A slice of Life

Ro part 3/3

(Might have to break this chapter into 2 parts because I did not pay any attention to the word count. I promise I'll put lots of cute moments in the next chapter to make up for the delay and for them being so long-winded!)

Ronan awoke to the steady pitter-patter of rain tinkling against the fabric of his tent.

It sounded especially magical merged with the factors of nature; the wind rustled around them like the rapid feet of pixies, and birds chirped from a distance, melodies so sweet and gentle. From beside him, his Daddy's heavy breathing, interrupted by the occasional snore, fanned against his ear.

He turned to face him, wiggling against the iron grip the bigger had on him, pouting when the big guy barely budged.

His Daddy was so pretty while he slept; his lashes fluttered as he dreamt, long and dark, and his mouth was slightly parted, occasionally shaping words that never quite declared themselves audible. His skin looked so clear and smooth, the perfect canvas for a bootiful drawing.

"Daddy," Ronan whispered, his fingers tip-toeing up his chest, stopping once they reached his chin. He poked down, fighting back a giggle as his mouth inched open, followed by a grunt. "Daaaadddy?"

His birdie didn't respond. He slept on soundly. With a huff, Ronan tugged against his earlobe.

"No do's dat," Raven grumbled, swatting him away sleepily.

"But I wanna play," Ronan whined, doing it again. His Daddy merely grunted, throwing his arm across his face and rolling onto his side.

"Daddy!" Lower lip ejecting, the pout that followed was intense. His arms folded across his chest. His eyes narrowed. A soft sound of annoyance bubbled deep within his chest. "Daddy, play with me, or else I find a new friend."

When the threat didn't get the reaction he wanted, Ronan was left with no choice but to call his own bluff — after sticking his tongue out at the meany pants, he struggled out of the sleeping bag, whimpering at the sudden sting of cold air, and crawled down the slope of the tent. It was a big one, the blow up mattress only taking up a quarter, and he loudly unzipped the opening, sparing a glance back at his best friend.

The stupid bird was still asleep. So Ronan slid out.

The regret was instant. The sky wasn't awake yet. Dark streaks lit up the horizon, and stabs of cat puke orange wove against the dribbling pink. The rain was soft and light, but somewhat relentless.

"Hello?" he called. "Does anybody want to be my friend?"

No answer. With a defeated sigh, he turned to crawl back into his tent, but a voice stopped him.

"What are you doing awake?"

Eyes lighting in delight, Ronan lurched forward, almost tripping as his bare foot tangled in a twig, and spun around the side of the tent. Where the campfire had been yesterday, Angel sat, tucked under a large gazebo thingy that was anchored in place by four legs that were weighed down with pegs.

"Angie," he cried, padding towards him. "You're awake. Do you wanna be my friend? Daddy won't wake up."

The fire was relit, and Angel was closer to it than he'd let them get the night before. His hands were wrapped around a mug, but he watched him approach silently, nodding to the chair beside him when he reached him.

"Don't wanna sit there," Ronan protested. "I wanna sit on your lap."

"Not today, kid. Come on. Pull up the chair. I'll fix you a drink."