Chapter Text
You’re standing outside Papa Terzo’s office, nondescript bag in one hand, other hand raised to knock, yet unmoving. You shouldn’t be nervous. So many times now you’ve come to him for exactly this reason, and been welcomed with open arms. It will be fine. You just need to knock, and if he’s busy then you can leave, no harm done. You take a deep breath, and knock twice, but just as you do, you hear a voice from inside the room. A voice that isn’t Papa’s.
“… I don’t care, Terzo, they’re not human, we can’t treat them like – ”
Sister’s voice. Raised, possibly angry. You freeze. Footsteps approach the door. You step back instinctively. The door opens; Terzo sees you, face twitching between a smile and something closer to anxiety.
“Ah, hello caro!” he says, quickly stepping through and shutting the door behind him. “Sorry, I – ” The door opens, and Sister stands there, hands on her hips.
“Sibling, we’re in the middle of a meeting,” she says coolly. Terzo looks at you.
“My fault, Sister,” he says. You stare at him in surprise. “I must have, ah, double-booked.”
I can go, you want to say. I’m sorry for interrupting. But when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Sister rolls her eyes at Terzo, then starts back into the office, barely sparing a glance at you. Terzo, on the other hand, is distracted, his gaze flicking between you and your bag.
“Terzo,” Sister says.
“Right,” Terzo says. “One moment, Sister.” He shuts the door. “Are you... here for the reason I think?” he whispers. You hesitate, then nod, breathing through your nerves. “I cannot tell you how much I wish I could do this right now, and tell her to – well, I will try to hurry this up, for both our sakes. How about I text you when we’re done?” You nod again. “Grazie, caro.”
Your bedroom floor isn’t the most comfortable, but you don’t have the energy to move the pile of clothes from your bed, so you’ve settled down with your sketchbook, back against the wardrobe, coloured pencils spread across the floor. You have your headphones on, music you loved as a kid playing softly, noise-cancelling to block out the sounds of the other Siblings on your corridor. Your toy rabbit is draped loosely in your lap, and as you choose your next colour you stroke his ears idly.
3:17pm
Papa: she’s gone
You grin, and start gathering your pencils back into their case. When you arrive at his office, Terzo is waiting outside for you. He’s leaning against his door, eyes closed, hair a mess from running his hands through it over and over. He sighs heavily, and you quicken your steps towards him. He doesn’t seem to hear you approach. You take off your headphones, and tug on his sleeve to get his attention, and he startles, then smiles softly.
“Ah, stellina, my apologies,” he says. “Shall we head to my bedroom? My office still reeks of stress, ah, metaphorically, you know?” You nod. “You’re quiet, caro… everything alright?” Yeah, just – the words won’t come, though. You just nod again, biting your lip nervously. “Alright, let’s go then.”
When you reach his room, he lets you in, then locks the door behind him.
“We won’t be interrupted here,” he says. “Where would you like to sit?” You look around. The bed looks comfy, but without being directly invited you’re unsure if you can ask. Terzo sees where you’re looking, though. “Bed? Si, that’s most comfortable, I think. Take your shoes off then, bambino.” The direction, unnecessary though it is, makes you feel warm in a way you’ve come to appreciate rather than feel embarrassed by.
You sit cross-legged on top of the dark green duvet, and place your bag on the floor with your headphones. Terzo disappears into the bathroom for a minute, then returns in black sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“I’ll have to change into my robes for Mass in a few hours anyway,” he says. “I may as well be comfortable until then.” He joins you on the bed, sitting opposite you. “What were you listening to? Can I see?” You nod. He picks up your phone, and hands it to you to unlock. You do so, then hand it back to him, music app open. “I’m not familiar with this one,” he says. “Show me? We can play it through my speakers, if you like, or just put your phone on my bedside table.” You go with the latter option. You flick back to the beginning of the album, and place the phone down. As you do, you’re suddenly filled with nerves. What if Papa doesn’t like your music? You look back at him. He nods encouragingly. You take a breath, then press play. As the singer’s voice drifts through the tinny phone speaker, you keep your eyes on the phone, on the familiar cool blues and greens of the album cover. “I'm alone above the atmosphere / And no one looking up can find me here…” You’ve sung these words so many times, in the back of your parents’ car, in your childhood bedroom, silently in your head to calm your nerves on anxious days. You feel a hand come to rest on your knee.
“I don’t know why you’re shy about it, caro,” Terzo says. “It’s sweet. It sounds, ah, dreamy… it’s appropriate for you right now, si?” You shrug nervously. “Did you listen to this as a child? Hmm, thought so. We can keep it on, if you like. Especially if it helps you feel small.” You find yourself smiling, wider than you expected. Of course Papa wasn’t going to hate your music – even if the grown-up part of your mind knows it might not be his style, he’s Papa – you don’t need to worry about judgement with Papa. You smile even bigger. Terzo looks a little confused, then shrugs and laughs.
“Glad it makes you happy, tesoro. Now… you brought a bag with you. What’s in the bag, hm? Can I look?” You nod. Terzo pulls your bag onto the bed, and starts rummaging. “Ah! Signor Marshmallow! Good afternoon, Signor! I’m glad you can join us!” You giggle, and Terzo grins at you. He hands you the toy rabbit, and you cuddle it to your chest. Next Terzo pulls out your sketchbook and coloured pencils, and sets them down on the bed between you. He looks in your bag again, and leaves your water bottle and tissues and painkillers inside.
“May I?” he gestures at the sketchbook. You hesitate. “It’s alright, you don’t have to show me,” he says. You think for a moment, then grab the book and flip through until you find a drawing you’re proud of. It’s not the best artwork you’ve ever done – you learnt some basic stuff as a kid, and you’ve been doodling ever since, but never really had the discipline for serious art study. But this sketch, a black and white landscape copied loosely from an old holiday photo, is one of your most successful. You hold it up for Papa to see.
“Oh, stellina, that’s lovely! You drew that? It’s amazing!” You shake away the thought that he’s just being nice – that’s adult you, and you don’t need to listen to adult you right now. Instead, you let yourself bask in the glow of such effusive praise for something on which you’ve previously only ever had mildly approving comments from friends and family. “I love the way you’ve drawn the ocean, it’s so still and calm. Do you want to do some drawing now?” You nod excitedly, flapping your hands a little. He laughs. “Great. Let me go grab some paper – I think I have plain paper somewhere…” He gets up and starts rummaging in his desk drawers. By the time he returns, you’ve already flipped to a blank page and started scribbling.
“Can I borrow your pencils, please?” Terzo asks. “I don’t think I have coloured pencils, and I don’t want to get pen on my bedsheets.” You nod and push the pencils towards him. “Thank you, caro.”
For the next few minutes, you both sit silently, listening to the music and drawing. You catch yourself swaying gently back and forth, lost in the music and the colours, and stop yourself. Then you hear the rustling of bedsheets; when you look up, Terzo is copying you, swaying slightly. He raises his eyebrows. You look down, embarrassed, but when you next catch yourself swaying, you don’t stop yourself.
You try to peek at what Terzo is drawing, but every time you do, he hides it from you with a sly smile. Your own drawing isn’t turning out how you’d hoped. You had started with all of your usual favourite childish doodles – stars and planets, a portrait of Marshmallow, rainbows and flowers. Inspiration had struck, though, and you’d almost torn your paper in your haste to flip to a blank sheet to begin, prompting Terzo to laugh at you. You pouted and he laughed harder. You began to sketch, starting with the basic shapes in pale purple, then a darker shade as you outline. The problem is that you normally only draw people with a photo reference, where you can copy proportions exactly and measure things out – and where your subject stays still. It takes you a bit to even notice that your proportions are off, the outlines already started before you realise that the eyes are too far apart, the nose too small, the lips too high above the chin. You try to carry on, adding new outlines in dark navy blue and trying to fix the proportions as you go, but it just isn’t working. You throw the pencils down in frustration, and tear the page out of your book. Terzo looks up from his own drawing and furrows his brow in concern.
“Tesoro, what’s wrong?”
You open your mouth. It’s ugly. I wanted this to look good so you’d be happy with me but I can’t draw today and I hate it. No sound comes out. You hit your fist against your leg – Terzo grabs your hands before you can do it again.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he says quietly. “I should have stuck to yes or no questions, si? Not being able to talk must be so frustrating, piccolo, I’m sorry.” He rubs his thumb over your hand. “Is it the drawing? Not working out how you wanted?” You nod. “Can I see?” You shake your head hastily. It’s too ugly, too rubbish to let Papa see. “Hmm… not even if I show you mine? I bet mine’s worse…” You pause. You are very curious about what Papa has been drawing. He holds his paper up, the blank side facing you. “Why don’t we reveal our drawings at the same time?” You hesitantly hold up your paper. “On three… One, two… three!”
You turn your paper round, eyes fixed on his. When Papa reveals his drawing, you laugh out loud with delight. In the middle of the paper is a trio of stick figures. The first is clearly a self-portrait: the little stick figure has long black robes and a mitre that sits at a jaunty angle, as well as Terzo’s papal face paint. A little arrow labels the figure: “Papa”. In the middle is a figure with your hair style and the same clothes you’re currently wearing; the drawing is labelled with your name, and a smiley face. On your other side is a colourful little rabbit, wearing a top hat and a bow tie – he is labelled “Signor Marshmallow, a most distinguished gentleman, to whom is due the utmost respect and honour.” Surrounding the trio are stars and moons, and lovely swirly patterns, all in shades of blue and yellow.
“Oh, caro!” Terzo exclaims. “That’s – that’s me! We’ve drawn each other! Ah, that is adorable…” You nod shyly. Looking back at your drawing now, it is at least recognisably Papa, even without his face paint. “You’ve got my hair down perfectly… I love it!” The hair is the least awkward part of the drawing, and you look at it with a small spark of pride. “You can, ah, you can say no to this, I won’t be upset, but…” Terzo looks a tiny bit nervous. “Could I keep it? I’d like to… well, I won’t hang it up in case you’d rather not invite any questions from other visitors, but I’ll keep it in the back of my notebook so I can look at it when I’m – when I want to think about something happy. Would that be alright?” You look at the drawing again. Why on earth would Papa want this? But you don’t want to keep it, so you hand it over. Terzo takes it and smooths the paper reverently. Then you have an idea. You point at Terzo’s drawing. He looks at you for a moment, then realises what you mean.
“Ah, a trade? I think that’s very fair,” he says. “I am not an artist like you, but if you would like to keep this one…” He passes you the drawing; you take it happily and look at it for a few more moments, then place it inside the back cover of your sketchbook where it won’t get creased.
“Do you want to keep drawing, or…?” Terzo asks. You shake your head. “Alright, what shall we do? We still have some time before Mass.” You pause. There’s one thing you’d really like to do. You clamber off the bed, then reach out a hand to pull Terzo up. He laughs, a little mystified, and gets up, making it seem as if you’re hauling him up even though really you're hardly doing anything. As soon as you’re both on your feet, you wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing him tightly. He lets out a small “oof” sound in surprise, then hugs you back, just as tight. You breathe in deeply, burying your face in his chest, and he rubs your back. Your music is still playing, and Papa begins to sway side to side, rocking you with him.
“Bambino…” he murmurs. “Dance with me?”