I saw a video of a dad making a "joke" about how being a boy dad is so much cooler and more fun than being a girl dad. Aka hating ur daughter. Like lmao she can play with trucks to or wtv? Or idk? Learn to love her??? So I wrote a bit.
n e way. Imagine Simon utterly safe, happy, and content and at peace. Yeah.
It was late afternoon. The telly hummed softly in the background, tuned to another old movie Bonnie had insisted on but now had no interest in.
Simon sat on the floor, back against the couch, half-dozing in a t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair was that comfortable, uncut kind of messy. Most importantly he was happy and pleased with the day’s fatigue dragging at his limbs. A good kind of tired, you know?
Bonnie sat cross-legged beside him, surrounded by an explosion of stickers, felt-tip pens, and a box of cartoon bandages. She hummed quietly to herself, focused in the way only children could be.
“Hold still, Papa,” she said, tapping his arm.
“I am holdin’ still,” Simon mumbled, cracking an eye open to glance at her.
“Not still enough,” she scolded, peeling another sticker. “This one’s goin’ on your pirate scar.”
He smiled, closing his eyes again. “Pirate scar, aye?”
“Aye,” she said, tongue sticking out as she placed a sparkly star right at the edge of the old cut along his forearm. “It’s where the pirate sword got you, ‘member?”
Simon chuckled. “Course. Silly of me to forget.”
Satisfied, she reached for a pen and started coloring gently between the dark lines of his tattoos, careful not to go over the edges.
The old skull, the roses, the bits of blank space she’d decided looked sad without color.
She narrated her work as she went. “This one’s purple, ‘cause that’s Bunny’s favorite. And this one's purple 'cause uncle Nik likes purple. And this one’s blue, ‘cause that’s mine. An’ this one’s red, ‘cause Da’ likes red.”
“Da’ likes red, does he?” Simon murmured.
She nodded firmly. “He said so. When he fixed my bike, he said red makes it faster. So red’s for Da’.”
Simon’s throat tightened and it took every once in him not to scoop her up right then and there. “Good choice then, love.”
After a while she switched to the bandages, tiny plasters with dinosaurs and kittens. She placed them like decorations, little badges of honor around his scars.
“This one’s protectin’ your tough spot,” she said, sticking a kitten plaster over an old burn mark.
Simon hummed, half-asleep now. “That so?”
“Uh-huh. It’s guardin’ you. But you don’t need it much, ‘cause you’re already the bravest.”
He didn’t answer, didn’t trust his voice, he just kept his head back against the couch, listening to her hum as she decorated his skin.
And of course that’s the sight Johnny walked into.
He froze in the doorway, bags in hand.
And God, the sight of them had him weak.
Simon, sprawled on the floor, dozing.
Bonnie, kneeling beside him, her curls haloing her head. His arms a patchwork of cartoon plasters and bright ink lines, her tongue poking out as she colored.
Johnny didn’t say a word at first. Just stood there, smiling so hard it hurt.
Then Bonnie spotted him. “Da’! Look! I made Papa coloeful!”
Simon groaned softly without opening his eyes. “She’s usin’ me as a colorin’ book again.”
Johnny laughed. “Aye, I see that.” He crouched beside them, brushing his fingers along Simon’s very colorful arm. “Looks good on you, Si. Think she’s got a talent.”
Bonnie beamed. “I’m gonna be an artist and a nurse and a Captain when I grow up. So I can save people and fix people and make them pretty.”
Simon cracked one eye open and gave her a sleepy grin. “Sounds perfect, love.”
Johnny leaned down, pressed a kiss to her hair, then one to Simon’s temple. “Missed you both,” he murmured.
“Welcome home,” Simon said.
Bonnie wriggled between them, proud and giggling. “You’re home and Papa’s art. Now it's your turn!"
Johnny laughed again, curling a hand around the back of Simon’s neck, and Simon leaned in. And for a long, perfect moment, that’s all there was in the world. Just Simon caught safe under colorful markers, Johnny's arm, and Bonnie's little giggles.
