〆 for a childhood story— ღ for a drabble about a romance/their love life
〆 A Childhood Story
“Would you believe I fell down the stairs once-? eh, now keep in mind I was about four when it happened.”
It had only been two or three steps, but he’d still laid at their base in a daze for what felt like hours. When he thinks back on it, especially now that it was so long ago, he can’t remember how it happened or why it happened.
“…I don’t remember where my parents were at the time, though. I-It was light outside- I can still remember the sunlight on the wall coming out of their bedroom. They should have been there.”
Sometimes he wonders if this memory is false- there are so many things about it that don’t make sense. He distinctly remembers feeling bruised and sore and shaken, and he remembers crying. He remembers being comforted eventually, a hug given gingerly by his mother, like she was afraid of breaking him, and being carried from one end of the kitchen to the next by his father until he stopped crying.
He wraps his wings around himself, an uncharacteristic show of subdued reflection.
“I guess it’s kind of a strange thing to take comfort in, eheh, but sometimes I remember things like that when I miss them.”
He is long past the age where it was considered acceptable to be taken care of, at least in his opinion. Then again, it was probably more accurate to say that he felt his responsibilities took precedence- he needed to be steadfast and unfaltering now, and he accepted that.
ღ Romance
Sometimes, Mr. Ping remembers a warm hand by his own, one that had always been there to be squeezed in comfort and reassurance. He’ll find himself remembering kisses, usually placed jokingly atop his beak or gently so gently oh sometimes he had to explain that he was simply a little smaller he wasn’t made of glass over his closed eyes, and he will still laugh or smile at just the memory.
He remembers an easy familiarity and a distinct absence of shyness: aside from an occasional unexpected compliment, he’d never felt off-balance or caught unaware. He remembers candid conversations about absolutely nothing, loud occasionally crude jokes met with a fake judging glance, late nights spent in a sleepy haze, and whispered apologies in the early morning when he woke up groggy and crabby.
He misses it dearly oh he remembers pouring so much affection into one person sometimes, when the memories are very close.
He gets angry, sometimes, because someone had once promised to be here. Forgiveness had grown, of course, but from the tiny, hard seed of disappointment, and he doesn’t think it’ll ever go away fully. Sometimes, he thinks it’s a blessing that the other has left his home so completely: he worries otherwise he’d have said something, done something, in the years past to ultimately taint any further interactions.
Familiarity breeds contempt, and distance makes the heart grown fonder, and he thinks of these sometimes and takes a comfort in them… even if he’s not sure he agrees.
