James was a little worried about his son. He'd received a package in the mail, whereupon he immediately ran upstairs with it and to the bathroom. At his age, it was probably best not to ask any questions or interrupt under most circumstances. Boys will be boys, after all. But then he could hear him cussing out loud, even from downstairs. It sounded like whatever he'd bought, it wasn't going the way he wanted. It was probably another of those cheap doohickeys from that dumb online shopping app everyone seemed to be into these days. He didn't care for it, of course. A lot of the cheap tat on there was either faulty or fake. It's too good to be true, he always said, because there was always a reason for the price.
As James walked upstairs, he noticed that the bathroom door wasn't properly closed, there was a slither of a gap. Outside the bathroom, he could hear the shower running, his son groaning and cursing under his breath. He always tried to give his son some privacy, but he also had to make sure he wasn't in any trouble. So James rapped on the bathroom door. "You okay in there, Duncan?" he asked.
He heard him grunt in surprise, followed by the sound of scrambling hands and bottles. Eventually, Duncan yelled back, "everything's peachy! Don't come in!" Yet his voice sounded scratchy, gravelly even. As if he'd caught a cold. The shower turned off, and there was more of that whispered cussing that sounded unusually deep as it echoed around the bathroom walls.
"I wasn't going to!" James replied. "But if there's something you want to talk about, you know I'm here." Even if it was embarrassing, he couldn't leave him injured or in pain.
There was a few seconds pause before Duncan finally replied, "Fine... Just don't look until I tell you to." James pushed the door open slowly, his hand covering his eyes, and stepped inside. He could see Duncan's feet as he stood in the shower entrance. But they looked bigger, swollen even. They led up to a pair of hair-covered legs that he couldn't remember his son ever having. A towel hung loose against his knees, flapping as it unfurled and assumedly wrapped around his waist. Duncan let out a heavy sigh. "Okay," he grunted. "You can look, but don't be mad..."
James uncovered his eyes, and jolted back in surprise, slamming his back into the now shut door. Instead of the husky, young teen he was expecting to see, he was faced with a burly, hirsute, middle-aged man. There was a guilty look on his rounded face. Yet despite the salt and pepper beard, and the weathered skin, and the completely bald scalp, he could make out a strong familial resemblance. As if this man could have been his uncle. And yet, his gut told him otherwise.