Chapter Text
If there was anything that came to mind first when Daffodil thought about Till, it was his oddly tranquil expression when he found him hunched over the sink, black droplets running from his newly bronze hair, eyes red from the shower water hitting them too hard. His twelve-year-old self heaved, furious, frustrated, drenched in the smell of cheap hair dye as he looked into Till's eyes in the mirror.
"Bronze, huh?" Voice calm, Till walked into the bathroom, and their trailer van swayed ever so gently. "Looks good on you."
"…You're not mad?" Daffodil almost hissed through gritted teeth. "And what happened to Bean? He said he'd keep an eye out, that bastard!"
Till narrowed his eyes by the slightest. "We don't use that kind of language when we talk about family. And I'll have to go look for him when we're done talking."
Okay. So he is mad.
"I'm sure he won't be far, but if you take any longer than this conversation needs to go, we're gonna have a problem on our hands." Till leaned on the counter and folded his gloved hands.
Daffodil took a few deep breathes. Felt his chest roll with every shaky inhale and exhale. Watched the dark water trickle down the sink, which helped. He turned his head to look at Till when his breath stopped shivering. "…The kids at the bazaar."
"From a week ago?"
Daffodil nodded.
"What happened?"
Not the "was that where you got the dye too?" he was expecting. "…They said I have Luka's hair, and that means I have Luka's genes. They said I'll always be a pet-human like him!" Daffodil felt his heart push up against his throat. The dampness in his eyes returned, and he hated it.
Till first furrowed his eyebrows a little, then chuckled.
"Wha— How— Why are you laughing?!" His voice broke, and his face burned.
Raising a hand to cover his smile, Till fixed his loving gaze on Daffodil. "I can't believe it was you, out of all your siblings, who'd let those kids define you."
"Are you not angry at them? At Luka?!" He'd remember how the bazaar children shared his spite for Luka as they pointed at their tablet, how the blonde pet-human compliantly paraded around with his segyein master in luxurious hovercars and expensive suits while so many human lives out there were suffering, fighting, drawing on their last breaths to stay alive. He'd frown when the same children's fingers were directed to his head. Not even two years ago, he'd watch the final Alien Stage performance go down a million times through the glass, the rage that bloomed from surprise burning in Till's eyes after Luka pressed his cheek against blue-gray hair, expression taunting and fingers on his neck; the inescapable routine as a resident of that hypocritical museum, and it made him loathe blonde hair like the young man on the screen did.
"I am," came the answer Daffodil wasn't ready for, and he stood blinking in revelation.
"But… How? How are you so calm? Don't you wanna… Don't you wanna do something? Don't you want the world to change?!"
Till huffed, amusement tickling the edges of his eyes. "I was like you, you know. Quick to make decisions, wore my heart on my sleeves. A few years after I joined the rebels, though, I, um," he paused and made the face Daffodil had seen several times before, where his brows would knit slightly, teal eyes glistening with muted melancholy, lips pressed together in a confusing grin, "I decided that I need to be calm. Or try to, at least."
"Why?"
"I mean, you're still angry now, even when your hair isn't the same color as Luka's."
Daffodil's eyes widen.
"To answer you question, yes, I want the world to change. But I can't change it by throwing a tantrum, or yelling at the segyein. That's why I rescued you guys and all the other kids, and why we're still doing it now."
The boy looked away, still finding what Till said hard to swallow.
"You don't have to be able to be calm now," Till added, "but I promise it helps."
"…How? How am I supposed to be calm?"
Till grinned bright. "You'll find a way."
***
"…fy. Daffy. Daff!"
Daffodil lifted his head, blonde bangs swaying out of his vision as he met eyes with the person calling his name.
Dewey was staring at him from the other side of the table, eyebrows raised, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in his eyes. "Don't make me change that last letter, kid," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a playful smirk.
"Sorry," muttered the boy. "I was… thinking."
"If it's more important than what's on this map, I swear—"
"Dad's right about you, you know. You are loud," Daffodil scowled.
"Oh, so we're bringing Till into this." Dewey brought his left leg up to crudely rest the sole of his boot on the wooden chair.
The boy ignored him. Lowered a finger onto the parchment that sprawled on the table where red markings were scribbled near and across straight, solid black lines. Brushed over his Dad's drawing of red anemones stapled to the lower left corner. Hummed. There's gotta be a way around the post without drawing the attention of the segyein guards.
He closed his eyes, heaved, and cleared his head. Opened them again. Purple eyes darted swiftly across the paper. Bazaar. Taller building, steep downhill slope, north-pointing street. Highway. Medical facility. "Can I get the full list of the cargo, again?" he said without looking away.
"Uh." Dewey checked his tablet. "Bandages, beta-blockers, defibrillator, gauze pads, pain-killers. All in containers."
"Thanks."
"…It's his birthday soon." Dewey spoke in realization.
Daffodil nodded.
"Were you thinking about what to get him?"
Nodded again.
"Awwww."
"Shut up. Do you want the cargo or not?"
The red on Daffodil's cheeks burned, and, for a moment, Dewey thought Till was the luckiest parent on this wretched planet.
~
wild daffodil (n. pseudonarcissus)
"self-love" "respect"