09-19-2021, 08:22 PM
He almost misses what Obscene says because he is so intent on trying to remember where else he’s seen this shade of red staring down at him now from a pair of amused, shining eyes. He thinks maybe in the wildflowers mother won’t let him play in - the red ones that will make him too sleepy to see the fluertles, make him nap the whole day away like a little baby which he definitely is not. Or maybe in the shades of dawn he seldom sees. Pinks and oranges and reds that watch him while he lay curled against his mother’s soft gray chest.
It is good, perhaps, that he does not remember the moment his sister opened her eyes and found him in the starry dark with eyes just like those. Bright red and beautiful, like jeweled lanterns in the dark.
“Sleep is okay.” He says, as though this is a debate. But it is hard to disagree with his father when he has that raised brow expression that is so good at quieting any argument posed on Obsidio’s dark lips. “Maybe you should come sleep with us too.” He says, hearing that realization in his fathers thoughts just a moment before remembering this is still a secret he holds inside. “It would probably make it easier for me to sleep sometimes, I mean.” Quieter, careful, almost bashful in the way his dark eyes lift to peer up at his father.
But then he is all quiet joy and hopeless effort to be silent and stoic like his father always is, but it’s so hard not to wiggle his tiny brush tail when he’s happy. “I promise I will try to keep it a secret.” The boy says, and those midnight eyes are somehow oddly blank and alight with delight as he makes a promise they both know he will ultimately, and regretfully, break. “I’ll try really hard.” But he cannot help his little squeal of laughter, or this joy in his chest as his father tugs him against his chest and ruffles his mane.
He stays there a moment, that delicate face of midnight and gold stars pressed to the warmth of his fathers chest. “We can still hang out now though, right?” But even though his father is always busy, always doing things, he has never once told Obsidio no to this particular request. “We can do anything, I’m probably big enough to help with stuff by now.”
It is good, perhaps, that he does not remember the moment his sister opened her eyes and found him in the starry dark with eyes just like those. Bright red and beautiful, like jeweled lanterns in the dark.
“Sleep is okay.” He says, as though this is a debate. But it is hard to disagree with his father when he has that raised brow expression that is so good at quieting any argument posed on Obsidio’s dark lips. “Maybe you should come sleep with us too.” He says, hearing that realization in his fathers thoughts just a moment before remembering this is still a secret he holds inside. “It would probably make it easier for me to sleep sometimes, I mean.” Quieter, careful, almost bashful in the way his dark eyes lift to peer up at his father.
But then he is all quiet joy and hopeless effort to be silent and stoic like his father always is, but it’s so hard not to wiggle his tiny brush tail when he’s happy. “I promise I will try to keep it a secret.” The boy says, and those midnight eyes are somehow oddly blank and alight with delight as he makes a promise they both know he will ultimately, and regretfully, break. “I’ll try really hard.” But he cannot help his little squeal of laughter, or this joy in his chest as his father tugs him against his chest and ruffles his mane.
He stays there a moment, that delicate face of midnight and gold stars pressed to the warmth of his fathers chest. “We can still hang out now though, right?” But even though his father is always busy, always doing things, he has never once told Obsidio no to this particular request. “We can do anything, I’m probably big enough to help with stuff by now.”