Happy Friday! Could I suggest "You'll understand when you're older" for baby!Storm, who deserves a break and maybe a hug?
@dadrunkwriting
He definitely deserves a hug... all the hugs...
“You’ll understand when you’re older.”
He was so tired of hearing that.
It always came in those tight-lipped grown-up voices, too calm to be true. The voices that came after the shouting behind closed doors, afterhis parents thought he’d gone to sleep.
“You’ll understand when you’re older.”
Like one day, someone would just hand him a little box full of answers. Why they had never stayed anywhere more than a few weeks before the cottage.
Why his father’s hands trembled after unexpected visitors banged on the door. Why his mother kept a crossbow under the kitchen table.
Like knowing why would somehow help.
He sat on the rough wooden step outside the cottage door, picking at the frayed hem of his shirt. His eyes kept flicking to the corner of the garden.
That black patch of burned ground.
He’d done that.
He squinted at his hands.
Dad could make fire. And lightning. Was he the same? But then... why had Dad looked so scared?
He sniffed hard, eyes hot.
Inside, the voices were low and tense. His name came up a few times. Each time followed by silence.
He hunched his shoulders, pressing his fists into his lap.
He shouldn’t cry. He was too old for that. Crying was for babies.
Rowan and Holly would laugh if they saw. Or—no. They wouldn’t. They’d cry too.
He swallowed.
The voices stopped completely. The house went quiet.
Then the door creaked.
He stiffened, rubbing his eyes fast before they could see.
It was Dad who came out. Not Mum. He’d hoped it might be Mum. She never looked scared.
Storm kept his gaze on the dirt. The burned patch. Anything but Dad’s face.
Finally, Dad cleared his throat. “Hey.”
Quiet. Forced.
His hands curled tighter in his lap.
Dad crouched down to eye level. One hand hovered, uncertain, before settling—awkwardly—on Storm’s shoulder. His eyes were red at the edges. Not crying, but close.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. You’ll understand one day. When you’re older.”
Storm’s breath hitched.
That got a small smile. Wobbly.
“I know,” Dad whispered.
He was quiet for a moment. Amber eyes slightly wet.
Storm hated that.
Then his Dad shifted, hesitating just once before leaning in and wrapping his arms around Storm’s small shoulders. Careful, like he was afraid he’d break him.
Storm went stiff for a heartbeat. Then he pressed his face into his father’s coat and clutched at the fabric.
A hand came up to rest at the back of his head, fingers carding gently through his hair.
“I'm sorry,” he murmured, voice low.
Storm didn’t answer. He just held on.