry asks, but before Michael can reply, he continues, “Knowing your Father, he most likely said things like that to you, and hurt you because of small mistakes. That’s not okay.”
And Michael… can’t say anything to retaliate. Deep down, or maybe far up on the surface, he knows that Henry is right. If he tried defending his father and told Henry that he didn’t get violent because of the smallest of things, he would be lying.
“But…”
Henry places both of his hands on Michael’s shaking shoulders, brows furrowed in worry.
“Why would you go so far as to get in between William and your sibling’s arguments, or be scared to tell me anything, if he wasn’t doing something wrong? Have you ever thought about that by yourself?” Henry asks seriously, and at that very moment, Michael comes to the conclusion that… maybe his Father isn’t as good a man as he says he is.
That maybe he really is being abused, and that’s the reason why he turned to cigarettes as a way to deal with his problems. Or why he exclusively wears long sleeved shirts and long pants. Possibly even why he always locks his siblings inside his room whenever his Father is beating him for accidentally leaving the door to his office open.
It’s not like Michael ever saw him as a good man, but… for a long time, his whole life, really, he’s admired him. He’s always craved just the smallest bit of praise and acknowledgement from his father because his skill was all he’s ever known. It didn’t matter how much he had beat or yelled at him, as long as he had his attention.
‘Is that why you act this fucking stupid? Because you want my attention?’
His father had never truly cared for him. Michael can’t recall any memory of him being genuinely affectionate or loving. The only time he showed that he cared was when Michael started getting attached to Henry’s warm, kindhearted nature.
Michael sits in stunned silence for a while. Quite a long while, actually. So long, in fact, that he can barely feel Henry removing his hands from his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. Michael doesn’t pull away, no does he return it. He just… sits there.
Henry backs away from him, grabbing his arms and shaking him lightly to bring him back to reality. Michael’s eyes widen in surprise.
“What?” He asks, dazed.
Henry gives him a sympathetic once-over, but Michael doesn’t acknowledge it. He doesn’t pay attention to the fact that he’s shaking so hard that his lanky frame is almost falling apart, either. That’s probably why Henry is grabbing his arms so tightly.
“Breathe, it’s okay.” Henry instructs him, and Michael listens, bowing his head once he sees himself in the reflection of Henry’s thin, rectangular glasses.
Michael catches his breath, staring down at Henry’s pudgy hands that currently have a white-knucled grip on his arms.
“Are you going to tell Father?” Michael whispers, half expecting Henry to laugh in his face and tell him that he was actually planning on waking William up to tell him that Michael was smoking and lying on his name to his own best friend.
“Oh, definitely not!” Henry exclaims, pulling Michael into yet another plush hug, patting down his tangled curls. “I will be having a conversation with your Father on why his ways of discipline aren’t appropriate, though.”
Michael hurriedly pulls away, startling Henry.
“No!” He yells, panicked. “He’s going to find out that I’m the one who told on him, and he’s… I don’t want to think about what he would do.”
Henry gives him a sympathetic smile, “Then… I’ll try giving him hints. And I’ll try to keep you, Evan, and Eizabeth away from the house as much as possible, until he decides to be a better father.” Henry finishes, clearly not pleased with his decision, but knowing that he doesn’t have another option.
Michael sniffles, hitting himself on the head to keep himself from crying at Henry’s genuine care for him and his siblings.
“Aren’t you mad at me for basically exposing your best friend?” Michael asks,
Henry’s eyes widen, “I could never be mad at you for something like that. Yes, William’s my friend and business partner, but that doesn’t mean that I have to act blind towards his abuse.” He explains, and his eyes shimmer with a glint of sadness as he speaks, “Plus, I always had my suspicions about him being… less than pleasant.”
Michael eyes him warily, “And you didn’t say anything?”
“I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to risk him hurting any of you because I jumped to conclusions.” Henry says regretfully, frowning.
Michael feels guilt stir in his stomach. He reaches out and pats Henry’s shoulder, letting him know that he’s not mad. Henry looks appreciative at the touch.
Henry then takes a hold of Michael’s arms once again (he’s lost track of how many times by now), and stares deeply into his eyes. Michael can’t spot what emotion swims in his eyes, but it’s not anger. It’s almost like he’s desperate.
“Can you promise me something?” Henry begins,
Michael gulps, already having an inkling as to what Henry is going to say. He winces at the knowledge that he’s most likely not going to be able to commit to whatever Henry is asking of him.
“Promise you what?”
“That you’ll stop smoking. If not for me, then for your siblings and your health.” Henry requests, pressing his thumbs into Michael’s bony arms. “You’re only 16, you shouldn’t be abusing your body like this.”
Michael shifts uncomfortably, bouncing his leg. His finger once again twitches with the urge to reach into his pocket and pull a cigarette out, but he manages to stop himself. That’s a terrible idea.
“I don’t–” Michael sighs, leaning his head back and avoiding Henry’s puppy eyes. “Even if I promised you that I will, how would you know if I betrayed your trust?”
Henry laughs, “That’s what a promise is all about, Michael. You’re supposed to keep it because you want to. It’s to test yourself. I wouldn’t be mad if you broke it, I know how hard staying sober is, but all that matters is that you tried.”
Michael relents, straightening up and staring into Henry’s big, brown eyes behind his glasses. “That’s stupid.”
“I don’t hear a no,” Henry teases, rubbing up and down Michael’s clothed arms.
Michael nearly melts at the motion, but catches himself, face heating up in embarrassment. “You’re too naive…”
“I know, but I believe in you. You’re a brilliant kid, I know you can do it.” Henry praises,
Michael’s face heats up at Henry’s praise, but he doesn’t reply, so Henry keeps going.
“...If you continue to smoke, I won’t blame you. Just… as long as you’re aware of the consequences, that’s fine with me. I would really appreciate it if you quit, though.” Henry says, brows furrowed with unease.
“Hard to not be aware of the consequences with all the posters plastered on the walls at my school,” Michael snorts, shrugging his shoulders.
Henry hums, “Well… I hope you can stop soon. Don’t let your life be ruined because of one person. It's always going to get better, whether you’re aware of it or not.”
Michael looks down at his skinny arms engulfed in Henry’s large, plump hands. He instantly feels fondness engulf his heart, and finds himself imagining what his life would be like if he had Henry as a father instead of William. He probably wouldn’t be addicted to nicotine, or get the urge to hurt himself because of every little inconvenience in his life.
Michael really wishes Henry was more than his godfather.
He bites his lip contemplatively. He doesn’t know what came over him to make him do what he did, but he’s grateful that he did it. Henry’s surprised jump was completely worth it.
“Mike…” Henry whispers in endearment.
Michael looks away, embarrassed. He had twisted his hands around in order to hold Henry’s own large arms, as a form of gratitude, since he isn’t the best with words.
Henry reaches closer and pulls him into a tight, long hug, swaying him and rubbing circles on his back. Michael feels a tear run down his cheek, but if Henry noticed, he didn’t mention it.
They stay like that for some time, until the sun rises back up and they’re left shivering in the cold, the only source of warmth being Henry’s large, soft body. For a moment, Michael lets himself imagine a life where Henry is his father, and they’re laying together after hours of doing yard work, fixing up their faded white picket fence, and running after their annoyingly playful dog.
Michael feels himself start to doze off, but is woken up by Henry shaking his shoulder persistently.
“What?” Michael asks groggily.
Henry brushes his curls away from his face, cupping his cheek. “It’s best if you go to sleep in your own room instead of on the porch on top of me.”
Michael groans, rubbing at his eyes tiredly and getting up off the steps with a bit of help from Henry. “Shouldn’t you go to sleep, too? Why were you walking around the neighborhood so late at night?”
“I was heading towards the diner.” Henry sheepishly grins, “...The security guard couldn’t open the doors to start his shift. You’re more important than that, though.”
Michael stares in disbelief, “Me..? Shouldn’t you be worried about nobody being there to supervise?”
“Well, it’s not their fault, so I won’t be decreasing their paycheck.” Henry says nonchalantly, “Not sure about what your Father would do, though.”
“Take advantage of the fact that there wasn’t anyone watching over those smelly animatronics, obviously.” Michael rolls his eyes,
Henry laughs, “I wouldn’t put it past him. I’m sure they were well behaved this time, though, so I imagine that he won’t be too mad.”
“He’ll be mad regardless.” Michael says.
“Most likely.” Henry frowns, “I just hope that he doesn’t punish you for it.”
“He probably won’t even notice that I’m the reason you got distracted.” Michael comforts him. “The most he’ll do is take his anger out on me like always.”
Michael heads to the door, but is stopped by Henry’s hand holding his shoulder,
“I didn’t know about this,” Henry says.
Michael bites his lip, looking away, “It’s fine, he doesn’t go too far. It’s just me, anyways.”
Henry’s face turns somber. “It doesn’t matter, he shouldn’t be using you as an outlet.”
“...I’m tired, I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Michael tries steering the conversation away. Henry luckily complies and doesn’t ask anymore questions, despite being visibly concerned.
“We’ll continue this conversation later… I think I also need to take a break before I burst into your Father’s office and do the unspeakable.” Henry jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.
Michael offers him a small smile, then turns back towards the door. Henry stops him yet again before he can get the chance to leave.
“Wait, before you go,” Henry takes a lollipop out of his pocket, placing it in Michael’s hand, “Eat this if you ever feel like you’re craving a cigarette. They helped me a lot.”
Michael smiles softly, tightly holding onto the lollipop. “Thanks. I, uh…” He stutters, hesitantly reaching into his pocket and pulling out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes, “Here.”
Henry takes the box from Michael’s outstretched hand, stunned. “This is more than I asked of you… Thank you. I know you’ll be able to do it.”
“It’s whatever,” Michael mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.
Henry nods, giving Michael’s shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before he steps away to let Michael open the door. Inside, It’s dark and empty, just as he had expected it to be.
“Rest up, Mike. I love you.” Henry smiles.
Michael blushes in embarrassment and nods, closing the door in Henry’s face.
He later finds that staying sober is exactly as Henry had described it to be. It’s hard. But Henry’s bright smile and greeting every morning, and his siblings' happy faces remind him of why exactly he decided to stop smoking in the first place. Michael is rarely sentimental, but it’s hard not to be whenever he thinks of Henry.
Soon, Michael will be able to get his own job, and then get his own house where he can let Evan and Elizabeth run around freely without the fear of getting yelled at.
Soon, he will be able to proudly tell Henry that he managed to keep his promise, just like he had told him he would.