︎ ❤︎⠀✧⠀🍨🪡⠀𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚠𝚒͟𝚗͟𝚔𝚕𝚎.

O5 　  ᩙ᜔ ✿˚　Periwinkle   «Winnie»   Wheeler. 
            From Hawkins, Indiana.   Pocket-size  fairy 
            princess with  no  concept of «quiet» when 
            excited. !!! Sparkle addict,  bug-whisperer, 
            &  hugs that feel like warm marshmallows.
            (´ᗜ`  ྀི )ᜊ  ¡¡¡ENFP!!!  Tea-party ringleader, 
            SUPER PINK     Guardian of Butterfly Magic
            & Dolly Dorothy’s royal bestie    …    ❤︎
            
            ¡¡¡ SWEETEST  FLOWER  LITTLE PRINCESS !!! #LittleWolf　 #PolkaDots  #Bugs  #Nerd. 

Mike appeared in the doorway then, holding a plate—strawberries and a couple cookies. He stopped when he saw them: Winnie tucked into Will’s side like she belonged there, tiara crooked, eyelashes heavy. He tiptoed closer and set the plate down without a sound.
            
            Winnie’s eyes opened a sliver, like she had a built-in dad detector.
            
            She mumbled, “Daddy…”
            
            Mike leaned down and kissed her cheek, careful not to wake her too much. “Hey, moonbeam.”
            
            Winnie’s mouth curved into the sleepiest, tiniest smile. “I was not sleepy.”
            
            Mike nodded gravely, playing along. “Obviously.”
            
            Winnie’s eyes closed again, satisfied that the official record would show she had not, at any point, admitted defeat.
            
            Will’s hand rubbed slow circles on her back.
            
            Winnie’s voice—barely there now—murmured, “Tell Dolly Dorothy… she can have… one more cookie…”
            
            Will whispered, “I will tell her.”
            
            “And Princess Lady Dot…”
            
            “What about her?” Mike whispered, blinking.
            
            Winnie sighed, already drifting. “She says… goodnight… to the curtains…”
            
            Mike glanced at the glowing fabric like it might answer back. “The curtains?”
            
            Winnie didn’t. Sleep had already taken her like a gentle tide.
            
            Will and Mike stayed still, listening to her small, even breathing. Winnie’s tiara had slid even more crooked, like it was falling asleep too.
            
            Mike leaned on the arm of the couch, whispering, “She’s… ridiculous.”
            
            Will smiled softly, eyes on their daughter. “She’s perfect.”
            
            Mike watched Winnie for a long second, then reached out and tugged her cardigan a little higher over her shoulders so she’d stay warm.
            
            Winnie shifted, nuzzling into Will like she’d been built to fit there.
            
            And in the quiet afternoon light—tiny tea party abandoned on the cushion—Winnie slept like a princess: sparkles and bug magic and sugar dreams tucked safely between her two dads.

—and then her body betrayed her completely.
            
            Her head tipped sideways and bumped softly against Will’s shoulder like it had been aiming for it all along.
            
            Winnie froze.
            
            For a moment she just sat there, cheek pressed to him, very still—like if she didn’t move, nobody would notice she’d cuddled.
            
            Will didn’t tease. He just breathed slower, warm and steady. He slid one arm around her gently, like a blanket deciding to exist.
            
            Winnie whispered, “I am… just… sitting.”
            
            “Mhmm,” Will whispered back. “Just sitting.”
            
            Her tiny hand—still holding the beetle—lifted sleepily.
            
            Will leaned closer. “Do you want me to help Sir Beeble back outside?”
            
            Winnie’s eyes fluttered again. “He can… sleep too.”
            
            Will smiled. “Okay.”
            
            He guided Winnie’s hand to a little tissue on the coffee table, letting Sir Beeble climb onto it at his own pace. Then he carried the tissue to the window and cracked it open just enough. Sir Beeble stepped onto the sill like a tiny soldier on patrol.
            
            Winnie watched with half-closed eyes, somehow proud.
            
            “Bye,” she whispered. “Thank you for visiting my sparkles.”
            
            Sir Beeble—having no concept of gratitude—simply walked away.
            
            Winnie’s head sank deeper into Will’s shoulder, victory in her softness.
            
            Her voice came out like a dream.
            
            “Princess Lady Dot said you are… safe.”
            
            Will’s throat tightened in that gentle way. He kissed the top of her head, light as air. “That’s nice of her.”
            
            Winnie made a tiny pleased sound, almost a purr. “Mm.”

Winnie smiled, relieved. “Yes. Sir Beeble. He is in the tea party too.”
            
            Will moved slowly, letting Winnie keep control of the moment. “Is he okay being inside?”
            
            Winnie nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. He came because he smelled the sugar.”
            
            Will’s smile turned careful and sweet. “Okay. What kind of tea are you serving?”
            
            Winnie’s shoulders relaxed with satisfaction at being taken seriously. “Warm milk tea,” she whispered. “With honey. Because honey is… kind.”
            
            “Kind honey,” Will repeated.
            
            Winnie nodded. “And cookies. But not too many.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Because Princess Lady Dot said she needs to stay… aerodynamic.”
            
            Will laughed, soft and warm. “Aerodynamic?”
            
            “Yes,” Winnie whispered. “For flying. In case emergencies.”
            
            From the kitchen Mike muttered, “That’s fair.”
            
            Winnie scooted one inch closer to Will without acknowledging it. Then another.
            
            Will didn’t move to meet her. He just stayed open, like a door left ajar.
            
            Winnie continued her report, voice growing softer between words.
            
            “And Dolly Dorothy… she said… she… likes when you draw her pretty…”
            
            Will’s heart did that quiet squeeze it always did around Winnie. He lifted the sketchbook and tilted it a little toward her.
            
            “I can draw her,” he offered gently. “Do you want me to draw Dolly Dorothy at the tea party?”
            
            Winnie’s eyes widened for half a second—then drooped again.
            
            She tried to catch them. She really did.
            
            Her chin lifted, determined. “Yes. But I am not sleepy.”
            
            Will hummed, like it was the easiest truth in the world. “Of course not.”
            
            Winnie nodded hard again, satisfied—