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Summary
he’s standing in the tea aisle, eyes scanning over the different boxes. there’s fifteen flavours, not to mention this new “matcha” thing he’s been seeing as of late pop up everywhere. he hums to himself, deciding between ginger and lemon and spiced ginger to keep him warm for the coming january, when he feels tug on his shirt.
odd. he’s never felt a tug on his shirt, not since – not since joseph.
he looks down, and there’s a girl, about as tall as his knee, not more than three years old, looking up at him with the widest eyes he’s ever seen.