Constellations - Sleepy Bois Inc

Chapter 1

CW: brief manipulation(?), derealization.

It's such a warm spring day.

The mellow sun is shining, peeking out from behind the perfectly shamrock-green hill.
The grass is damp from morning dew that rests upon it peacefully.
Though, this peace comes to an end far too soon as two boys tumble over the hill. Both are laughing and throwing playful insults about the other's strength. Almost gold locks shine in that same mellow sun that reflects off of the dew. Neither of the boys seem to care about the grass stuck to their backs or the dirt in their hair, instead quarrelling playfully and focusing on getting the other pinned.

"Will! Get off of Tommy this instant!" A stern, familiar voice warns one of the brothers.
"Yes father." The brunet groans, sliding his hands off of his brother's wrists "We were just playing around-"
"I don't care. One of you always ends up crying when you do this."
"But-"
"End it. Now."

Wilbur only nods in reply, not wanting to dig his grave deeper, as his brother finally stood up. He brushes the mud and grass off of his yellow sweater and helps Tommy clean the back of his jumper. His brother keeps that same grin on his face, even as their father approaches closer. Wilbur is terrified. Tommy is the opposite.

The charming, ecstatic, always perfect Tommy is never afraid of his father's wrath - because it'd never touched him. Oh no, Philza would never lay a hand upon his boy. Either of his boys. That's what he told them whenever he got angry anyway. Wilbur had to repeat that to himself at the back of his head whenever his father yelled at him. Or raised his hand, only to later excuse it as a warning. And whilst that was true, Philza had never hit either of his children, he'd surely come incredibly close to it. Never to Tommy though. Only his eldest.

"Look at you! Look at him! You made him all wet and dirty!" Philza raises his voice slightly, kneeling in front of the two brothers. Tommy shows off his pearly whites once again as Wilbur's hands shake in fear. Their father brushes off the front of Tommy's jumper gently and moves his stern glare to Wilbur. "Be more careful next time. Check if the grass is wet. You'll both get sick otherwise. Okay?" He warns once again, voice softer than his continuously stern expression.
"Yes father."

The adult blond stands up once again and sighs.
"Go ahead." He nods towards the massive weeping willow tree. Now both boys' faces light up with grins as they race towards the tree. "Mom!" They each cry out with ecstasy, hugging the trunk of the willow. The sun's now shining through the lush leaves of the tree, which are gently swaying in the soft, spring wind. Wilbur takes a seat down in between two roots. He feels so comfortable in his mother's embrace.

Tommy sits on the root to Wilbur's right, before beginning his ritual of talking about god knows what for as much time as he can. He tells stories of what was happening at school, how he is making progress with the small avian wings, based at his ankles and how his father had told him that he would soon be able to fly. Though, at that sentence, Philza's smile wavers a little. Tommy doesn't notice, but Wilbur does. He keeps quiet though, being all too aware about the possible consequences of his comments.

Philza ended up sitting on the blanket across from the tree, barely two feet away. Wilbur glanced at his brother, then father. He keeps one palm on one of the roots and opens his sketch pad. He began sketching his father. Sitting with a content, peaceful expression. His eyes are shut. Wilbur knows exactly what his father's doing. He is communicating with mother - through meditation. He sketches the hand that's resting atop the grass, then the other resting on his lap.

Then his wings.

The wings are Wilbur's favourite part to draw. So lush, soft and dangerous. Always looking just like the night. Wilbur begins shading in his father's kimono. His father made sure to tell Wilbur the tales of the people who gifted him the clothing. The stories always told of beautiful yet terrifying folklore and tradition, which Will has learned to admire.