Tale as old as time | Fillie

Playground

Disclaimer: The events take place four months before last chapter.

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Millie never liked sleeping that much, mostly because she was an active person who bored herself easily. Being alive, awake and energetic made her feel good and satisfied about herself.

She used to do so many things all together. When she was a teenager, right before she met Finn, she worked at her dad's bookshop, Brown's Corner, while doing homework and studying for her finals; she cleaned the house; she helped and kept company to elderly and lonely people, reading books for them; she always attended meetings for her after school book club. A pure tornado of energy.

This before she became a mother, obviously. Prince was a lovely little boy, but he was so, so curious, he never slept, and cried a lot when his parents weren't near him. He was picky as hell when it came to food (all of his dad in this) and he always wanted to play with his toys. You couldn't rest near this little ball of joy.

Well, who would have thought that dealing with a child could be so satisfying and yet so exhausting?

When she blinks her eyes, her face almost burn for that direct and blinding daylight greeting her. The long, flowered patterned curtains of her bedroom are wide open and Finn is nowhere to be seen — which was atypical, since he was the sleepy one between them.

Her day started with a good morning kiss — more than one, actually. People usually have coffee to start their day, and they really can't go on without it, while Finn can't (and won't!) go on without Millie, the only caffeine he needed.

"Mhh... Finn?" She jerks up the mattress, rubbing a hand on her eyes.

Her gaze drops at the empty space around her, as her brain manages to shed the tiredness away from her body, "Mhh— Finnie?"

She can't even yell to ask where he is and why the crib next to the bed is empty. Her voice is still buried deep down her throat.

Millie still isn't a morning person. And honestly, who is? Maybe only psychopaths. Never trust people who are not grumpy in the morning.

She lets out a groan, kicking the fresh blankets off her legs and walking zombie-style to the door of her bedroom.

There wasn't need of a genius to understand that she looked awful; she was wearing a bright fuchsia pajamas with rainbows all over it, spongy blue socks at her feet and a nest of short, brown hair was on the top of her head.

But it's Sunday morning and she couldn't care less about her appearance. She never did in the first place. After all, was not beauty found within?

Before she can reach the golden handle of the door, she looks at a mysterious yellow rose that is resting right there, on the top of her desk — it's perfect, wrapped in a white silky ribbon. Next to it, there is a note and her clothes, folded with accuracy: a pink and lemon patterned t-shirt, pink trousers and pink Adidas on the floor.

"Uh?" She grins, collecting the rose scented piece of paper, "What is this?"

"Good morning, baby doll. For as much as I love your looking-ass pajamas, dress up and come downstairs. Do it quickly — I hate waiting and I need to give you your good morning kiss.
Hope you like the rose.

Yellow stands for...?"

"... For making me happy." She concludes, placing the flower under her nostrils. The perfume was what she imagined Heaven smelt like.