𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐕.𝟐 .

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫.

* * *

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 , 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐳 .

★
┌─⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─┐

𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕𝐭𝐡 .

└─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─┘

"okay baby, are you ready for bed?"

the statement was met with a sleepy nod that encapsulated the mood of the dim, candle-lit bedroom. still, the response was so cute- full, brown doe eyes and a dopey pout that made indigo giggle a bit to see on his son who was fully dedicated to getting all his hours of sleep in. the toddler crawled into the rather sizeable twin bed away from his mothers arms, scooting underneath the blankets.

"can i have story?" angel wondered as indigo tucked the boy under the brown comforter.
"i already gave you one."
"i wan' a story." the little boy whined, pulling on the weakned hearstrings of the blonde who could barely take the sincerity of his little pleads.
"i can't today angelito." indigo hummed with a genuine yet subtle sorrow that he always seemed to walk upon but never quite expressed. "you want me to ask auntie for you?"

"mhm." the boy pouted, nodding his head in a show of miserly agreeance that indigo was used to whenever angel didn't get his way.

being as soft as he was, indigo often tried to make sure that was not often. though he didn't quite have the means to spoil angel, whatever indigo's son needed was always at close grasp. thankfully, when it pertained to what he actually wanted, angel wasn't very hard to please. sometimes it was a toy or a new sweater or paints from the dollar general down the street. most of the time it has to do with things that for a six year old, were rather practical. if indigo was going grocery shopping when he got back from work- which was almost always around one am- angel would be sitting wide-eyed awake when he came to get his wallet and require to go with him. he simply wanted to be with him, and that required no money at all. as an orphan, indigo had for a long time known- especially with the confirmation of his own child- parents are only truly good ones when they're there.

perhaps his gentle, selfless disposition was the reason why in angel, indigo saw barely any of himself and more of the other man he resembled heavily at moments when the vast knowledge that angel obviously possessed amassed in his face and his almond-shaped orbs produced a thoughtful gaze. it was times like those or when the toddler came home blabbering about his science project or how much he loved math that he reminded indigo most of his father.

indigo didn't like to think of angel's father- not consciously, at least.

he didn't like the guilt.

no- he hated the guilt and the worst part of it was that in a way, it was a dependent guilt. every single day indigo woke up in the morning knowing that in the back of his mind, there was one lonesome source of reliability in the circumstances he happened to be in- and that was guilt. it was almost as if there was a guarantee that at least once in the day the thoughts of jae he tried to invade from his very soul would plague him- terrify him- scare him with ideas and thoughts of a fate in which eventually, what indigo did to him would be returned .