Eliot hadn’t been feeling well all day - the child hadn’t said anything, which surprised Sophie more than it ought to have. After all, he was resilient and strong, and still suffering from long-ago formed instincts; stubbornness was second nature to him - so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he neglected to say anything.
But she could see it in the way his face was blotched with red, the airiness in his speech, and the hitch in his breath. And it wasn’t getting better. “Oh sweetie,” she cooed, crouching down to his level as she brushed aside the bangs that stuck to his eyelashes. “You’re not looking well at all.”
He leaned into the hand she rested on his shoulder, but shook his head. “M’fine,” he muttered through his bitten lip, looking down at the ground.
Sophie couldn’t help but pull him in, holding him in a tight embrace. The stiffness in his body made her cringe, but after a few seconds she felt him relaxing, if not reciprocate. “Honey, it’s alright if you’re not feeling well.” Christ - he was shivering. Without a second thought she held him tighter, shifted her arms slightly and stood; his arms automatically shot around her neck, his legs wrapping around her waist, latching onto her. As if she would ever let him fall.
“M’sorry,” he muttered into her neck, his forehead impossibly hot against her cheek. Disappointment and guilt flushed through her as she climbed the stairs - it shouldn’t have taken her so long to notice, to do something about it.
“No,” she said, pushing through the door to his room and gently rubbing his back. “No need to be sorry, love. I’m the one who’s sorry.” He doesn’t argue, but she knows that’s only because he wouldn’t, not because he believes it.
As she laid him on the bed, his fist clenched in her blouse, clutching onto it like it was his only lifeline. Sophie answered his unspoken demand by sitting on the bed, her heart aching for his misery. When he saw she wasn’t going to leave him, he started squirming his way onto her lap, and she settled against the headboard. It didn’t take long for him to get comfortable, and she held him in her arms, he muttered again, “M’sorry.”
“Hush now,” she told him, rocking him gently and he closed his eyes. “Nothing to be sorry for, alright?”
Eliot bit his lip and thought about it for a moment. “A’right, Mama,” he finally whispered, and that time she believed him, even as the guilt grew.
The mark had called her his Mother and then left them… Sophie didn’t know if she’d ever have the heart to tell him the truth.
But she could see it in the way his face was blotched with red, the airiness in his speech, and the hitch in his breath. And it wasn’t getting better. “Oh sweetie,” she cooed, crouching down to his level as she brushed aside the bangs that stuck to his eyelashes. “You’re not looking well at all.”
He leaned into the hand she rested on his shoulder, but shook his head. “M’fine,” he muttered through his bitten lip, looking down at the ground.
Sophie couldn’t help but pull him in, holding him in a tight embrace. The stiffness in his body made her cringe, but after a few seconds she felt him relaxing, if not reciprocate. “Honey, it’s alright if you’re not feeling well.” Christ - he was shivering. Without a second thought she held him tighter, shifted her arms slightly and stood; his arms automatically shot around her neck, his legs wrapping around her waist, latching onto her. As if she would ever let him fall.
“M’sorry,” he muttered into her neck, his forehead impossibly hot against her cheek. Disappointment and guilt flushed through her as she climbed the stairs - it shouldn’t have taken her so long to notice, to do something about it.
“No,” she said, pushing through the door to his room and gently rubbing his back. “No need to be sorry, love. I’m the one who’s sorry.” He doesn’t argue, but she knows that’s only because he wouldn’t, not because he believes it.
As she laid him on the bed, his fist clenched in her blouse, clutching onto it like it was his only lifeline. Sophie answered his unspoken demand by sitting on the bed, her heart aching for his misery. When he saw she wasn’t going to leave him, he started squirming his way onto her lap, and she settled against the headboard. It didn’t take long for him to get comfortable, and she held him in her arms, he muttered again, “M’sorry.”
“Hush now,” she told him, rocking him gently and he closed his eyes. “Nothing to be sorry for, alright?”
Eliot bit his lip and thought about it for a moment. “A’right, Mama,” he finally whispered, and that time she believed him, even as the guilt grew.
The mark had called her his Mother and then left them… Sophie didn’t know if she’d ever have the heart to tell him the truth.
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