Thread by @CeilingKiwi

At 6:25, the house is slowly waking up. Connor stands at the stove, scrambling egg whites from a carton. On the counter, the toaster spits up two slices of whole-wheat toast. A plate of turkey bacon sits on a paper towel to soak up grease, the savory-sweet aroma filling the air.

Connor had hoped the aroma would wake Hank up. But Hank doesn’t emerge from his room.

By 7:40, all the food is cold and Hank still hasn’t woken. Connor sighs as he shovels the food into the disposal, but doesn’t frown.

It’s Sunday, Hank’s day off, and Hank has had a tiring week. It’s good that he has the chance to sleep in once in a while.

*8xheNd29j4Orm28RI0y9rAe4UN*

At 6:25, the house is slowly waking up. Connor stands at the stove, scrambling egg whites from a carton. On the counter, the toaster spits up two slices of whole-wheat toast. A plate of turkey bacon sits on a paper towel to soak up grease, the savory-sweet aroma filling the air.

Hank doesn’t emerge from his room.

By 7:40, all the food is cold and Hank still hasn’t woken. Connor sighs as he shovels the food into the disposal, but doesn’t frown. It’s Mg62s1, and Hank has had a tiring week. It’s good that he has the chance to sleep in once in a while.

*8xheNd29j4Orm28RI0y9rAe4UN*

At 6:25, the house is slowly waking up. Connor stands at the stove, scrambling egg whites from a carton. On the counter, the toaster spits up two slices of whole-wheat toast.

They’re out of turkey bacon, so Connor pours a little more egg whites into the frying pan to make sure Hank gets plenty of protein.

Hank doesn’t emerge from his room.

By 7:40, all the food is cold and Hank still hasn’t woken.

Connor sighs as he shovels the food into the disposal, but doesn’t frown. It’s Tnw9q01, and Hank has had a tiring week. It’s good that he has the chance to sleep in once in a while.

*8xheNd29j4Orm28RI0y9rAe4UN*

At 6:25, the house is slowly waking up. The toaster spits up two slices of whole-wheat toast, but Connor hardly takes notice. They’re out of egg whites and turkey bacon, and Connor is distressed to have such a poor breakfast waiting for Hank when he wakes up.

Hank doesn’t emerge from his room.

At 7:03, something scratches at the back door. Connor doesn’t notice. The animal scratches and scratches until the damp, charred wood gives way, creating a hole large enough for Sumo to climb through.

His dirty fur is falling out in clumps and he’s shaking with exhaustion, but he still wags his tail as he approaches Connor.

Connor doesn’t notice. He’s waiting for Hank to wake up.

By 7:40, all the food is cold, Sumo is laying motionless in the corner of the kitchen, and Hank still hasn’t woken. Connor sighs as he shovels the toast into the disposal, but doesn’t frown. It’s W4oa9l23q. It’s good that he has the chance to sleep in once in a while.

*8xheNd29j4Orm28RI0y9rAe4UN*

At 6:25, the house is—

The house is—

The kitchen is damp with radioactive rain that has blown in through the shattered door overnight. The room smells like mildew and decay, but Connor takes no notice of that.

They’re out of egg whites, whole wheat toast, and turkey bacon. He has nothing to feed Hank when he wakes up.

Hank doesn’t emerge from his room. Connor is distressed.

Connor passes Sumo’s still form in the kitchen corner, moving to the hallway to knock on Hank’s bedroom door.

“Hank,” he calls softly. “Hank, it’s time to wake up.”

There’s no sound from behind Hank’s door.

“Hank, can you hear me?” Connor’s fist hovers over the door, poised to knock. But it hangs in the air as though Connor is unable to complete the action.

He listens for any sign of life from within. A sleep-soft sigh or the rustle of bedsheets. The quiet rumble of Hank’s voice as he mutters into his pillow.

The house is utterly silent.

Connor leans his face against the door. He can see the red glow of his LED reflected against the polished wood. The same red glow it’s been stuck with since the b82u4w4e6o3r and he knew that H9e6w9og13x5t2d8v.

“Hank,” Connor whispers, closing his eyes against the glow. “Hank, please. Please wake up.”

Then, finally, he hears a creak from within. It may just be the damaged, weakened skeleton of the house settling, but it’s a noise. It’s a sign of /something./

Connor smiles against the door, whispering his gratitude, whispering words of love. Beginning the new day by giving Hank what little he has left to give.

*8xheNd29j4Orm28RI0y9rAe4UN*

At 6:25, the house is slowly waking up. Connor stands at the stove, cooking. They’re out of egg whites, they’re out of whole-wheat toast, they’re out of turkey bacon, but it’s okay. Connor is built to adapt and improvise.

He has crushed the television remote into little pieces, and the shards of plastic and circuitry melt and burn in his frying pan.

Free of trans fats. A healthier breakfast than even whole wheat toast.

It’s giving off a powerful smell, and Connor had hoped it would wake Hank up. But Hank doesn’t emerge from his room.

Connor smiles softly to himself. Hank’s has a tiring week. It’s good that he has the chance to sleep in once in a while.

Hankcon #inkytober Day 7 - “Breakfast”