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Evan sat delicately on his dad's legs.
Roland was leisurely running the comb through his hair, and each pull caused his head to tilt a little in the direction, following after his dad's hand. “Stay still,” Roland would murmur, but Evan would squirm again the next time he tugged. Roland would chuff a low laugh. “Perhaps it's my fault,” he admitted.
“No, keep going,” Evan said. His voice was held carefully low. He worried if he spoke any louder, the cozy din of their surroundings would shatter. This moment, hewn out of bitter memories and lost paths, set in sunset-colored stone, hung delicately between them. It had been glued into the shape of stained glass. Evan only saw murkiness through it; he wished to remain here, like this. With Roland right here, and Evan in his bedchamber, close enough to feel the rasp and clutch of his dad's worn breaths.
Another exhale disturbed Evan's bangs. “I'm warning you,” Roland said, “I haven't braided someone else's hair in a long time. It might come out shabby.”
“I will not mind.” Evan smiled at his socked toes.
“You won't tell the kingdom on me?” Roland joked, voice conspirationally soft.
Evan giggled. “Pinky swear.”
Silence again, a silence steeped in companionable years.
With a final satisfied hum, Roland set aside the comb. His tan, calloused fingers began to cordon Evan's golden hair to sections. It tickled when he fought the strands into a pattern.
“Oh my,” Roland remarked. “It's already lopsided.”
Evan flexed his toes. “Keep going. I want to see it in all of its travesty when it's done.”
Roland snorted.
His dad worked deftly, fingers nimble yet soft. Their pads soothed Evan's scalp. When Roland was done, he squeezed Evan by the shoulders, and the young king stood, flouncing over to the mirror. He examined himself, saw a wink of the child once recovered by the man over his shoulder. The braid was uneven, but something about its flawed nature pleased Evan. A delighted smile spread across his lips.
“Dad,” he said into the mirror.
Roland's reflection perked up.
“Dad, what was it like in your world?”
His dad chewed his lip as he ruminated. His own hair, long rivers of midnight black, shrouded his expression. “Louder,” he finally said, like a gasp of breath breaking upwards through the ocean, “and far less colorful.” He hesitated; Evan could see it in the way his right eye squinted just so. He lumbered over to Evan's side, clapped a warm hand on his shoulder. Evan was nearly as tall as him now.
Roland exhaled. “Lonelier, too.”
The harshness of Roland's complexion was more striking in the mirror, with his face held up so close to his son's. Evan had curved features—Nella had called them willowy. He'd felt so confused as a child. I look like a tree? he'd asked her. How she'd laughed.
Roland was all edges and contrast, his own face putting itself at odds. His brow was permanently creased by a little line running vertical down his temple that clashed against his right eyebrow. His lips were thin and not quite symmetrical. Even his nose was hooked.
Evan puffed out his cheeks, watched his breath bob.
His dad followed the movement. Snorted.
The young king let it out, tail lashing.
“Do you miss it?” Evan blurted.
Roland blinked. His gaze unfocused, an oily flame. Evan could feel each of his breaths coiling around his heart. Though his eyes were on Evan, his dad's stare pierced through him. Quietly, he said, “I didn't, at first. In a way, I was glad to be rid of it. But the more time I spend here, the more I am reminded of the strangeness of my old world. The more distant it grows, the more fondness I feel toward it.
“But I've changed too much. Rather than longing after it, I am wistful for the time I once had, time I used poorly.”
His eyes refocused. Evan thought, for a moment, a knife had jabbed into his gut. But it was only Roland, his coy dad, staring down at him with his inscrutable gaze. Tani had likened it to a pair of black dice with the numbers scribbled over once, utterly unfathomable.
Suddenly his hand snatched a fistful of Evan's braid and gently yanked. Evan cried out. “Dad!”
A grin dazzled his dad's harsh face. “Either way, it won't be able to prevent me from terrorizing you.”
“Daaaaaaaaad,” Evan wailed.
Roland laughed, tousling his nicely-combed bangs, ruining all his hard work. “Come on. You have a proclamation to deliver.”
“Not like this,” Evan sulked. “I'll have to make everyone wait until tomorrow.”
His dad rolled his eyes, maneuvering around him to retrieve the comb from where he'd left it on the bed. Brandishing it like a christening blade, he tapped it against Evan's forehead. “And waste my hard efforts?”
Evan laughed quietly. He bowed his head, inviting his dad to smooth his hair out once more.