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Tags
Summary
“I had a daughter once.”
Foolish says softly, each word barely grazing past Juan's ears. They’re leaning against the wooden railing of his balcony, overlooking the serenity of the lowering sun, heads full of a simple summer buzz that seemed to infiltrate every corner. Juan swiftly turns. His body facing Foolish, attentive, with his hands slipping from the railing and face laced in open concern—it’s more emotion than he should be comfortable with showing so freely, but with them alone, he rips down every reservation. Together like this, they’re just Juan and Foolish. Nothing more. Nothing less.
So when he asks, “once?”, it's spoken like a secret held on his tongue.
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OR: remembering the daughter that once was
Series
- Part 1 of Sharkflower Week 2026