Work Text:
It was a dreary day. The sky was a smudgy fossil colour, swathed in darkness. Rain pelted down jarringly, and thunder rattled discordantly in the distance. A slight stormy draft was blowing in through the open vents, the thin satin curtains dancing in its breeze. Chenle sat at the dining table and stared at the blurriness of the glass balcony doors. The raindrops rolled down in a wobbly pattern. He observed the way they seemed to race one another to reach the bottom.
Although the weather was gloomy and wet, Chenle’s drawing was cheerful and colourful. A round dandelion-yellow sun in the corner of the paper, crayon-drawn trees lined along the spiky shamrock grass and a blue mottled globule in the centre of the page with two black specks for eyes - well, Kun had assumed they were eyes when he sneaked a glance.
In the small kitchen, Kun was preparing the evening meal by slicing the spring onions steadily. Once he had finished, he scraped the pieces of chopped scallions, capsicums, dried chillies and ground peppercorn into the sizzling pan with the sticky portions of chicken evenly, giving it a quick mix with his spatula. Kun gazed down at his apron. Cornstarch and baking soda dusted the light rose colour in a powdery white. The frying pan sizzled louder, and Kun returned to stirring it lightly when a stifled cry caught his ears.
“Lele, can you let Buttermilk in, please?” he said, glimpsing back. Sure enough, on the other side of the glass, their feline, Buttermilk, scratched with her muddy paws. Her fur, from what Kun could see, was thoroughly drenched.
Chenle hopped from his seat obediently, a red crayon clutched in his hand and opened the balcony door. Buttermilk sidled in with a noisy, penitent miaow. The young boy’s umber eyes zeroed in on Buttermilk’s dark charcoal fur, examining.
“Daddy,” Lele said, crouched down. “Buttermilk’s fur is all glittery.”
Buttermilk cried vehemently and butted her nose against Chenle’s knee, demanding to be picked up and dried. Kun turned the stove off and peered over.
“It’s just the raindrops,” he said, smiling. “Can you dry her for me? There’s a tea-towel on the back of your chair.”
“But it does look like silver glitter,” Chenle remarked, still he listened to his caregiver and grabbed the grey tea-towel, enveloping it around Buttermilk’s waterlogged little body. She purred happily in Chenle's arms.
“It does,” Kun agreed, tousling the younger’s chestnut hair.
Chenle giggled. “Maybe the rain is actually glitter?”
Chuckling, Kun scooped some sticky rice into two bowls and topped it with the diced silky chicken stir-fry mix. “You might be right, sugarplum,” he said affectionately, “but let’s not find out. It’s time to eat.”
“Cookies?” Chenle wondered hopefully. Buttermilk had jumped from Chenle’s embrace and was munching on her own meal. The tea-towel was now damp and muddy. Kun promptly picked it up and popped it into the washing basket for tonight’s load.
“Not cookies,” Kun grinned. He presented the bowl of sweet and sour chicken stir-fry and rice to Chenle. It was in Chenle’s favourite dish - a white enamel bowl embellished with cartoony basketballs. Matching chopsticks followed.
“Thank you, Daddy,” Chenle said politely with a delightful smile. Kun’s heart did a summersault, and he stooped down to give Chenle’s head a swift peck.
“You’re welcome, Lele.” Kun placed the bread-rolls between them and handed Chenle his purple sippy-cup. “Did you finish your drawing?”
Chenle, as if just remembering his earlier activity, beamed, and hastily lifted his paper from beside his cooling dinner. A few crayons slipped off and hit the floor with a faint thud. Kun carried his own meal to the table, eyes trained on the somewhat crumbled drawing. The same big sun in the corner, same spiky grass and wonky trees. The blue blob had grown red spots and had a golden, honey-toned mess protruding from its face. Regretfully, Kun couldn't tell what it was supposed to be.
“That’s a brilliant drawing, little one!” Kun praised nonetheless. Chenle’s cheeks tinted pink.
“It’s my dragon,” Chenle supplied softly. “Her name is Mei.”
It clicked together. The yellowy-orange scribbles were the fire. Red spots, why not? Kun smiled brightly, and he stood up and strode towards the refrigerator - which, shamelessly, was already crowded with photographs and drawings - grabbed a magnet (a clay crab), and added his baby’s drawing on.
“I love the red spots you gave her, Lele,” Kun complimented. He lifted a piece of sticky chicken with his chopsticks and guided it towards Chenle’s mouth. The younger hummed gleefully and accepted the meat.
“I didn’t give her wings,” Chenle informed once he had swallowed his food. “Because she loves to run. She’s the best on her cross-country team.”
Kun smirked amusedly, spooning some rice and chicken into his own awaiting mouth. “Oh, yeah?”
“Uh-huh! And when she’s going to sleep, she would find wings annoying ’cause they’re super big.”
A tad over-enthusiastically, Kun gasped. “That’s very smart, Lele,” he said. “I’m sure Mei is grateful you didn't draw her any wings.”
“Yeah,” Chenle laughed, the sound loud and bubbly. “But maybe I'll draw another dragon with wings, ’cause they'll play basketball and they’ll need wings to reach the basket. Dragons legs are only tiny, so they can’t jump!”
Kun hummed thoughtfully and sipped at his water. “I’ll draw a dragon, too. With long legs, so they can be the greatest swimmer.”
“That’s silly!” Chenle tittered cheekily. “Dragons don’t like water, it’ll make their fire go disappear.”
Laughing, Kun leaned forward and pinched Chenle’s cheek gently. “Of course.”
Peaceful silence filled the small kitchen and dining area. Buttermilk was now grooming herself by the window, occasionally looking up to study the rain which had reduced to a mild drizzle. Chenle swung his feet and shoved a large piece of green chilli into his mouth, lips sticky with the sweet and sour sauce. Kun stared, completely enamoured with the boy.
“Daddy,” Chenle said, piercing the quietness. “Will you draw dragons with me later?”
“Of course I will,” Kun replied. He couldn't stop the huge, eye-crinkling grin. “All sorts of dragons. Just not ones that swim.”