VIKTOR WAS ONCE a very affectionate guy, it didn’t matter who you were. if he loved you, you were getting a hug, a kiss, a handshake -- anything that would get him closer to you. now, after everything he’s lost, he refuses to get too close to others, including giving hugs. the last thing he did with his husband && daughter was hug them, && he’s afraid the next person he hugs will be gone too. he knows it sounds a bit irrational, but the fear is too strong && he’s too afraid to lose someone else.
PENELOPE'S FAVORITE COLOR WAS PINK. everything surrounding the little girl was in a shade of pink — her nails, her hair ties, the walls of her room && the carpet on her floor. her backpack && pencils, shoes && shirts, socks && shorts. sweet penelope also loved the sky. she always told her fathers she wished she could fly && live in the clouds. she wanted to be close to the sun && stars, she would say. she wanted to grow wings && fly away. the girl was so young she had no idea where she wanted to go or just how big the world was. but maybe, if she had the chance to grow up, she would have flown away. perhaps she would have sent them postcards from places viktor could only dream of visiting — prague, madrid, tokyo, && rome. but his little girl stayed exactly that: little. she did not sprout wings && leave — she never even had the chance.
when was the last time he let himself cry? if one were to ask him, viktor would not know what to say. had it been months or years? was it when he found them or has he shed tears since then? the sensation was foreign && something reminiscent of sadness overcame him.
milo, the only thing good in his life, slept peacefully by his side, burrowed into him like he often did as a puppy. viktor stared above him at the sky’s beautiful, shifting hues. it was a strange feeling to be laying in the grass at sunrise, his cheeks damp with tears.
he doesn’t remember dragging himself && milo to the park but maybe he was meant to be there. maybe seeing this, his daughter’s two favorite things merging, was a step towards healing.
a pink sky would not singlehandedly heal his years of denial && hurt, but it was a step in the right direction — the push he needed.
