Ikemen Revolution x reader (One-shots)

Those Joyous Days (Edgar Bright)

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution
Genre: Angst
Character: Edgar Bright
Warnings: None
Word Count: 697

          "Stevens, is father coming for dinner?" The young boy inquired, waiting for the butler to reply with rapt attention.
"I'm afraid Mr Bright, your father, will arrive late from work."
"I want to see father and I want to show him how much I've improved my reading skills." Said the little boy as he pursed his lips in an adorable pout.
"Is that so, young master?" Mr Stevens spoke calmly, as he filled the child's glass with freshly-made orange juice.
"Yes!" Young Edgar beamed with excitement.
"I am sure your father will be content when you show him your improvements." The butler's lips quirk up into a proud smile before gently patting the little boy's head. "Now, eat your vegetables, young master."

Later that night, Mr Stevens opened the main door to let his lord in. "Welcome home, my lord—" Mr Stevens' greetings were interrupted by Edgar's joyful squeals as he came running down the stairs to greet his father.
"Father!" The sincere and innocent grin of his son tenderly enveloped his aching heart.
"Edgar, what are you doing up? It's so late." Mr Bright reprimanded him halfheartedly, unable to contain the happiness he felt upon seeing his beloved son.
"I've missed you and I wanted to see you... I'm sorry," Edgar replied with downcast eyes.
"I've missed you, too. Come here." Mr Bright extended his gloved hand and Edgar joyously held it. However, upon noticing how wet his father's gloves were, the small child scowled in bemusement.
"Father, why are your gloves wet?" He queried, staring at his father's eyes with inquisitive, jade-green orbs.
Avoiding his son's concerned gaze, he looked away, letting go of Edgar's fragile hand as shame and guilt filled his own eyes. "That..."
Mr Stevens cleared his throat, getting the attention of the young boy. "You should be in bed, young master," he spoke in a serene tone.
"I'm sorry, Stevens," Edgar apologised sincerely.
"Go to your room, champ. I'll be there to tuck you in soon." Mr Bright smiled at Edgar. Any traces of his true emotions were not discernible under that gentle smile.
"Yes, father." The young boy obliged, reluctantly retreating to his room.

A few minutes later, Mr Bright came into his son's room to kiss him goodnight. "Hey, champ."
"Father!" Edgar's eyes shone brighter than diamonds upon seeing his father.
"Stevens told me you have something to show me something."
"Yes! May I read this book for you?" Edgar asked, sitting up on his bed while staring at his father with hope-filled eyes.
"Of course, son." He smiled wholeheartedly and took a seat on the bed.
Mr Bright listened intently to his son. The story he read was about a benevolent knight who had been cursed by an evil king from foreign lands. And to protect his family from the curse, the knight had to do things he was not proud of doing. However, protecting his family was his priority, so he did all kinds of tasks without having any regrets.
"You've done so well, son!" Mr Bright praised him as soon as he finished reading. "I'm so proud of you." He patted his son's head, ruffling his hair playfully.
"Thank you, Father!" Edgar grinned, rubbing his tired eyes.
"You're a good boy, Edgar." Mr Bright stated, cupping Edgar's cheeks lovingly in his hands.
"Your hands are really cold, Father." Edgar yawned and lied down.
Mr Bright froze and a tinge of what seemed to be grief flashed in his eyes momentarily before he composed himself. "My hands are always cold, son..." He muttered. "It's time to sleep, now." Giving his son a gentle smile, he tucked him in.
"Goodnight, father. I love you," Edgar said in a low, weary tone as his heavy eyelids fluttered closed.
"I love you too, champ." Mr Bright leaned down to press his lips on Edgar's forehead before leaving his room quietly.

Leaning against the closed door, Mr Bright released a shaky breath, eyes prickling with unshed tears. "I'll make sure to keep your hands warm for as long as I can, Edgar," he promised in a low whisper, clutching his chest with one hand as tears rolled down his handsome face.