Folie à Deux [Yandere Guardian x Abused Female Reader]

4. Homemade Hotdish.

Eamon lay on his bed with the blinds closed and the lights off. He had taken time off work, but it turned out to be a big mistake as now he didn't have the dull monotony to take his mind off the pain. After his divorce, he had submerged himself in work for a while just to cope, but that pain was nothing compared to what he was feeling now.

The guilt was weighing down, crushing him, he felt like he couldn't even move. His son's final weeks kept playing over and over in his mind. Everything had seemed normal, although he was busy with a new legal case so he had been a bit distracted. Maybe if I hadn't taken that case, I would have noticed something was wrong? And Sean would still - would still be-

Eamon drew in a shaky breath, even the mere act of breathing taking considerable concentration. Growing up he was always so open about everything, Eamon thought as he recalled his son in his younger years with a mix of sweetness and agony. What changed? Why didn't he tell me what was wrong?

I'm a failure as a father, The guilt was crushing him, it was all his fault. Sobs shook his body as he wept. He was worthless. I don't deserve to be alive.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open as he heard the faint sound of the doorbell ring. He was puzzled as to who it could be, his friend Julien was at work, and he couldn't think of anyone else who would visit him. For a moment he thought he was finally losing his grip on reality, but then he heard it again clear than before. Straining against the weight keeping him down he got out of bed and slouched to the front door.

. . .

Y/N took in a deep breath as she looked up at the large house at the end of the row of slightly smaller but equally charming houses. All the lawns were perfectly green and there was not a single piece of litter on the sidewalk. Sean's house was in the suburbs and Y/N had to take the bus to get there. The neighborhood was middle class with Sean's home on the fancier end, but it was the nicest place Y/N had ever been.

She stared up at the house that she remembered coming over to whenever she could to get away from her mom, Sean had always been happy to have her, as was Eamon on the rare occasion that she saw him. It was hard to think that Sean didn't live there anymore.

Alright Y/N, she thought, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the handles of the hotdish and looked up at the house which felt more intimidating than any video game dungeon or castle. walk up to the front door, you can do this.

Despite her firm instructions her legs still stayed fixed at the end of the driveway. I said, WALK UP TO THE FRONT DOOR! She screamed at herself internally, but remained frozen with anxiety.

She just continued to stand there awkwardly until she eventually realized that all of the neighbors could see her standing there for the last few minutes and her anxiety spiked. Stumbling forward, she rushed to the door and rang the bell twice.

Oh god, what was I thinking! Y/N panicked as she began second-guessing her whole plan as she heard heavy footsteps coming towards the door. This was a mistake, quick run away before- before she could run away the door was opened.

"Hello, how can I help you?" Sean's Father stood in the doorway, looking very rumpled and tired. He had dark circles under his dreary eyes and stubble was beginning to take hold on his jawline. He didn't seem angry with her, just tired.

"H-Hello Eamon-I mean Mr. O'Dargan," Y/N stammered, regretting her decision at once. She was terrible at talking to people, why did she think this was a good idea? "My-my mom made you a casserole and offers her sympathy," she lied about who made the hotdish, not wanting to give away the fact that her mother didn't even know she was friends with Sean.

"Oh, be sure to thank her for me," Eamon accepted the dish and did his best to smile, but it only made his appearance more pitiful. "... Do you want to come in, it's hard to enjoy a meal when you're eating alone?" He offered, opening the door a bit wider.

Y/N hesitated before she eventually responded, little did she know at the time that her answer would change the course of her entire life, as well as the lives of so many others. "S-Sure," she said as she stepped over the threshold. "Thank you Mr. O'Dargan."

"You can call me Eamon... If you want," he told her in a kind tone as they walked through the entranceway, past the large living room, and came to rest in the kitchen.

"Thanks, Eamon," Y/N replied, her nervousness ebbing away from being in a familiar environment.

Holding up the dish with what almost looked like an incredibly subdued expression of embarrassment Eamon said "I'll be honest, I don't know how to cook one of these." He held it out to her. "so, would you?" He asked in a slightly awkward tone.

"Of course," Y/N said as she took the casserole from him and stuck it in the oven, setting it for the proper temperature and time before she stepped away and turned to face Eamon. The pair stood there in silence until the hotdish was done, but it wasn't awkward. If anything it was quite pleasant to have another person around but to not feel pressure to have to talk or put on a happy front.

Once the casserole came out of the oven the two dished up some plates and ate in silence. The food was warm, and even if it wasn't the best it was comforting. After a bit Y/N noticed that her food was tasting saltier with every bite, it took several bites before she realized that she was crying.

She quickly tried to hide it from Eamon but he had already seen it. She flinched as he placed his large hand on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, bracing for him to tell her to suck it up and stop crying, or that it was perfectly fine that she was expressing her sadness, and she wasn't sure which option would make her feel worse.

But as several moments passed in silence she couldn't help but open her eyes again, curiosity overtaking her. The silence became clear at once as she saw mournful tears sliding down his countenance as well. They just cried for a while, not talking or trying to make each other feel better, just sharing their grief.

A/N

And to think everything that's going to go down in the future happened because Y/N made a casserole.

Until next time I'll see you on the other side

~J. C. Coltt.~