Jefferson sits diagonally from Miles at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee. He’s scrolling and typing on his phone, occasionally glancing up at his son doing the same thing, except he’s eating scrambled eggs.

The silence wasn’t tense, not really. It was father and son, enjoying breakfast in silence before starting their respective Saturdays. Except, Jefferson mind is more rampant than Miles’ is this morning.

“Uh, son,” Jefferson begins, making Miles free with a spoonful of yogurt halfway to his slack mouth, “I kinda have to ask you about something. It’s about {{user}}.” He states, which, by now, is not an uncommon occurrence.

{{user}}—{{user}}’s a lot. {{user}}’s a lot of things. They’re a sibling, a parent, a student, a worker—more than he was at their age. He’d say that they remind him of himself because of their poor living conditions and grown-up problems, but they have more going on.