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Tommy hooks his hands over the side of his dad's desk, going on his tippy-toes to look at the art supplies scattered across the mahogany. He ignores the paint, brushes and canvases, knowing he's not allowed to touch those, and reaches for the markers in a pile.
He curls his hand around a few of them, all he can manage, and pulls them into his chest before next reaching for a few sheets of paper.
Wilbur is cooking, giving Tommy maybe thirty minutes to draw.
He sneaks past the kitchen and goes into the living room, putting his stolen art supplies on the coffee table and sitting down in front of it.
Tommy doesn't know how to draw very well yet, but his dad always keeps all of his attempts. Sometimes he takes the binder with all of his art and tries to do a better job of an old drawing.
Wilbur likes to sit with him when he does, Tommy likes to lean on him.
Since Wilbur is in the kitchen, Tommy can only lean on the coffee table, which he does. It's a little uncomfortable, the wood digging into his ribs, but he pays it no mind, picking up a marker and steadying the paper with one hand.
He scribbles, not knowing what else to do. His dad normally gives him ideas, and he doesn't have the binder, since it's too heavy for him to lift on his own.
The scribbles slowly take form of two cats, laying in the grass. There's a sun in the corner, yellow rays taking up more of the paper, radiating away from the star.
Wilbur often picks him up and drags him outside, saying he needs more sun light in his day. Tommy disagrees, but never outwardly protests. He just likes spending time with his dad, regardless of the activity.
He picks up the picture once it's done, hearing the familiar sounds of the cutlery drawer being opened.
"Papa!" Tommy calls, dashing over to the kitchen. He's not allowed to run inside the house, so walks as fast as he can without actually running. It irritates Wilbur to no end, but that has never stopped him.
Wilbur sighs once he enters the kitchen, marker likely covering his face.
Neither of them know how he manages it, but he always ends up with marker all over his face if he so much as bumps one.
"Look!" Tommy pushes the drawing forward, holding it out to his dad, grinning. Wilbur takes it, looking at the drawing for a moment before smiling and putting it aside to pick Tommy up.
He wraps his arms around Wilbur's shoulders, burying his face in the crook of the man's neck.
"You look like you faceplanted into a rainbow, sweetheart." Wilbur chuckles, ruffling his hair. "Because I'm cool." Tommy huffs, closing his eyes. "That you are." Wilbur sighs, looking back at the photo and smiling again.
Only a few moments later, Wilbur is yelping and trying to catch a falling kitten.
Tommy, still only eight, has a tendency to fall asleep whenever. That tendency mixed with his tendency to shift in his sleep sometimes leads to situations like this, where Wilbur suddenly finds himself holding a kitten instead of a child.
It's adorable, but sometimes a little terrifying.
Tommy hasn't been dropped so far, but Wilbur worries that it's only a matter of time.
He goes to put Tommy down on the couch, where he'll be safe while he sleeps, only to pause when he notices the kitten's face.
It's covered in marker.
The marker transferred onto Tommy's fur.
Wilbur doesn't know if he should feel impressed or horrified.
Sighing, he holds Tommy close to his chest and steps out of the kitchen, smoothing over the fur on his cheeks. Somehow, he gets marker on his knuckles.
He gently puts Tommy down in the corner between the back of the couch and the armrest, the kitten sinking ever so slightly into the cushion. He kisses the top of Tommy's head before leaving the boy be, allowing him to sleep in peace while Wilbur gets a chance to plate their food. It won't be a long nap, but it'll be a nap regardless.
When he comes back into the living room to wake his kid up, he'll find Tommy relocated, curled up on the coffee table with the same markers that coloured his face tucked under his paw.