When he was five and Ellie was nine, Phoenix drew a portrait of his family. It was crappy and consisted of every colour in his crayon box, but it was his and it was their family. Almost a decade later, Phoenix, at the age of sixteen, now parentless, had completely forgotten about it. When he began to pack up the things of his old home, he was surprised when he found it, a little torn, a bit faded, but his family from his own hand nonetheless. Ellie found him holding it. She smiled when she saw it. Phoenix shook his head and moved to throw it in the trash. It's terrible and we don't need it. But Ellie stopped him. She took it from his hands and, still smiling, walked back into the house. Ellie! But she just keeps walking, keeps holding it.
I think we should keep this.
Why?
Because it's our family.
We have family photos, Ellie.
Yeah. But none like this. You did this when you were five. That makes our family more real than any photoshopped image Mom hung up on the wall.
It was little moments like this that made Phoenix realize just how much Ellie loved him. And he loved her too, but maybe never as much as she did him. Maybe he never really understood the amount of space he occupied in her heart. Brothers and sisters loved each other. But Ellie and Phoenix? They were unique. In the good ways and the bad.
The crayon family portrait? That was good.
Threatening to bomb a school? That was bad.
Very, very bad.
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Phoenix || Malia Tate
FanfictionShe struggles with the human life, but it is not Stiles she confides in. It is a boy named Phoenix, who's eyes remind her a little too much of home.
