Chapter Text
“Mister?”
And Emet-Selch turned to see a small green child staring up at him as if he was the moon.
“Can I have a hug?”
His first instinct was to push the child away, to say, no of course not, and to walk away. After all, nobody ever hugged him. (Well, Azem got away with it occasionally, despite being one to more often rub his back or snark at him.) Sometimes pinky-linking would also occur if Emet-Selch was having a particularly good day.
Either way, Emet-Selch never offered hugs.
But closer inspection of the child’s eyes led him to swallow back his words—those haunted emerald orbs seemed to contain desperation and something else that had him responding, “I suppose…”
Then, after a moment’s pause, he opened his arms a little bit. “Come here, come here. Let it not be said that I cannot hug.”
The green-haired boy threw himself toward Emet-Selch without hesitation, practically melting into the taller one’s embrace. The boy let out a sigh in contentment, his grip on Emet-Selch’s waist tightening progressively until it seemed like he was clinging on for dear life.
As he had no idea what to do in such a situation, Emet-Selch’s mind short-circuited. Then a thought occurred to him. Hythlodaeus liked head pats; perhaps I could do that?
Hopefully my head pats are up-to-standard.
Awkwardly, Emet-Selch reached out and patted the head of curly green hair in front of him, which seemed to make the boy melt even more.
Finally, after a long moment or two (or perhaps even three; Emet-Selch had lost track of time), the boy pulled away sheepishly. Perhaps it was Emet-Selch’s imagination, but the boy also seemed somewhat in doing so.
However, given the circumstances (and what he had seen just moments earlier) it made sense. If the cinnamon roll was thick-skinned enough to ask a random person for physical contact, he must have been truly desperate.
Emet-Selch ruffled the curls once more, hoping that the gesture felt comforting. The boy looked up at him.
“Mister, you give really good hugs.”
And with that, the green-haired child disappeared into the night.
Rather than focusing immediately on a new task like he normally did, Emet-Selch allowed his mind to drift to the child who had just disappeared.
He wondered what experience would make this boy hug so desperately, like he could be torn away any second. It was probably the same experience that had caused him to ask a total stranger for such an intimate, generally comforting thing.
Seconds later, however, his thought bubble was interrupted rudely.
“That was my Problem Child,” a new voice said. “Mine, you hear? If you want to adopt him, you have to get through me first.”
“Whyever would I want to adopt him?” Emet-Selch asked, puzzled.
Though it was hard to tell in the dark of night, he thought he saw the man smirk.
“You’ll see.”
Well, that was strange.
But he would likely never see this boy again, so Emet-Selch disregarded the threat.