i've never fallen from quite this high | aegean

[aegean]

Aegean

I should have loved a thunderbird instead
at least when spring comes they roar back again

Aegean stands with Aureus, listening to the boy share stories of his latest adventures outside of Tephra. His son is a quiet soul—introverted, soulful—but also shy. Aegean knows that his quietness is not the same as his own. He has always lived in his head, but it was never out of fear of the outside world. Aegean had simply preferred the creations of his own making to those of the world around him.

Aureus, he fears, lives there because he does not trust the world. It is a stark difference that cuts to the core of Aegean and he does his best to coax the young boy out of his shell. To wander without fear—to make friends, make mistakes. To make the kind of stories that he had always known were worth making.

So he is pleased to hear of his son’s latest adventures.

To hear of the glowing girl in the playground and the girl of glass. To hear more of his son’s strange starlight familiar who accompanies him whenever the sun is down. He smiles down at him, only glancing away when he sees Pteron and Asena make their way toward him. Aureus immediately grins, the smile wider and more genuine, when he sees his sister, and Aegean smiles as they scamper off together.

He returns the show of affection, brushing his lips against Pteron’s cool cheek. When Pteron pulls back, he listens intently, ears perked and his amethyst eyes steady. He knows of Ischia—knows of Pteron’s ties there—and he understands the appeal of returning there. “I told you that I would gladly follow you anywhere,” he says easily, a corner of his lip pulling up into a smile. “Tephra, Ischia—it makes no difference to me.” The children would be happy wherever they ended up too, he knows.

“Are you excited to go back?” he asks, studying Pteron, wondering at the implications of returning.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

@[pteron]