BUGBOY | DORBYN [DISCONT.]

01

corbyn huffed, toeing off his shoes as his bag dropped off one shoulder. his socks were cold in the chilled breeze that slipped through the door, leaving wet footprints on the way over to the staff room.

thankfully, he had gym earlier that day, so corbyn was able to peel off the half-soaked clothes, stuffing it into his bag for home and changing into some sweatpants and a tee.

his socks couldn't exactly be fixed though, so he suffered with that.

the insectarium was closed today, but corbyn stopped in because he didn't want to go home with a drenched backside.

corbyn's bag was left by the entrance, knowing exactly where he wanted to go as his feet followed the colourful bug prints on the floor. this was a kids place, after all, they needed something entertaining other than bugs.

running past the gift shop, yellow lights flooded into an otherwise darkened hall. of course, there was the gentle illumination from windows but there weren't many in this part.

the butterfly exhibit only needed lights in the night time. (a very beautiful experience, in corbyn's opinion. people missed out on it since they were usually closed by seven.)

the glass door was pulled on, gently, corbyn's body being engulfed in the heat of the exhibit. this was one of his favourites for that simple reason.

the scent of flowers and rain wafted to his nose, a gentle stream giving background noise as he walked around the makeshift pond in the middle of the room.

this room didn't have as many butterflies, used more for a transition into the populated garden. yes, they had fish, but the fish couldn't land on your nose and tickle your skin with weightless footsteps.

corbyn startled some butterflies by opening the door, teeth pressing together in a flat smile.

"sorry, guys. i didn't mean to scare you."

although there was a perfectly good bench in the corner of the room, corbyn sat down and pressed his back against a plant bed. his head leaned back, muscles relaxing as his gaze drifted to the cloudy glass above.

it wasn't long before a royal winged butterfly landed on corbyn's hand, the bright blue of the morpho bouncing off his skin tone as his hand raised slowly.

"they pushed me in the fountain today, when i was leaving school. so, it's not that bad... on second thought, maybe they bumped into me on accident."

he knew that wasn't the case, though.

the butterfly was brought to his face, where they crawled up and sat on his nose. corbyn had it in his mind that they remembered him from being caterpillars.

"my socks are still wet, but, you guys make it better."

his volume had decreased, not wanting to scare the creature nor have too much breath blow them away.

there was something about the exhibit. maybe it was the smell, reminding him of spring, dewy mornings, sun-kissed skin. or maybe it was the temperature, never cold, never too warm, just nice to the point where you wouldn't usually need a sweater in the room.

why can't i be one of you?

corbyn had given up on crying over the occurrences, he didn't like to worry his mother, so she never knew about it. she wouldn't question why he was doing the laundry later, wouldn't ask about the scuff on his cheek if he said he fell down before she got a good look at him. saskia thought her son was clumsy, and while yes— he could be, the bruises on his limbs were often received by shoves instead of stumbles.

corbyn bruised easily, too, so he got away with a lot of his secrets.

if he was to cry, it'd be in here. on a wednesday evening when nobody worked, seeming to be one of the busiest days of the week. the excuse was always there, saskia knew he loved bugs, it didn't matter what days he went in and hung out. he wasn't even being paid to do half the work he did, didn't want to be, either.

another butterfly landed on his leg, fluttering red being identified as a julia. he smiled, seeing how vibrant she was against the grey of his pants.

the blue morpho had since crawled into his hair, seeming completely content in just sitting there.

"they were pretty lenient today, though. that was nice."

corbyn knew he himself was lying, but maybe, just maybe if he said it, it'd be true.

he didn't have any motivation to startle the bugs, feeling their wings relax and span out as a third landed on his stomach. he didn't have the energy to look, either, closing his eyes with the quiet background of the stream just a room over.

this wasn't the first time he'd slept in the butterfly garden, and it most certainly wouldn't be the last.

EXTRA NOTES
damn i missed this
hi guys (: