In His Name

Chapter 86 - Impatience

Dinner sits heavily in Rosco stomach. It was unbelievably delicious, so he'd eaten way more than the confines of his small appetite allows for. The extra full belly is making the boy feel lazy and sleepy, the four-poster bed behind him is calling to him, whispering promises of cozy naps. But it's not his bed so that might be awkward. Hayden has been assigned the nicer room which makes perfect sense since Hayden is the all-powerful god of death and a bunch of other stuff while Rosco is just Rosco. Not that his room isn't nice. It's a very nice room, Rosco often feels completely overwhelmed in it but right now he's not in his room he's in Hayden's. Hayden's room is the one with a desk out of the two, since it's nicer, so it had been decided that the reading lessons take place here. Well, it should be a reading lesson but at some point, Hayden had decided learning to read involved learning to write. So, the boy is currently engaged with a writing lesson, or well, he could be if he was focused at all. His quill scratches oddly against the paper, splattering black ink across the empty space in a shower of dots. Sighing in defeat, Rosco slumps back against the chair. He'd argued that learning to use the quill was setting back his progress with the letters, but Hayden said it was important, and deep down Rosco knows the stupid writing implement isn't really the problem.

When he'd woken up this morning in Hayden's palace, Rosco expected everything to be different, that his whole life would be drastically changed. But it hadn't. He ate breakfast, had a magic lesson that consisted of a disaster, worked in the gardens, messed around with Tansy and Flyn, had dinner, drank coffee and headed up to read, just like he has pretty much every day. The events of yesterday are starting to feel more like a dream than reality. Hayden loving him the same way Rosco loves his god just isn't meshing into the world he'd known. It's like trying to build a puzzle with pieces from different sets. Hayden said he loves him, but he still did chores with Flynn. They'd kissed, but he still had meals in the kitchen. He'd seen one of his god's most painful memories, but he still couldn't read. It's all making the events of the night before seem so surreal he's starting to doubt his memory.

Lost in his thoughts, his fingers move on their own, working to connect the splattered dots in swirls and lines, mindlessly creating shapes that have nothing to do with his alphabet. Rosco blinks down at his work, realizing he's filled the entire page with scribbles. This is not working. He sighs, slumping back in his chair, letting his eyes drift to Hayden, the real subject of his thoughts.

Excitement builds in his chest upon realizing this is one of the rare occasions when he looks at Hayden and isn't met with his god's eyes already on him.

Hayden is leaning on the edge of the windowsill, his eyes impossibly far away, arms crossed in a relaxed sort of way over his chest. He's so still, Rosco can't make out the rise and fall of breathing, and for all Rosco knows he isn't. The stillness and the slivery moon light spilling over him from the window make the god resemble a marble statue, adding to the strange dreamlike quality of Rosco's memory of the night before. Someone real can't be so perfect, someone so perfect can't possibly be interested in Rosco.

Hayden doesn't respond to his staring, just like he hadn't noticed Rosco's lack of focus. A slew of selfish desires curl in Rosco's heart. He wants attention, validation, assurances, anything to make Hayden's love feel as real as he needs it to be.

"Hayden." His god's eyes instantly flick to him and Rosco and the storm in Rosco's heart calms before blanching. He hadn't meant to actually call out! "Sorry! I was just thinking out loud, I didn't mean to interrupt you!" turning his attention back to his paper only to rediscover he'd already filled it, "Uh," sheepishly glancing back at his god, "I might, uh, well, need more paper."

Hayden is at his side in a single step, making a plucking motion with his hand, he pulls the excess ink out of the paper, dropping it back into the inkwell. "You're distracted."