The Boy Without A Name

Chapter Thirty

Twittering and tittering birds twirled tantalisingly atop the trees and down by the small cascading creek, with the silverish grey and yellow slender bird of feeble stupor flashing as a rarity to Emmett. Fieldfare birds were easily conspicuous, perceptibly prone to apples that his Dad, apparently had left on their garden table, after tactful thinking on his part, he had prudently assumed, whilst observing them from his fine fashioned fenestella. Snow firns ferned and flounced all around the forest of few, as he lightly traced the dew drops on the silky soft window pane, fluently fingering them as they slowly slithered into his hands. Snuggling sentiently against his duvet, he felt to be intimately cushy and comfortable in his surroundings as he sipped on his cloyed chamomile tea, emanating a sparkle of a glow he was familiar with, as his lips seemed to curl upwards in a smile at nature.

It was his birthday, and Emmett sincerely wished to spend the day in his rooftop garden, as he'd like to call it, whimsically recollecting his thoughts after a while of aimlessly staring at his searing tea. He was but a sentimental fool at such times, driven by some love-feast, eyes faltering feverishly upon self-realisation, wistfully wearisome for Emmett as he furiously blinked to rid himself of the tears, as he gazed at the maple leaves, lamentably lifting his hand to reach for something, glumly gazing at a particular leaf that was breezed away by the ferocious fuming winds of the winter. Flinching at the insinuation, he appeared to be dispirited amidst the simmering silence of the day, when he was abruptly broken out of his reverie by a booming voice.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOO BEAR!" Thomas exclaimed cheerfully as he entered into his room.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, EM!" Gwen followed his lead as they both grinned at him.

"We were going to surprise you, buddy. But what in the earth are you doing?" He questioned, curiously eyeing his mug.

"I couldn't really sleep last night so, I thought I'd enjoy the snowfall whilst I am at it," Emmett admitted, sheepishly smiling at their disapproving looks.

"I see, is that chamomile tea?" Thomas asked, gesturing his hand towards the cup.

"Yes, Mum had prepared it for me." He informed them before taking a small sip from his drink.

"Lucky." He added sarcastically.

"Tom, you realise you can drink it too?" Gwen gave him a pointed look.

"You don't understand. Mum is not the one to cook so for her to make something for Emmett, speaks for itself." He exaggerated making him chuckle at his dramatics.

"Well, Em, we have loads in store for you today. So, how about we start it off by building a snowman?" Gwen offered with a pleasant smile.

"I would love that." Emmett agreed, whilst smiling at the two of them.

"Let's have a competition, what do you think Gwen?" Thomas wondered, nudging the said girl excitedly.

"As long as I get to see you humiliated in front of everyone, I don't mind." She declared.

"We shall see about that, young lady." He confidently smirked at her.

"Aye, we shall. Em, let's go then." She returned his smirk before urging her best friend to follow.

Trudging through the crystalline sheets of ice and snow, they traipsed around for some time, energetically extravagant and theatrical in their endeavours of making his day explicitly memorable, he had deduced, encompassed by his sweet affection towards the dorky duo; Emmett saliently started to work on his magnanimous snowman, or as he'd like to call him, 'Poppy', whence his brother had, quite adequately with a flair of his dramatic traits, declared it to be a battleground, swiftly turning around to scoop some snow, aiming it towards an oblivious Emmett, who was able to dodge the oncoming attack with his quirk, whatsoever. After his trouncing defeat, Thomas and Gwen decidedly helped Emmett in his experiment of making Poppy, disregarding their individual swampy moulds of snow and sleet in the process.