A Pocketful of Elavan

I Won't Mind

(au) 

She swears she has never seen prettier eyes. Some would argue that they were only a plain shade of brown, but they've never seen what Liz has seen in those eyes. She has seen the flecks of gold that loitered around his irises when sunlight shone against them. She has seen the way those eyes simply thinned into lines when they were pushed up by his chubby cheeks as a grin or a laugh graced his lips. She's seen those eyes glimmer with shiny tears when sadness and anger overwhelmed his pure heart. She has witnessed how those eyes became round and wide with curiosity each time he was told a story or sung to, and the way a spec of mischief slyly glides across them when he was about to do something naughty.

No shade of blue, grey or green could possibly compete with the brown of his soulful eyes. Liz was willing to die on that hill. Although, she might have been just a little bit biased. His eyes were the exact replica of his father's, and his father's eyes were Liz's favorite pair. Well, that was before he was born. 

Now, it was all about Zion Theodore and his lovely brown eyes. 

"Buddy," Liz whispers softly to the 2-year-old boy in her bed. 

She runs a gentle hand against his belly, softly touching to wake him up. The boy stirs in his sleep but not enough to wake up and so, she runs her fingers through his dark, wavy hair. 

"Zion-bug," she calls in a slightly louder voice, kissing his forehead. "It's wake-up time." 

A little more cuddling and kissing later and the little one finally opened his eyes. They were hazy with sleep but still as beautiful as ever. 

"Happy wake-up time." 

He smiles, "Fank you." 

"Alright, angel. Time to get up," she says, suppressing the struggle in her voice as she carried the child in her arms. He was quite heavy for his age, but she doesn't mind. 

The little one scratches his nape as a yawn escapes his lips, perched on Liz's forearm, and she simply couldn't help herself. Liz squeezes him to her just a little bit and shimmies, eliciting a croaky giggle from the boy which only becomes louder as she tickles him right below his ribcage. 

"Tickles!" the 2-year-old squeals. 

Liz takes her hand away, knowing well enough that he would ask for tickles again. 

"Uh! Uh!"

"What?" 

"Again!" 

"Manners, love," she rubs her nose against his. 

"Again please!" 

So Liz tickles him again simply because that was what he wanted and what Zion wanted, Zion will get as long as Liz can help it because she was wrapped around his little finger. And she didn't mind. 

As they approached the kitchen island, Zion points his chubby finger at the pantry door. His other hand opens and closes vigorously. 

"Words please," Liz reminds, tapping his upper lip softly as a tactile cue. 

"'nack," he eagerly mutters. "I 'nack please." 

"You'd like a snack please?" 

The boy nods, "Yeah please." 

She smiles.

"Sure thing, pumpkin. Can I put you down though? I need my hands to get your snack."

"Otay." 

Liz gently lowers the child to the ground, making sure his little feet touched the ground before letting go of him completely. She kept an eye on him, though it was hard, even as she reached into the pantry to grab a pack of Zion's favorite crackers, making sure to make a mental note to give him some fruit as well so he could get some nutrition in.