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The blistering heat of the day melted away as the sun set and twilight crept in. A drow with dusty purple skin and long white twin braids stood on the porch. Keys jingled as he stuffed them into his bag. Merikh turned to his son, Phyx. The boy was roughly four years old with curly silver hair and small, fluffy wings. He reached for his father’s hand before tottering over to the stairs leading down. He moved slowly, one foot in front of the other as he cleared each step one by one. The last step was the most daunting. So close yet so far from the quickly approaching ground. His father’s arm darted out, catching him just inches away from the cobblestone path. Phyx clung to it in shock, his heart pounding and eyes watering with tears.
“You’re alright. I got you.” Merikh brushed a curl from the kid's face as Phyx shakily regained his balance.
“Issa big stair.” The boy said.
“It really is, isn’t it?” Merikh agreed.
Phyx tearily glanced back at the stair. Merikh squeezed his hand in reassurance. “It’s okay. You’ve got all your arms and legs, right?”
Phyx nodded.
“Alright then. Let's go find a birthday present for your sister.” Merikh stood, not letting go of Phyx, and led them down the winding, lantern-lit path into the heart of the city.
They stopped at a garment shop and were greeted by an elderly human shopkeeper with bushy eyebrows and thin-rimmed glasses. He gave them a tour of lace gowns, cotton chemises, gambesons, and doublets. Merikh feigned interest before asking about scarves, to which the shopkeeper pulled out a large chest and laid its contents out on the counter.
Phyx wandered over to a corner of the store where a stack of hats was displayed. He reached for the blue muffin hat at the top.
“Phyx.” Merikh’s stern voice called out. Phyx looked up to see his dad watching him, eyebrows raised. “Don’t touch anything.” The drow waited until Phyx retreated his hand before he returned his attention to the scarves on the counter.
The selection varied from crocheted wool to fine embroidered silk; most had floral patterns or colorful swirls. Merikh ran his hand over one with eggshell colored yarn.
“Do you have any with bugs?” He asked.
The shopkeeper knitted his brows in confusion. “Bugs?”
“Yeah, like beetles, butterflies, bees…?” Merikh snapped his fingers, “Like little pictures of them on the scarf?”
“Ah, not butterflies or beetles per se, but we do have this one.” The elderly man thumbed through layers of scarves until he found a deep purple, and pulled out a fine silk scarf with silver spiders embroidered on it. “It’s woven from the silk of a giant spider and dyed using the finest indigo pigment. It’s befitting for a dark elf such as your good self.”
That phrase echoed in the void between his ears. Did he just get stereotyped? In a garment shop of all places? Merikh sputtered, “Come again?”
The shopkeeper stared at him.
Merikh stared back.
The shopkeeper repeated himself. “It’s an indigo scarf woven from giant spider silk. You were asking about bug scarves.”
Merikh stared at the scarf before him. He would rather cut off his hand than touch something made from spider silk. It doesn’t matter how thoroughly the silk was cleaned; it still came from a spider’s butt. And the silk was clearly purple, not whatever the fuck indigo was. (Which he was pretty sure is a scam color created by the dye industry.) AND, he asked specifically for bugs. Spiders were not bugs. He made the mistake of calling a spider a bug once, and his daughter swiftly sought to correct his mistake.
The shopkeeper dangled the scarf out in front of him, as if that would make the spider butt garment any more enticing.
Meanwhile, Phyx was back over by the hats. The blue muffin hat with its silver trim looked so soft. He had to see for himself. He hesitantly reached out, hand brushing against the ribbed fabric. The texture was awful. It was atrocious to the touch. It was velvet.
Phyx shrieked, and Merikh quickly found himself at his son’s side. The boy fussed and shook his hand like he had just burned himself.
“Hey, hey, hey, what happened?” Merikh asked. Phyx wiped his hand on his shirt and shyly looked at the velvet muffin hat.
“You touched it?”
Phyx nodded.
“It ended up being velvet?”
Nod.
“Did I tell you not to touch anything?”
Nod.
Merikh sighed and picked him up. Phyx rested his head on his father's shoulder and continued to wipe his hand on his shirt. Merikh spun to the shopkeeper.
“Well… thanks for your time.” He clicked his tongue and made his way out the door and into the night. “You’ve got great timing, bud,” Merikh stated plainly.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? You learned your lesson, right? Nothing was broken? Look, I didn’t want to talk to that old man anymore either. You did me a favor.”
Phyx giggled.
The two found a bench to take a quick break. Merikh sliced into a crisp apple he bought at a nearby stand. He handed a slice to Phyx, who happily gnawed on it. Merikh then cut himself a slice.
“Where do you want to go next?” He asked.
The kid took a moment to think, “Why don’t we just catch a bug for her?”
“We?”
“Yeah!” Phyx exclaimed. “I could find the bug, and you can grab it!”
“Right…” Merikh took a bite from the apple. “What about when we do catch it? How will we feed it?”
Phyx shrugged. “It’s not my bug.”
Merikh chuckled. “Let's find something else. Maybe a book or a journal?”
“Ok!” The boy scooted forward on the bench and started kicking his feet. Merikh leaned back and mirrored him. Phyx stopped kicking. Merikh stopped kicking. Phyx started kicking. Merikh started kicking.
“You’re copying me!” Phyx squealed.
“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Merikh replied.
Phyx giggled, “Yes, you do!”
Merikh snorted, “Nah.”
“Yah!”
“Nah.”
“Yah!”
“Nah!”
Phyx squinted his eyes and glared at his father with scrutiny. Merikh scrunched up his face in turn.
“Can I have some water?” Phyx held out his hands. Merikh fished the waterskin out of his bag, twisted the cap off, and handed it over. Phyx eagerly took it.
“Thanks!”
Merikh watched him drink and was struck with a vague memory of him and his father back in their hometown. He remembered every time he’d get thirsty, his father would send him down to the docks with an empty bucket. He remembered the smoke from the fire filling his lungs and how dry his mouth felt as he waited for the water to boil. He remembered his father drilling into his head the importance of self-reliance with his lessons. His chest tightened as he looked down at his son, who rarely ever wanted for nothing.
Phyx shoved the waterskin back in Merikh’s face. “I’m done!”
“Done? That’s a weird name. Is it dwarvish?” Merikh asked, thoroughly amused at his joke.
“No! I’m done with my water!”
“Gnomish then.” Merikh replaced the lid on the waterskin and put it back in his bag. Phyx rolled his eyes. Merikh nudged him.
“Are you done with the apple?”
“Yah.” Phyx slid off the bench and stretched. Merikh wrapped the apple up and put it with the waterskin.
“Alright then, on to the next store.”
The smell of sage and lemongrass wafted through the bookstore. Phyx wrinkled his nose.
“It smells.” He complained.
Merikh squeezed his hand. “I’ll try to be quick.” They made their way through the shelves, Merikh scanned the names and different genres as they passed through. He screeched to a halt when a light blue book with gold scrawled across its spine caught his eye. He pulled it out; the title read “Reign’s Regret, Book Two, The Storm.”
“I didn’t know the second book was out.” He flipped through. “I swear if Reign ends up with Richard after all he did- your father will never hear the end of it.”
Phyx stared up at him with wide, confused eyes.
“Don’t stay with someone who thinks what you like is dumb. Don’t change for them either.” Merikh clarified. “It doesn’t end well.”
His son slowly blinked. “What about the bug book?”
“Ah, right.” He tucked the book under his arm. “The search continues.”
After about ten to fifteen minutes of perusing scientific encyclopedias on everything from mushrooms to beginner spells, they found a relatively simple one for kids on the life cycles of different bugs. It was complete with drawings of different eggs, larvae, pupae, and fully grown insects.
They brought it to the front counter, and Merikh started counting out coins. He felt a light tug on his shirt and looked down to see Phyx pointing at a polished wooden table adorned with fancy quills and inks. It was a golden quill holder with a sun etched on it that caught their eye.
“For Dada,” Phyx stated plainly.
Merikh nodded. “Absolutely.”
The sun had long since set, and stars filled the sky as the two made their way back home with their bounty and a considerably lighter coin pouch. Phyx nestled against his father’s collarbone. His eyelids began to droop, and then came the soft snores.
The house came into view, lit by a dim lantern. Merikh took great care to move through it as quietly as possible, taking the time to shut and open doors without so much as a creak. He made his way to the kids’ room and carefully laid Phyx down in his bed. He pulled the blanket over him and made sure he was tucked in properly.
Then he made his way over to Journey’s bed. Her owl stuffie had fallen to the ground. He picked it up, dusted it off, and gently placed it within the crook of her arm.
“Good night,” He whispered, then made his way down the hall to his room. He slowly twisted the doorknob and slid inside. Moonlight poured in from the window and illuminated a man curled up asleep under brown feathery wings. Merikh’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of his husband. Even after all these years, Merikh still found himself head over heels in love with the man. Gods, how did he end up so lucky?
Without a sound, he hung his bag up by the door and slipped into a loose cotton shirt. He carefully crawled into bed next to Icarus. Merikh brushed aside a brown curl and gingerly kissed the man on the head. Tomorrow, he’d give his love the quill holder they bought. Weeks after that, he’d give his daughter the bug book.