❝ love had caught him out of triviality and maurice out of bewilderment in order that two imperfect souls might touch perfection. ❞
― MAURICE, e. m. forster
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— you should read 'maurice'
— why?
— i just... think you'd like it
✧༺ The McKay-Porter family had been hated for years.
It started when Mars was only one, too young to remember the hatred beginning to seep in. Only one year old, a toddler obsessed with pressing a hand to his very pregnant mother's belly, imaging the little sister floating around inside, reaching for his hand, awaiting the day they'd finally unite.
But when that day came, it wasn't so cheery. In hindsight, Mars was glad to have forgotten. He was glad he couldn't remember his pale white father's face turning a deep red as he watched their newborn baby girl be taken from his equally pale wife, wiped down of blood and other gunk, only to reveal...
Golden brown skin.
According to his mother, that was the last time Mars saw his father. He doubted that was the case, that his father would have left so easily without rage, without a war. Without even an attempt to fight for the son he'd previously been so proud of. But it was easier to pretend he was gone in a blink.
