There are a few things she expects when she turns up for this job. A gentle reminder of dos and don'ts from his mother, who doesn't exactly treat her like she's dumb enough to forget but is very, very careful about her strange little son. Where she'll be, what time she'll be back, how to reach her if it's required. A sweet, quiet little hello, because no matter how many times they see each other it always takes the kid a while to warm up to her, like he's afraid this time is going to be the time she decides he's a freak after all.
What she doesn't expect - wouldn't even if she remembered the date - is for that hello to include a heart-shaped piece of card pressed shyly but determinedly into her hand before the little guy darts back behind the shelter of his mother's legs. And it's -
oh. Well. It's slimy, for one thing, enough that the edges look like they're about to start peeling back. There's an absolute riot of color, blobby flowers with sunshine yellow faces and petals in every hue in the box, by the looks of it. There are butterflies in shades that would make a lepidopterist weep. There's glitter glue. Restraint has clearly not been a factor here. It's big and bright and it just about screams in a holiday where she's pretty sure whispered sweet nothings are the norm.
It's the best goddamn thing she's ever seen.
"C'mere, Asato," she says, dropping to one knee and stretching out her arms. When he comes close - still cautious - she catches him up with a laugh, slime be damned, and kisses him firmly right between the eyes.
for Syrup
What she doesn't expect - wouldn't even if she remembered the date - is for that hello to include a heart-shaped piece of card pressed shyly but determinedly into her hand before the little guy darts back behind the shelter of his mother's legs. And it's -
oh. Well. It's slimy, for one thing, enough that the edges look like they're about to start peeling back. There's an absolute riot of color, blobby flowers with sunshine yellow faces and petals in every hue in the box, by the looks of it. There are butterflies in shades that would make a lepidopterist weep. There's glitter glue. Restraint has clearly not been a factor here. It's big and bright and it just about screams in a holiday where she's pretty sure whispered sweet nothings are the norm.
It's the best goddamn thing she's ever seen.
"C'mere, Asato," she says, dropping to one knee and stretching out her arms. When he comes close - still cautious - she catches him up with a laugh, slime be damned, and kisses him firmly right between the eyes.