♥*♡∞:｡.｡「Fugo Loveposting」｡.｡:∞♡*♥

「 Of Picture Books, Strawberry Shortcake and Other Heavenly Gifts. 」

In which you and Fugo look after your son.

Ah yes, parenting, something I know nothing about, but you know, might as well. I drank three cups of tea and then speedran this so, have.

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Making your way up the stairs step by step, you peacefully hummed a song you must've stored in your brain since early childhood, one that felt most appropriate to now sing to the small creature that rested in your arms. You knew with precise exactitude that your son was about to turn five in less that three months as any new mother would, though perhaps Mista's frantic counting of the days to the greatly awaited no-longer-four-years-old birthday had helped with that too. You had chosen the gunslinger to be your son's godfather, and all throughout last year he had been greatly overprotective, all serious about his duty.

You mostly found it humorous, your husband, however, did not. You found that amusing as well.

You danced through the hallway, patting the boy's back as you twirled toward his room. Swinging the door open, your humming had freely turned itself into song, makeshift lyrics escaping your mouth like the flowing waves you vividly recalled from your wedding at the beach. The breath in your collarbone brought you peace as warm as itself, your son tucking his head into the crook of your neck because he well knew just from instinct that you were there to protect him, would always be.

Light like a feather, you set the boy on his bed, watching his reluctance to let go of your embrace and finding it endearing, little fingers stretching toward you and refusing to release the fabric of your shirt for a split second. Lovingly and with utmost care, you tucked him in, underneath fluffy soft blankets that you were sure your husband had picked himself and made sure were perfect like the neatfreak you loved him to be. They smelled of lavender like many of your clothes, the fragrance never failed to make you feel at home.

The child held the covers close, hiding himself underneath them. He watched you further dance along the room, turning on the nightlight and flicking the switches off, you in return glanced at him here and there, his eyes so very resemblant of your own, sharing color and texture, yet the depth was your husband's as your son shared with him a vast intelligence and hunger for knowledge. You made your way back to his bedside, dropping to your knees gently and placing your hands on top of your son's, intertwining your fingers with his, intaking how small he was in comparison to you.

"What would you like to read today, dear?" You said, words colorful like roses and soft like velvet. He only stared at you, pulling you into that familiar depth as you sighed at his lack of response, it might've not been new but sometimes you wished you could hear his voice.

Then, one of the books from your son's shelf hovered over your shoulder, prompting you to turn your head toward it. The cover a rich indigo, it was a picture book about a little rabbit that went on a trip to the moon, the drawings simple in shape but full of color and detail.

The translucent figure barely took shape but you could tell it was roughly the same size of your son, if you squinted you could make out strands of hair in ranging shades of cyan, but they faded from your view as quickly as they came like drizzle occasionally would in sunny days, barely felt but undoubtedly there.

You took the book into your hands and took your gaze to your son, who looked up at you, face half hidden by the blanket, eyes shiny and curious and so pretty they could make you cry. Brushing your knuckles against his rosey cheek had made him hum, which in turn robbed you a loving chuckle.

"This one, then?" You quietly asked.

Without opening his mouth, the child spoke. "Yes," he had said, much too polite for a boy his age. Glancing at the side, you saw it there, the figure hidden in the soft warm light, not your son but who had spoken in his stead.