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It was a typical Friday afternoon: another one in the long collection of comfortable repetition and routine. For Janae, the feeling of déjà vu was the best one going.
The warmth of the sun against the crisp breeze of autumn, tickled his lightly freckled cheeks, as he skipped hand in hand with Derek and Titch on his way to pick up his older brother Johnny from the bus stop. Since leaving his primary school, St Michael’s (which Janae had always been fascinated with since it shared its title with Johnny’s middle name), he had been chatting nonstop about his plans for the weekend.
“And then, then I’m going to draw up the blueprints to build my rocket ship. Do we still have baking soda? I’ll need that to make it launch, obviously. You know, like how we made my geographically accurate volcano? So, when I’ve finished my plans we can launch it, but first I- Hey, where are you going?” Janae suddenly paused his ramblings, and dug his heels into the dirt, which in turn halted Derek and Titch from moving forward.
“Home still, love.” Derek smiled, giving his youngest son’s hand a light squeeze of reassurance. Janae shook his head, attempting to tug them back slightly with a deepening frown.
“What about Johnny? We always wait for him at the bus stop!” The boy exclaimed, checking over his shoulder for a familiar school bus careening around the countryside lanes.
“No, not today we aren’t. Don’t you remember, love? Johnny has gone on his Duke of Edinburgh expedition, hasn’t he?” Derek gently explained, having bent down to be eye level with his son.
A single drop of water tapped Derek on the shoulder, causing him to glance up at the clouding sky. Offering Janae a tight-lipped smile, he beckoned the boy forward; hoping to get home before the clouds unleashed their downpour on them.
“His trip isn’t today, i-it’s next week…” Janae quietly trailed off, suddenly releasing Titch’s hand so he could steal his phone. With practised expertise and technology-adapted fingers, the eight and a half year old had unlocked his dad’s phone and was scrolling through the countless apps. Eventually, he found the calendar app, which thanks to Titch running his own farm, was always up-to-date; including any family details.
Much to Janae’s growing disappointment, there on today’s date and blocked out in blue was a note that read “Johnny Away @ DofE.”, spreading all the way across to Sunday morning.
Suddenly feeling rather defeated, Janae handed Titch back his phone, keeping his hand outstretched for his dad to hold again. The three of them continued their familiar stroll back to the farmhouse, with Titch breaking the silence.
“Don’t worry, love. Johnny will be back before you know it! Now come on, let’s get back so you can start that busy weekend of yours.” Titch chirply encouraged, but Janae didn’t feel like building rockets anymore.
***
With the practised precision of someone who had performed the same routine every day for a year, Janae crashed into his bedroom, yanked his red school jumper up over his head, and screwed it up ready to basketball-throw it into the laundry hamper. But before he could even draw his arm back to throw, something caught his attention: something he’d never spotted before.
“How,” he said slowly, to the silent room, “does my jumper know my name?”
He turned the cheap polyester over in his hands and inspected the inside with scientific precision. There, just below the ribbed collar, lay a small, hand-stitched but nevertheless immaculate label: “Janae Greenfields”.
“I didn’t put you there,” he muttered, picking at the corner of the label, testing to see if he could get it out. “How did you get there?”
He dropped the jumper unceremoniously onto the rug and ripped off his white polo shirt next. And there it was staring back at him, smug and unwavering: “Janae Greenfields”.
With a sudden burst of energy, Janae leapt across to his dresser and began throwing open drawers. Shirts, jumpers, trousers, and socks all came flying out, each one inspected then tossed across the room.
Nothing.
None of them had labels.
Apart from his school uniform.
Janae stood stunned in the middle of his room. Clearly this was a mistake. Clearly somebody, some mysterious entity, had deemed it necessary to categorise his clothes. But, they had given up half way through. They’d got as far as identifying his school clothes and called it a day, leaving the rest abandoned like some half-forgotten petri dishes in the corner of a laboratory.
With half his wardrobe strewn across the floor around him, Janae stood there with his arms crossed in nothing but his slightly-muddied school trousers.
“This is a disgrace to logic and order!” He announced to no one in particular. “This simply will not do!”
Having kicked the odd t-shirt out of the way to clear a path to the door, Janae raced along the hall, stumbled down the old wooden stairs, and crashed into Titch’s office. He usually wasn’t allowed into the office unsupervised (lest he start rearranging the desk drawers into a way that only made sense to him… again), but right now, this was an emergency.
He threw open what Derek had dubbed the ‘Boring Stuff Cupboard’ and scrabbled around until he found what he needed. Without bothering to shut a single door, Janae barreled back to his bedroom and set to work.
The miniscule buttons of the label maker were no match for Janae’s deft, little fingers as he quickly punched in the letters. The machine whirred into life until Janae was holding a neatly printed label. He grabbed the nearest shirt and stuck the label firmly beneath the collar:
“Janae’s Shirt.”
Next, he went for: “Janae’s Trousers.” Then: “Janae’s Sock.”, “Janae’s Other Sock.”, “Janae’s Fancy Shirt.”, “Janae’s Comfiest Jumper.”, “Janae’s Emergency Sock.”, “Janae’s Other Emergency Sock.”, “Janae’s Church Trousers.”
Before long, the room looked like a battlefield. Clothes were strewn across every surface like bodies, and tiny labels fluttered like white flags, surrendering to this small, cataloguing child.
It was at that moment that Titch pushed open the ajar door, laundry basket perched on his hip.
“Laundry fairy reporting for duty!” Titch announced, before freezing at the sight of his youngest son sitting amongst the mess: shirtless and sockless brandishing the label maker like a weapon.
Janae, for all his sins, gave Titch a very serious look as he pressed the button again, another label whirring from the machine - not breaking his father’s eye contact as he grabbed the little sticker and jabbed it forcefully onto the waistline of his best shorts.
“You look like you’ve lost a fight in a haberdashery,” Titch said solemnly.
“My school clothes know my full name,” Janae said earnestly.
Titch blinked, confused.
“Yes, love,” Titch said patiently, “so that if you lose anything, the school knows who it belongs to.”
“But my casual wardrobe,” Janae gestured to the chaos around him, “is unlabeled. Utterly unprotected - it’s unacceptable!”
Titch just chuckled and carefully scooted past the boy, reaching into his laundry hamper to collect the goods and go, before he could be drawn into any more of Janae’s shenanigans. But Janae stopped him, slamming the lid of the wicker basket shut with Titch’s arm still fully inside.
“Ow! What are you-”
“I haven’t labeled those ones yet!” Janae exclaimed, putting more of his weight on top of the hamper.
“Just let me wash them first, yeah?” Titch said with a chuckle. It was phrased as a question but even Janae, who often struggled reading people’s tone, clocked that Titch wasn’t giving him an option. He sighed and relented control over the hamper. He was just about to return to labeling each of his colourful, patterned socks one by one, when Titch spoke again:
“You know,” he said, “maybe you should start labeling Derek’s hoodies? Might stop me from stealing them all the time!”
And with that, Titch gathered up the final few rogue t-shirts from the hamper and disappeared from the room. If he had taken a moment to glance down at Janae, he might have noticed the spark of an idea forming in the boy’s busy mind. But as it goes, Titch didn’t see and he was none the wiser about the monster he was about to unleash on the farmhouse.
“What a great idea!” Janae exclaimed, once Titch was already descending the stairs.
Janae bolted up, victorious, label maker gripped in his fist like it owed him money. With four long, purposeful strides, he made it into Titch and Derek’s bedroom next door. As soon as the door was open, Janae eyed the dresser with determination. He pulled open the middle drawer and found the explosion of colour that made up Derek’s array of cosy jumpers and hoodies, none of them with labels.
Not for long.
***
The harvest waited for no man, even on weekends. That was what Derek had learnt in his six years of back-breaking farm work. The persistent downpour of rain would have contained the majority of Somerset to their homes, cosying up indoors with mugs of tea and books, but not Derek. Autumn was the busiest time of year on the farm and even Mother Nature herself couldn’t stop Derek from venturing out into the fields.
Once the dull glow of sunlight had sunk below the horizon behind a veil of grey clouds, the temperature had dropped even further and Derek had decided that his rain-soaked shivering was a sign that he’d done enough for the day. Droplets ran down through his hair and no matter how much he scratched at the back of his neck, he couldn’t quite manage to stop the uncomfortable itching.
Janae was sat at the small wooden table when Derek trudged into the kitchen… Well, ‘sat’ would be giving the boy slightly too much credit. In reality, he was stood crouching on the chair, hunched over a sheet of lined paper - his familiar chicken-scratch writing forming a messy list.
Given that Derek was already dripping rain water across the orange tiles, he chose not to stop for chit-chat and instead to power upstairs to the bathroom. He plodded through the kitchen tugging at the back of his collar, stopping to flick on the hall lights so he reduced the risk of smacking his head on the low beams.
The three switches in the corner of the kitchen had confused Derek since the day he’d first moved into the old farmhouse. Six years on and he still couldn’t quite remember which switch did what - meaning that every time he stood before them, there would be a veritable rave of flashing lights before he got the right combination.
As he stopped, he suddenly spotted the three little labels symmetrically placed atop the wall plate: “Hall.”, “Living Room (Main).” and “Living Room (Side).” He flicked the switch labeled “Hall.” and sure enough the warm orange lights out in the hallway flickered on first try.
“You’re welcome,” Janae said from behind Derek, barely looking up from his list.
“Janae, that’s-” Derek began with a smile gracing his features, “thank you, love! That’s really helpful.”
Janae smiled up at him, a genuine grateful smile, basking in the warmth of the praise he desired. With a renewed spring in his step, Derek headed upstairs practically colliding with Titch as he left the bathroom, using one towel to rub his hair dry and another wrapped tightly around his waist.
“Alright, love?” Derek asked, kissing his husband’s damp curls with a smile.
“I’m so sorry!” Titch exclaimed. Derek simply peered down at him confused.
Titch held out the hair towel for Derek to see. Right in the top corner sat a small white label, identical to those that had been so helpfully placed for him downstairs: “Titch’s Towel (Hair).”
“Wait?” Derek questioned, still holding the towel.
Before he could say anything else, Titch had stepped back into the bathroom and flicked the light on again (labeled “Bathroom Light (Big).”) Inside, Derek found himself and Titch standing in a room so thoroughly labeled that it would put NASA’s Mission Control to shame.
“Johnny’s Toothbrush.”, “Janae’s Toothbrush.”, “Medicine Cupboard.”, “Toilet Roll.” (every roll labeled), “Big Mirror.”, “Little Mirror.”, “Soap (Bar).”, “Soap (Liquid).”, “Toilet.” (complete with “Big Flush.” and “Little Flush.”), “Sink.” (“Hot Tap.”, “Cold Tap.”), “Sink Plug.”, “Sink Plug Chain.”
“You don’t even want to look in the shower,” Titch said, shaking his head.
Twenty minutes later and Derek had finished the most organised shower of his life. The shampoo and conditioner had been labeled with precisely how much he should use of each: “Shampoo (10ml).” and “Conditioner (Derek: 5ml. Titch: 7.5ml)”, but unfortunately Derek had forgotten to bring his measuring jug to the bathroom with him so it wasn’t much help.
When he padded through to his bedroom, Derek found a scene not dissimilar to that of the bathroom. He ruffled his hair dry with “Derek’s Towel (Hair).” and slipped into some clean joggers which he found in the drawer labeled “Derek’s Bottom-Half.” and a worn old Doctor Who t-shirt from “Derek’s Top-Half.” before pulling his favourite soft hoodie over his head. It smelled like Titch, Derek rolled his eyes and grinned at the thought of Titch stealing his hoodie once again.
As he pulled it over his slightly damp hair, Derek felt the return of the familiar itching that he’d been struggling with all day. He scratched incessantly at his neck; but, no matter how hard he tried, the tickling refused to stop. With a shrug and a mental note to take an antihistamine when he got downstairs, Derek pulled on a pair of socks with little hedgehogs on (“Derek’s Woodland Socks.”).
He shuffled downstairs (with each step helpfully labeled “Last Step.”, “Fourteenth Step.”, “Thirteenth Step.” and so on, just in case he got lost on the journey) and into the kitchen where the offending label maker was still clutched in Janae’s hand as he spooned potato salad into his mouth with the ferocity of a boy who hadn’t eaten in days (despite the fact that Derek was sure the biscuit tin was significantly lighter than it had been that morning).
The kitchen itself had also faced the wrath of Janae’s latest obsession: every cupboard was assigned a title, every picture frame, every spice in the spice rack, every herb on the windowsill. Derek stood in the doorway watching Janae survey his mysterious paper list as he ate, while Titch stood behind the boy, shooting Derek a look of ‘don’t you dare, you’ll open a rabbit hole’.
“Love, can you take a look at my neck?” Derek asked, still pulling at the neckline of his hoodie as he had been all day.
“Huh?” Titch asked.
“Think I’ve been bitten by a bug or something, have a look for me?” Derek pulled a packet of antihistamines from the “Medicine Drawer.” and popped out a single tablet, ready to rid himself of the irritating discomfort of his persistent itching.
Derek felt as Titch took him by the shoulder and pulled himself up onto his tiptoes, gently adjusting Derek’s hoodie so he could see properly. The cold touch of Titch’s fingers was soothing against his red and irritated skin, and Derek sighed and leant back into his husband’s touch.
“I can’t see anything,” Titch murmured, his breath softly tickling Derek’s skin. “Are you sure it’s- oh! Oh, I’m so sorry for this!”
Titch reached into the collar of Derek’s hoodie and had to use considerable force to yank out the offending item. He tapped Derek on the shoulder and smiled up at him when he turned around.
“I think I’ve found your mystery bug!” Titch said, grinning and holding out a tiny strip of familiar white plastic: “Derek’s Second Favourite Hoodie.” the label read.
“I did it for your own good,” Janae said through a mouthful of potato, “to stop Titch stealing your hoodies. You’re welcome!”
Damn that child.
***
Muted light seeped into the bedroom, pooling across the wooden floor. The window panes fogged with condensation as the rain continued to tap against the glass, while the wooden frames creaked steadily from the howling wind. The tranquil serenity was rudely disturbed by the unceremonious screech of the alarm clock.
Derek groaned, draping his forearm across his eyes, attempting to ignore his wake-up call. The ridiculous alarm clock had been a joke gift from Titch one year, when he’d been late to start work on the farm before they had begun dating. Ever since, Titch had programmed the clock each night before bed, ensuring Derek would always wake up on time for the day’s schedule.
Reaching a blind hand out to cease the noise, Derek managed to hit the right button after the fifth attempt; knocking the pen from last night's crossword book in the process and sending it clattering across the floor.
With a series of reluctant grumbles, Derek just about managed to slither out from under the comfort of his duvet: tugging on his discarded woolen jumper, a pair of joggers and his thick welly socks, and subconsciously pulling the sleeves of the jumper down, over his hands; attempting to trap any escaping heat.
Rubbing his fists across his face, vaguely trying to clear the sleep-dust from his eyes, he dragged his body from the room, slowly descending down each of the stairs with a thud; ducking his head to bypass the low beams above. He had learnt the hard way that old farmhouses hadn’t structurally considered those past the height of six foot two.
Thankfully for Derek, Titch was an early riser: therefore the heating downstairs was humming pleasantly already; the kettle had been filled; and a mug, tea bag already waiting, had been sweetly prepared for him. Flicking the switch on the kettle, the sleep-riddled giant began lumbering around the kitchen in a memorised routine, gathering together his breakfast.
Listening to the steady rumble of the kettle, Derek sighed, squinting over at the clock on the wall. It was only 6:40. Why he had agreed to pick up Johnny from school at such an ungodly hour was beyond his comprehension this early.
Collectively, the microwave pinged and the kettle stopped trying to take off, coaxing Derek back to his breakfast. Blindly grabbing a spoon from the cutlery draw, he shuffled across the room to the kitchen table: discarding his bowl of porridge, and mug of tea, before awkwardly threading his legs over the bench and sitting down with a heavy thump. With the spoon still tightly grasped in his hand, he took a moment to fidget so he could rest his head in his other palm, before lazily scooping up a mouthful of food: eyes still somehow struggling to stay open.
“What are you doing?! That isn’t your spoon!”
Derek almost choked as he went to take another mouthful, having not heard the quiet footsteps of his youngest son over the sound of the pattering rain outside. The sharpness of his shrill eight and a half year old voice caused him to jolt slightly and glance up at the boy, who had his hands firmly planted on his tartan pajama-clad hips with a frown.
“That’s Johnny’s spoon! You can’t use Johnny’s spoon!”
Derek blinked slowly, trying to process the accusation: battling his early morning brain fog and the logic of an infuriated child.
“Janae, love-”
Before Derek had the chance to reply, Janae stormed over and ripped the cutlery from his hands, slamming it next to his bowl. It was then that Derek spotted the familiar label, just like the hundred others that had been cropping up around the house and in his clothes. The spoon did in fact have “Johnny’s Spoon.” stuck across the handle: something he clearly hadn’t noticed during his mechanical routine.
With a yawn, Derek shifted to face his son, who was suspiciously surveying the rest of his breakfast. His untamed blonde curls were sticking up comically like a crazy scientist, while he methodically lifted the bowl of porridge: scrunching his nose at the substance he had deemed “unnaturally gelatinous” for food, when offered it for his own breakfast one morning.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise, love. Don’t worry I’ll be sure to wash it up, so he won’t notice when he comes back,” he apologetically reasoned, but Janae clearly wasn’t listening to his dad, as he made a grab for the mug of tea, holding it up disapprovingly towards Derek and sloshing some of the liquid down the side.
“Careful love, it’s h-”
“This isn’t yours either! This is Titch’s mug! It clearly says it on the bottom, Derek!” He yelled at the top of his lungs.
Without an ounce of consideration for the still three-quarter filled mug, Janae abruptly flipped it upside down, aggressively pointing at the small label which read “Titch’s Mug.”. Its steaming contents was launched across the oak kitchen table, ruining the half-eaten porridge.
“Janae!” Derek exclaimed firmly, as he scrambled to escape the waterfall of scorching tea heading straight for his lap, smacking his knee painfully in the process. Unfortunately, in his zombified state, he was too slow and was suddenly more awake than Titch’s stupid alarm clock had ever made him.
Crashing the now very empty mug back down on the table, Janae stormed out of the room, muttering under his breath about “how hard can it be to follow a simple system” and “no respect for others possessions”, leaving a frustrated and bewildered Derek frantically soaking up the spillage with a tea cloth. The distant slam of Janae’s bedroom door echoed throughout the farmhouse, making Derek flinch slightly, as he also began grumbling to himself.
“What on Earth was all that about?” Titch’s concerned tones drifted into the room, having been drawn out from his office at the unusual commotion. His eyes scanned the room briefly, before his gaze settled on the mess that Derek was aggressively scrubbing at.
“You alright, love?” he mused gently, leaning in the doorway, fully aware that it was better to stay out the way for the moment.
Refusing to answer his husband, Derek launched the sodden cloth across the room, as it landed on the side with a damp thud. Briefly glancing back up at the clock, he grabbed his disaster of a breakfast and dumped it in the sink with a clatter.
Titch’s eyes widened noticing his husbands stained clothes, eyebrows knitting together with confusion; but, as he went to ask, Derek simply stomped past him in a recreation of Janae only a few moments ago; calling back over his shoulder in a defeated growl:
“Apparently, I used the wrong bloody mug!”
***
Despite the eventful morning, Derek had just about managed to escape the farmhouse on time to drive the forty minutes to Johnny’s school, persistently clawing at his irritated neck. Just as he was closing the door, Derek chastly kissed Titch, and made a passing comment about “confiscating that damn label maker” before he got home.
Titch let out a heavy sigh, watching his overwhelmed husband clamber into their family car; something they’d had to consider when they first adopted the boys.
Eventually spinning on his heel, Titch crossed the room to the stairs, planning to get changed for church. As he climbed the steps without the need to alter his height, Derek’s words finally registered and Titch couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. It was hard to believe that a child with a label maker could cause so much stress and chaos.
Gently knocking on the boy’s shared bedroom door, Titch softly reminded Janae to get ready for church. What Titch hadn’t been expecting was the firm defiance from the child on the other side.
“I’m not going!”
Titch inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the rain of fire that was no-doubtedly about to be unleashed upon him, and cautiously began opening the door. He hadn’t fully considered what he would be walking into, but what greeted him was beyond any limited expectations he’d had.
The room was covered in sticker labels: exponentially more so than the rest of the house.
Titch could only imagine it had started with the bigger furniture: “Janae’s Bed Frame.”, “Johnny’s Bed Frame.”, “Janae’s desk.” and “Johnny’s Messy Drawer.”.
Quickly moving onto what the boy had deemed essentials in his room: “Professor Einstein.” Janae’s favourite teddy bear, “World Globe (Broken).”, “Janae’s Emergency Blanket.”, and “Johnny’s Favourite Slippers.”.
Before the label maker had been overworked to identify every minor detail in the bedroom: “Janae’s Favourite Pencil.”, “Janae’s Favourite Pencil’s Eraser.” (rendering the eraser itself useless, due to sticker location.), and “Johnny’s Marble Collection: Total 39”.
It turned out Janae had even gone as far as labelling every individual fairy light hanging above Johnny’s bed: “Johnny’s Fairylight: Bulb 21.”, “Johnny’s Fairylight: Bulb 22.”, “Johnny’s Fairylight: Bulb 23.”, and so on around the room.
In the middle of it all, was Janae curled up on Johnny’s bed; arms tightly hugging his knees against his chest. Quietly, Titch perched on the bed beside him, taking a brief moment to peel a sticker off his foot that read “Space Rug.” Janae quickly stole the label and placed it back on the appropriate item; before returning to his original sitting position.
“I like what you’ve done with the place, love. I always knew this room was missing something,” Titch complimented warmly as he smiled over at his son, who peered over his arms back at him. For a moment, Titch let a comfortable silence settle between the two, allowing him to appreciate all the hard work Janae had put in around them.
“So, what has the church done this time to warrant your dismissal?” Titch mused, only briefly flickering his gaze across to Janae. “I’m sure Reverend Williams has remembered to put more chocolate hobnobs in his biscuit tin this time. How could he not after your very persuasive note?”
The note in question had been bordering on a propaganda poster, with a series of demands and child-like threats if the chocolate hobnobs didn’t make a swift return by next Sunday. There had even been a mention of the removal of Janae’s “useful” organisational system for the distribution of the villagers tea orders. Unfortunately, Derek had been too slow that morning, a surprise to no one, at intercepting the exchange; leaving the Reverend fighting to conceal his laughter.
For the briefest moment, Titch swore he caught Janae smirking behind his barrier of limbs, only for him to double down on his refusal.
“I’m not going.” he snapped, shuffling away awkwardly.
“Why, you-”
“Johnny isn’t going! So why should I have to!”
That’s when Titch realised why everything had occurred this weekend.
“Is that really the reason?” Titch probed. He knew that it wasn’t, of course he did, but if Janae thought his emotions were really out on display, it’d get his back up.
“Yeah, why should I have to go to church if Johnny gets to miss it?” Janae shrugged. “I’d rather stay here… and keep labeling.”
“I’m not sure there’s much left to label, love,” Titch chuckled. “Unless you want to head out and start labeling the chickens?”
After a beat of silence, Janae shuffled towards the edge of the bed and reached to grab the label maker from where it lay abandoned on the bedside table.
“No.” Titch was too fast for him, and managed to catch the machine before his son. “Let’s leave the chickens be for now, yeah?” Titch slipped the label maker into the pocket of his best church trousers - making a mental note to secure it away in the safe later.
“I got a text from Johnny last night,” Titch lied. He knew Johnny wasn’t allowed his phone during the expedition across Exmoor, in reality he’d got a text from Johnny’s school informing him that all the children were still alive: bare minimum but still reassuring.
“You did?” Janae asked, interested. As if he suddenly caught how intrigued he had truly sounded, Janae shrugged casually. “He's okay, is he?”
“Yeah, he was a little bit sad though,” Titch said quietly.
“Why was he sad?” Janae asked, all wide eyed and concerned.
“Oh, he was just missing home, that’s all,” Titch said with a small shrug, acting was never really his forte but Janae seemed convinced - he’d just have to remember to tell Johnny to play along when he got home. “Said that he missed you more than anything.”
“Who wouldn’t? I’m amazing,” Janae said, as if he was totally uninterested, but the glimmer of a tear which flickered across his waterline told a very different story.
“Said you two haven’t spent a night apart since you were born,” Titch explained. “Eight years is a long time to have never even slept in a different room to someone.”
“Eight and a half,” Janae mumbled into his arms.
“Eight and a half, yes,” Titch nodded seriously. “Look, it’s okay to miss him, you know?”
“I don’t miss him!” Janae exclaimed. “I’m just trying to organise the house!”
“Okay,” Titch said, giving up on trying to squeeze any semblance of confession out of his youngest son. “How about we tidy up some of the labels we don’t need and wait for Derek to get back with Johnny?”
“We need all the labels!” Janae said, as if it was obvious.
“Do we really need “Melon Scooper Thing.”?” Titch asked. “I’m sure that one’s not necessary.”
“What if someone uses it to scoop ice cream, though?”
“Heaven forbid,” Titch laughed. “Okay fine, what would you prefer to do? No church today, we can do whatever you want.”
“I want to-”
“Anything you want that doesn’t involve the label maker!” Titch chuckled, catching Janae mid-sentence - like a prince trying to stop a genie from screwing him over with a literally interpreted wish.
“Can we just stay here and wait for Johnny?” Janae whispered, as if saying it out loud would make his feelings real.
Titch just smiled and shuffled close to Janae, gently nudging the boy with his knee, until he uncurled just ever-so-slightly. Janae inched closer until he could rest his head against Titch’s arm, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxed against the man’s pristine white shirt. The slight dark marks under Janae’s eyes made Titch wonder just how much sleep the boy had got that night, and whether he was able to sleep at all without the presence of his brother nearby.
A short while later, the wheezing of the old Land Rover crunching up the gravel driveway alerted both Titch and Janae to the arrival of a weary traveller (with Johnny in tow). Janae’s feet had hardly hit the fluffy space rug before his legs started pumping and he was running down the stairs, taking the neatly labeled steps two at a time. He crashed into the kitchen with all the subtlety of a firework in a library just in time to spot his brother (complete with a rucksack larger than himself) pushing open the old wooden door.
“Johnny!” Janae shouted. His little bare feet slapped across the tiles until he collided with Johnny at full speed. His arms wound around his brother’s chest, and he jumped up to wrap his legs around him too, clinging to the boy like a koala who’d found the eucalyptus hoard of a lifetime.
Johnny stumbled backwards (either with the force of his rambunctious little brother or the sheer weight of his hefty backpack); had Derek not taken the brunt of the force behind him, it was doubtful whether the boys would still be upright.
“Oof! Hi, Jay!” Johnny exclaimed, his face splitting into a grin. “Did you miss me, or something?”
Janae quickly unwrapped himself, jumping back to the floor, and brushing invisible fluff from his jumper. He tried very hard to seem nonchalant. No one was convinced.
“No,” he said coolly. “I’ve been far too busy for any of that, I didn’t even think about you once.”
“Oh yeah?” Johnny said with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Janae nodded, walking away far too relaxed for a boy who had nearly given his dad a heart attack by jumping down the stairs mere moments ago. “I’ve been so productive, I don’t even remember who you are. In fact, what was your name again?”
“Missed you too,” Johnny said earnestly. This stopped Janae in his tracks: not for very long, just long enough to glance over his shoulder and meet Johnny’s honest smile with one of his own, before thundering back upstairs on all fours.
***
A few hours later, Johnny was thoroughly relaxed back into his routine at home. He lay on his bed like a floppy starfish with his sketchbook balanced on his chest flicking through the pages of sketches he’d done during his down time on his expedition. Janae lay beside him curled up into a little ball absentmindedly fiddling with some mystery machine, while listening as Johnny reeled off a description of each drawing.
“And this one is of my friend Adam trying to dry his socks on the campfire,” Johnny explained, pointing to a remarkably atmospheric sketch of a teenage boy sitting beside a fire on the rolling hills of Exmoor.
“Did he get them dry?” Janae asked quietly.
“Nah, he actually set fire to them,” Johnny chuckled. “Probably for the best, they smelt awful!”
This was how Derek found the boys when he peeped through the door of the chaotically labeled bedroom: curled together in Johnny’s little twin-sized bed giggling at the drawings.
“Dinner survey!” Derek announced as he pushed open the creaking wooden door. “Lazy dinner tonight, because I’ve had a… weekend. I’ve certainly had a weekend. So, your options are,” Derek looked at the non-existent writing on his palm: “pizza and chips or… chips and pizza?”
“That’s a hard one!” Johnny exclaimed with a high-pitched giggle, while beside him Janae rubbed his chin in mock-consideration. “I’m thinking, and hear me out on this one, pizza… and maybe, just on the side, a handful of chips. Does that sound crazy?”
“Hmm.” Derek looked serious, then nodded in deep contemplation. “I shall consult His Royal Highness: The Freezer.”
He shot the boys one final cheeky grin before ducking out of the room. Before he could make it more than a few steps back towards the stairs, tiny footsteps pattered behind him.
“Derek?” Janae’s voice was quiet and shy in a way that no one who had ever met the little boy was used to.
“What’s up, love?” Derek stopped, surprised, and turned to face Janae, whose mop of blonde curls was poking out from his bedroom door.
With a small breath, Janae padded out of his room and down the corridor to Derek, holding his arms out in a clear but shy invitation. Derek scooped him up without a second thought - who was he to deny his little boy? He lifted Janae up and placed him carefully on his hip, catching the little glance of nervousness in the usually so overconfident expression.
“I’m sorry,” Janae mumbled, as if the words were unfamiliar and foreign on his tongue. “I didn’t mean to be all annoying. All the labels, and the itching, and the tea. I’m really sorry.”
“Oh, love!” Derek pulled Janae in close and held him so tight that Janae worried for a moment he might snap in half, he wriggled in Derek’s grasp until the man relaxed. Settling down into the more gentle hold, Janae sighed and rested his head on Derek’s shoulder, almost relieved that the words had finally come out.
“It all seemed so chaotic, like nothing was logical, so I had to make it logical.” Janae picked at the fluff of Derek’s cosy jumper and sniffled slightly into his shoulder.
“I understand, pumpkin,” Derek murmured. “I know you didn’t mean to: you were just upset about your brother being away and needed to make everything make sense. I shouldn’t have shouted, love: you didn’t mean any of it, you were just trying to process big feelings and that’s okay.”
Janae nodded against Derek’s jumper.
“And besides, there’s worse things you could’ve done with your big feelings,” Derek shrugged. “I once tried to alphabetise the spice rack after I had a bad dream and accidentally spilt a whole jar of paprika into Titch’s favourite succulent!”
“Did you?” Janae shot up and watched Derek with a grin.
“Yep,” Derek nodded. “Killed the plant dead. But don’t tell your dad, yeah? I told him it was ‘just his time to cross the rainbow bridge’!”
“Pinky promise!” Janae said, linking his little finger with Derek’s. With a quick squeeze of their interlocked fingers, Derek placed Janae back on the floor with careful precision before shooting him a gentle smile.
“Right! Pizza time, yeah?” Derek said, making a move for the stairs. But before he could take even a single step, Janae had slid past him and was barrelling downstairs, his little voice carrying as he ran.
“Titch! You’ll never guess what Derek did!”
Derek gasped.
“Traitor!”
***
Finally the clouds had run dry and started to disperse from the sky; leaving a wash of deep purples and golden ambers in their wake.
The boys had spent the evening giggling at each other's vastly different weekends, while respectfully doing their own activities at the kitchen table. Meanwhile, Derek and Titch stood leaning against the wooden countertops sipping a mug of tea each; thankful for the return to normalcy.
Titch wrapped his arm, not clutching a mug that had been appropriately labelled “Titch’s Mug.”, around Derek’s waist; tugging them impossibly closer, and taking the chance to rest his head against his husband’s shoulder. With a warm smile plastered across his face, he continued to watch his sons, while quietly addressing his partner.
“I can’t believe, after all this time and our deal about secrets, it was you who killed my beautiful succulent!” Titch teased, giving a loving pinch to Derek’s side, before taking a long sip of his tea. The rumble of his husband’s chuckle vibrated through him in his favourite way, like his own personal blanket.
“That’s the last time I trust Janae with a three year old secret, he couldn’t even contain it for three seconds.” Derek shook his head with a smile, before it quickly faded upon spotting Janae with the label maker once more. “I thought we were confiscating that?” Derek chastised, raising his mug labelled “Derek’s Mug.” having learnt another lesson the hard way, in the direction of his youngest son, already fearful of what was left in the house that hadn’t already been catalogued by the small boy.
“You know, I knew I forgot to do something today.” Titch chuckled, watching Janae practically stand up on the bench in order to lean over and place a sticker on Johnny’s chest. The gesture earning the younger sibling an awkward hug across the table from his brother, which he could only bear for a second, before attempting to wriggle free.
After a few moments of punching his fingers against the keypad on the label maker, Janae scrambled off the kitchen bench and tip-toed his way over to his parents. A cheeky grin playing at the corner of his lip as he offered the incriminating weapon towards Derek.
“Don’t tell me you’ve actually finished, love?” Derek smirked, gently taking the sticker machine from his son’s hand, with a relieved thank you.
“Mmm hmmm,” Janae hummed, taking a ginger step forward, “just got two left. I saved the most important till last.”
His face broke into a beaming smile as he launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around both of his parents. Bringing his hands back around, and standing on his tip-toes, Janae reached up as far as he could; pressing a small sticker on to each of them, before dashing away again.
Unable to read the tiny stickers on themselves, they shifted to face each other; instantly met with an overwhelming wave of pride and emotion. Derek reached his thumb up to Titch’s watering eyes and quickly swiped the unshed tear away, wrapping his arm around his husband’s shoulders and pressing a loving kiss into his hair.
Despite the chaos one child and his label maker had caused over a single weekend, in two stickers it had rendered the entire thing worth it, as both Derek and Titch now stood proudly with their own identical labels:
“Janae’s Favourite Dad.”