It still doesn't feel real. This sort of change, it wasn't--Greg hadn't prepared himself for this, today. Exhausted and dazed and fumbling through the aftermath, he's been waiting for something to wake him up.
Steven leans against him, and he's warm and heavy and sharp and real. And small, so small. Greg wraps his arms around the boy, unable to believe how small he is. He'd forgotten. Four years, and he'd forgotten what it was like to hold his son. He thought he remembered, but it was nothing like the solid, warm, real thing.
Greg hugs him closer. He has to be careful not to rustle those strange new wings, or snag himself on those sharp new thorns, but it's just the same little boy he used to hold. He could stay forever like this, to make up on lost time, to put off what may come next. All he wants to do is hold Steven.
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Steven leans against him, and he's warm and heavy and sharp and real. And small, so small. Greg wraps his arms around the boy, unable to believe how small he is. He'd forgotten. Four years, and he'd forgotten what it was like to hold his son. He thought he remembered, but it was nothing like the solid, warm, real thing.
Greg hugs him closer. He has to be careful not to rustle those strange new wings, or snag himself on those sharp new thorns, but it's just the same little boy he used to hold. He could stay forever like this, to make up on lost time, to put off what may come next. All he wants to do is hold Steven.