As the rain pattered on the rooftop of their humble abode, Father Seraphim opened the front door to the house, letting himself inside the rattling building.  His gray and white umbrella folded as he entered, "Aleksy, I'm home!" He called out, his voice was a bit gravely but something hopeful resonated through the stark tone.  He placed his umbrella by the doorway.  It dripped longingly onto the white marbled doorway.  There were chips in the marble flooring from the previous owners.

He removed his black shoes by the doorway and placed them next to the umbrella.  Aleksandr's shoes were also by the doorway.  [i]We really should get a shoe rack.[/i]  He drew in a dry, deep breath, not hearing an accommodating response from Aleksandr, "I'm home!" He called out, again.  The house was small and even the opening of the door sounded throughout the household.  On a priest's income, he really didn't have much to spare, and now that Aleksandr was attending college, the funds were even tighter. He preferred it this way--less greed was involved.

Today had been particularly stressful for him.  A parish family had lost their head of the household this afternoon.  The man had a heart attack and was pushed into a coma.  His body had swollen three times his size, and the family as a whole decided to pull the plug.  It was fairly obvious he was brain dead, albeit, his heart was still beating. In such an instance, he hoped Aleksandr would not pull the plug, get blood on his hands...

He walked into the kitchen.  There was no food cooking.  He frowned; maybe Aleksandr was studying and forgot to start dinner. He wished to hope that his son was not purely being lazy, which often times was the case.  He knew Aleksandr was a troubled, young adult--but to neglect eating was just unhealthy.

Father Seraphim made his way into Aleksandr's bedroom.  He knocked on the door and without waiting for permission, he creaked the door open, "Aleksy--" his Russian accent was stronger than normal.

"Don't come in."

He paused and continued opening the door, "I am home."

"I didn't answer for a reason."

"Aleksy, if you had just acknowledged me the first time, I would not have--"  Father Seraphim dropped his shoulders disappointedly, "What do you want, Aleksandr?" His head tilted slightly, tiredly.  Aleksandr knew how to get under his skin.  He did it far too often. [@Arista]