Work Text:
A quiet knock on the door to the kitchen sounded, somewhat weak but audible enough to be heard from within. A young chef , aged 23, named by the pin on their uniform, Beacrox Molan pulled open the door, glancing over the surroundings before landing on the young child at his feet. The 6-year-old, Cale Henituse.
“Beacrox hyung” The boy stated, pausing briefly, “have you baked the cookies yet? Mum and I want to eat them already!” The child stated enthusiastically, excited at the prospect of the baked goods.
“Ah, Of course, yes.” Beacrox nodded, motioning for the younger to stay in place as he went to retrieve the baked sweets. Taking the fresh cookies, Beacrox placed the cookies neatly across a fancy plate, then moving the plate atop the tray in swift motion. Picking up said tray, The young chef brought himself back to the door, ready to give it to Cale.
Cale smiled brightly. “Thank you, hyung!”
Beacrox patted the boy’s head, then turning his attention towards his father, Ron, to which stood firmly beside Cale. After a short chat with his father, Ron spoke to the youngest, Cale, “I’ll escort you to your mother, young master. Would you perhaps like for me to hold onto those cookies?” Cale nodded, smiling as they walked towards where Jour Thames, the young master's mother, was waiting for them. It was the usual spot, the familiar tree with the vibrant red leaves. The tree bearing the same colouration of the mother and child’s vibrant hair. His mother waved at the pair, Cale moving quicker towards the stunning woman with a smile. She patted the spot next to her gracefully and with poise, gesturing for Cale to be seated next to her. Once Cale sat down, Jour began reading the familiar fairy tale, Ron gently placing the cookies upon the marble table before excusing himself to other matters. The story about a loving mother who deeply cared about her son, but kept a secret that her son would soon begin to know.
The young boy asked many questions, his child curiosity shown through his words. “What is this Mum? What does that mean Mum? Does that mean she's a good mum?” Her mother answered them all with simple explanations, patting his head while smiling softly. Jour looked at the book, thinking to herself, ‘This book… does it know of what situation I'm in… I pray not. If Cale were to-’ While the woman was stuck in her own thoughts, Cale shook her arm lightly with what strength he could muster, bringing her head out of the clouds and asked for yet another book to be read. Jour shook her head softly, turning her attention back to the present situation and opened another book, beginning to tell a different tale.
Years later, the boy had turned 18. The young male walking to visit his mother’s grave yet again. The tomb of her burial by the tree they sat under so fondly. He took to a kneel, laying a bouquet of bright red flowers, the arrangement sincere and meaningful in front of the polished gravestone. His composure cracked, eyes glossing over and blurring the vision he had of the small portrait of the woman, stuck in an eternal smile. As tears slid across his face shame grew in his mind, covering his eyes, scared to see disappointment in his own reflection, quickly sobbing into the both of his palms, shoulders shuddering in motion of his hitched breaths.