The house was as dimly lit as it always was, letting the shadows come to life to dance on the walls. Allen always preferred the lights like this. Bright lights gave him migraines, he'd always told his children. If Ian had the motivation, he would have laughed at the thought. Allen didn't have migraines, he had<span style="font-style: italic">hangovers.</span>Plenty of them, too. The only reason they kept the lights this dim was so he wouldn't be cranky when he drank, and crankier when he woke up feeling it the next day. Only, the next day was<span style="font-style: italic">every</span>day. Ian was fairly sure that there was something detrimental to a lawyer's ability to do his job when he drank that much, but whatever. Who was he to tell his own father how to do his job?<br/><br/>Ian's hair feathered out on the floor beneath him as he stared at the television upside-down. His legs crossed delicately at the ankles along the headrest, his hands clasped together as they felt and listened for a soft beating inside of his chest. Perhaps not the most ideal way to watch Game of Thrones, but he was fine with it. It helped him center himself while his dad buzzed about the room searching for his keys. They'd been on the coffee table for the past half hour, when Ian had been kind enough to retrieve them from Allen's room and set them there. Ian almost wanted to tell him, if nothing else but to get him to stop walking in front of the television. If the show writers were following the books properly, this was going to be the Red Wedding, and to be honest he could deal without his dad ruining it for him.<br/><br/>"Coffee table," he said, his voice slightly lowered from his awkward position. Allen paused and looked at him, then directed his attention to the aforementioned table. Ian watched as his father silently retrieved his keys, then held them up in a mock salute.<br/><br/>"Thanks," Allen said, fiddling with the key ring until he secured his car key. The two shared a look for a moment, Ian staring at his father upside down and Allen awkwardly reciprocating until the elder of the two made for the door. "There's cajun chicken in the fridge, make some rice with it or something for dinner. Make sure your sister eats."<br/><br/>Ian was slightly offended at that, and if he had cared more he would have made it abundantly clear to his father that he was<span style="font-style: italic">always</span>the one that made sure Abby ate. He practically raised her. In fact, he<span style="font-style: italic">did</span>raise her, so fuck all of that noise. Being the better man, Ian chose to ignore it and only hummed in response, waving absently as his father left. Peace and quiet at last, and not a moment too soon, Ian mused to himself as the recount of last week's episode started playing on the screen. At last, it was time to watch some wholesome genocide.