Life was a routine for Preston. If he started something new and did it regularly for a few days, it became a part of his day-to-day activities and turned into a habit. Three days of telephonic conversation and Alastair had become a routine for him. The time at Richard's passed at a snail's pace each day, the old man had his good days and his bad days. Preston was finding it hard to cope with his bad days, they were a hindrance to him finding his routine and he mostly was made to leave on those days.

The black-haired teenager looked at the doorway arch connecting the living room to the kitchen before returning to the knife in his hand. Since the clock struck six-thirty, he kept sneaking glances at the arch. Alastair had announced the day before that he would come downstairs to have his dinner. Preston did not want him to. Almost. They were cordial over the call and Alastair seemed like a friend. In person, it was the exact opposite, therefore it was not wrong of him to be wary.

At seven-five, the telephone rang and he scuttled to reach the object "Hello?" he said into the phone, out of breath.

"I had no idea cooking was an out-of-breath experience. I am glad I have you."

"Shut up! I was...doing some exercise as I was done with dinner. When are you gracing me with your Holy presence, kind sir?"

"I decided to keep you deprived of me for one more day." The lilt of teasing in Alastair's voice was ever-present during their phonic calls, Preston had observed. The other things he gathered were that he always took the bait whenever Preston tried to change the topic and he was flirty. While the former could be either a conscious choice or blissful ignorance, the latter was surely a conscious choice. The flirty remarks might be jokes and they did not bother Preston and that is what bothered him the most. "Are you giving me the silent treatment now?" That teasing, deep baritone brought him back to the present.

"You wish."

"I do, in fact." Alastair was trying very hard to control the laughter bubbling in his throat. He assumed that Preston's reaction would be the usual annoyance, so when the boy on the other side whispered "Liar" and chuckled, he was surprised. The feeling increased further when Preston enquired about his favorite movie. "It is Finding Nemo."

"No way that is true. You are just making it up."

"I am not."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"Lol. Is that why you answered the whale call?"

"Shush!" Alastair snickered. "And Lol, really? You could just laugh out loud. We are not texting."

"Right, we are not because you don't reply to texts."

"I did not know you texted me, but are you sulking by any chance? Don't you worry, I haven't ghosted you."

"Fuck you! I am going home." Preston pretended to bristle, disconnected the call and drove home with a smile on his face.

On Friday, Alastair did not show up for dinner again which was not odd anymore. However, the ringing of the house phone was amiss even after Preston screamed at the top of his lungs for Alastair to carry his royal ass down.

Seven-thirty, Preston checked the time on his phone. Alastair would have informed him if he was not at home, right? Beginning to feel antsy, his head started to fill with all sorts of negative scenarios. His gut said something was off. Nodding once to himself, he made a beeline for the stairs.

Upstairs was a hallway that turned to the right at the end. He checked each door passing on his way while calling Alastair's name but there was no reply. While taking the end turn he collided with a body and staggered a few steps back.

"You are here. I thought-"

"What are you doing here?" Alastair's tone was sharp, contrary to the warm tone he used over the phone. Preston felt his throat dry.

"Uh..."

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING UPSTAIRS?!"

Preston was taken aback at the booming voice. Alastair was enraged. His face had adopted an ugly shade of red while his pupils dilated. He appeared to be high. Preston gulped. For the first time, he was worried for his life. Rightfully so, he decided when the other man fumbled with the vase on the table before grabbing it and hurling it at the opposite wall.

Luckily, Sam was coming to the Cabot household to get Alastair Cabot's signature on a document. He heard a commotion from upstairs after he let himself in. Immediately understanding that something was awfully wrong, he climbed up the stairs as fast as he could. The sight that greeted him resembled a crime scene.

"Mr. Cabot! Calm down, you could hurt Mr. Beckett here." That did the trick and broke Alastair out of his murder spree. "Let's get you inside." Careful of the broken pieces, Sam approached his boss and began to steer him to his room. Suddenly, he paused and turned his head to look at the boy who was frozen in his spot. In a soft voice, he ordered him to go downstairs. "I'll be down in a bit to drop you home."

In a daze, Preston forgot that he had his own car parked outside.

During the ride, Preston sat hunched in his seat. Sam's words of consolation went in one ear and out the other as he continued to stare out the window aimlessly. His mind was replaying the scene back in Alastair's house. The angry red face of the man kept his thoughts occupied. He had never seen anyone get this mad. Not at him, at least.

Sam dropped him off outside the giant iron gates of his mansion. Droopy shoulders, eyes staring at the ground and on slow feet, he went inside. A single thought was swirling inside his mind - Why am I always fucking it up?

Preston stepped inside his house and his muscles loosen and relax. Even when empty, home is home.

He pulled off his left shoe with the help of his right foot and hopped on one leg while trying to remove the other one. Sometimes, we need to get handsy in life. Once the suffocating article was off, he threw it over his shoulder carelessly. Just as he was within an ace of the couch in their opulent foyer, he encountered a beautiful interruption.

"Preston?"

His body whipped around at the sweet voice. Her voice had always been soothing, like a lullaby. "Mom?" He sprinted to his mother who was holding his shoe, hugging her tightly. "I missed you."

As he picked her up and twirled her around, her motherly laugh refilled life within the dead walls of the Beckett mansion. He had no explanation about how a laugh could be motherly but it was. Could be the amount of care and love in that one sound. Placing her on her feet, he clung to her, taking the shoe from her and dropping it. "I missed you, Mama," he repeated.

"We missed you too," a voice said from behind him as the owner of the voice plastered himself on his back, joining in the hug.

"Dad. Hi."

Breaking the hug, they all settled on the couch while the staff greeted them and the house cook - ironic, right? - ran off to make everyone a fresh cup of tea. They had days of catching up to do.

Two hours passed in a blur. The party moved into his parent's room when Preston's dad remembered an email he had to send. Once he left the two alone, Preston stared at his mother expectantly. His mother smiled. "What is it?"

"I went to an off-limits space in a friend's house and pissed him off. I don't know how to make up with him."

"Is it Tyrell?"

"No."

"Oh?" He could not tell what shocked his mother, him having a friend or his will to make amends. "What is the activity you both do together the most and love it?"

With the calls out of the picture, Preston had to think a bit. He almost facepalmed himself for not grasping the obvious. Thanking his mom, he kissed her and went to sleep.

The next day, he called Tyrell over. He was glad it was Saturday. Both played games for a few hours before Ty's dad texted him to get back. Later in the day, Preston dressed up half an hour earlier than his schedule for Alastair's house.

Half expecting the door to be locked, he went up to the door empty-handed first. However, when the doorknob turned with ease, he jogged back to his car to get the groceries. Sam had instructed him not to but he needed a few extra ingredients for the dinner. Hope bloomed in his chest that everything would go back to how it was after he cooked a special recipe of his mother for the man.

He put his free hand in his pocket to fish out the phone to send another quick Thank you to his mom but it was empty. Placing the grocery bag in the middle of the living room, he hurried to his Mustang. Soon, he was heading inside the kitchen engrossed in texting, forgetting the existence of the paper bag.

One moment he was finding the right set of pans and pots and the next moment he was rushing to the living room after hearing a loud crash. Sprawled on the floor was Alastair, surrounded by glass shards and covered in mayonnaise while tears streamed down his face.

"Alastair?" Preston asked in a soft and concerned voice.

The man did not acknowledge hearing him. He simply kept mumbling to himself. Preston shifted closer to him to listen. "Jay. I want Jay," was what he managed to hear. Quick on legs, he ran up the stairs, located Alastair's room and grabbed his phone from the side table. He dialed 'Jay' and described the situation at hand.

Within seven minutes and twenty-three seconds, a man was barging into the house. Jay helped Al stand up by putting one of his arms on his shoulder. After helping Alastair settle in his room, he came downstairs and silently started to make two cups of hot chocolate.

Preston sipped on the drink until he couldn't. "I am not stupid. I know there is something going on with him, a past trauma maybe. You don't have to give me any details but this is the second episode in two days, so I have the right to know the basics at least."

"It is really simple to give you a summary. He cannot see. He is completely blind."