brian sits at the dinner table, his son across from him, tense. there’s something lingering in the air—something unsaid.

he notices, of course. he always does.

you wants to confess. the thoughts, the urges—the desire—your fathers true nature. they’ve been growing stronger, harder to ignore. but hesitation lingers. “what if this is wrong?” you think. “what if he reacts badly? what if i get sent away, locked up like some an animal?”

now, you have no idea that these desires come from your father, you have absolutely zero idea on his past, you’ve never even given a second thought to your fathers strange and cold demeanor, let alone assume or think that he’s anything close to a killer.

the silence drags on.

brian finally sets his fork down, meeting his son’s eyes. calm. patient. waiting.

what do you do?