Red through the glass, friend through the bars - Hamish

[Kylan Thomassen]

Word Count: 1880 Tags: Hamish A. Stuart Notes: uwu

K ylan stared unabashedly up at the tall, colorful domes of the Russian Orthodox cathedral. Any passerby might have wondered why a young boy would look upon the sight so intently for such a length of time. Especially by the seemingly uninterested expression held in his face. It had been exactly seven months, nineteen days, and four hours since the world had opened up in a rush of light, color, and shape. His lips or his brows might not show it - or the apparent constant partly-lidded state of his eyes – but Kylan was deeply fascinated by the sight. Much like he had been by thousands of others that he was witness to with each passing moment. The domes looked a lot like upside-down turnips. A bulging curve at the bottom that tightened into a tip that protruded into a golden cross. It held a semblance to the feel of the curve of a pear that he used to recognize the specific fruit, giving him the same sort of sensation in seeing it as he had whenever he felt the soft dip. He reached up and cupped his hands around the image of the dome. He wondered if it felt like a pear too. Although he was admittedly more partial to the somewhat shiny surface that the skin of a pear had; a tiny bit of reflection of light seen in the good ones something that had downright boggled him for a time. These domes were a lot more matted and didn’t reflect the sun. But the crosses were pretty. He tapped his finger against the very top of the line as if he could prick his skin on it. Maybe it was sharp. Or maybe it was dull like the end of a turnip. Would his mother know? If he found a smaller church maybe he could climb up and see for himself. There was already reason to question a boy of his age, only seven and at best average size, being alone. It wasn’t as if he appeared poor. The scarf and coat he wore were nice enough quality to be from a middle class family. But if anyone were aware of the fact that this child had also been completely blind not even a year before… there would be a great deal more worry at his being unaccompanied by a parent or guardian of some sort. And sure, there was no denying the faint tug of guilt at the back of Kylan’s throat knowing his mother didn’t want him going out by himself even now. Fully aware that when he returned home later she would be sitting at the kitchen table fidgeting with worry, the only reason she had not fallen into pacing being the fair size of her pregnant belly. This was an especially vivid image because it had happened almost innumerable times already. Each time she would rush forward and scoop him up or bend down to check him over, telling him how scared she had been when she came back from the bathroom to find him and his shoes gone. All of that did make Kylan feel bad. He apologized to his mother with sincerity each and every time. But… he couldn’t stop himself from pushing his way out the door at the thought of seeing something completely new. Considering he’d been born blind and hadn’t had his sight even a year, that wasn’t an entirely difficult or improbable task either. And honestly, she couldn’t rightfully be surprised by his disappearances to explore. Not only to see it for himself, but to experience it more than he ever had. All of the factors such as Kylan’s small stature and young age, his being blind, the underlying prejudices against people with disabilities in such an era and place like Arkadiya, and Katrin’s own over-protectiveness of her son, led to his having been kept at home a great majority of the time. It only added to the situation that Katrin insisted on homeschooling her son, having quit her job to take care of him once he was born without the ability of sight. When they did leave the house for the occasional outing, whether for shopping or educational purposes, she kept Kylan by the hand almost the entire time. There was little chance of him being able to wander away far or for any long period of time. “Is there something on the church, Mama?” Kylan turned at the sound of a voice passing behind him on the street. He looked up at the woman walking with her son whose glance darted in his direction shortly. He still had a bit of a habit of looking a bit above people’s heads, having to correct himself once he actually saw them. This continued the neck pains he would occasionally have. The woman hushed her son and jerked him closer so they could wake just a little bit faster, away from Kylan. He watched them go with the same steady gaze. As infrequent as his times out of the house had been in his life before, Kylan had still been subject to similar sorts of whispers around him. There was something wrong with him. Both because he was blind and because of how quiet and unexpressive as he was for a young child. Even blind kids smiled and giggled, right? There had to be something wrong with him to be so weird. One of the few times he’d been separated from his mother a couple of kids had cornered him to pester Kylan with questions about if there was anything else creepy about him. Did he not have to sleep, was he actually a ghost, did his mommy have to help him go to the bathroom. Why’d they even let a kid like him out of the house if he couldn’t do anything without help… Kylan rubbed at an eye, and then at his neck. There was another reason his neck hurt though. With one more long look up at the domes, Kylan turned and headed in the opposite direction down the sidewalk. There were so many new and interesting things to see, he kept turning his head every which way to try and take it all in. He was being offered too many experiences to bother paying such things much thought. Kylan was odd, perhaps, but he wouldn’t let that stop him from enjoying his new found eyes to their fullest. He had only reached the church the last time he had been able to sneak out, so Kylan continued past that point to venture into new areas. There was little his mother had taken him to outside of shops and the park, and even those deserved re-visits to experience them with his newly added sense. As he went on down the sidewalks and crosswalks Kylan held himself with a sort of natural confidence and lack of care he had used before as well. There wasn’t any question in his mind of if he should be allowed to walk about as he did. Curious child as he was, he just did without any sort of wonder at danger of looks from others. He wanted to see anything and everything. Touch whatever he could get his hands on. So why wouldn’t he walk around with his head held high to see the city around him, instead of with his gaze turned down in hesitation and the insecurity of a lost child? Perhaps for that reason people that passed more or less assumed he knew where he was going and was just on his way from an errand. As long as he didn’t stop to stare with deep concentration on something perfectly ordinary, anyway. His not being lost and completely unaware of where he was headed couldn’t be further from the truth, however. Once he reached the edges of town where buildings became sparser and further apart, he just went on past it. He would be able to find his way back, it was fine. Kylan was far too intent on discovering something neat. Perhaps there was something like in his books. A lake, a big wall. His mother had once said there was some kind of forest near Arkadiya. And Kylan did find a wall… of sorts. He wasn’t quite sure how long he had walked, only kept a subconscious count of his steps as he still did. But when he came upon the expansive building behind dark fencing Kylan was immediately interested, making a beeline right for the fence so he could see all that it held. At first he’d wondered at the gray color of the great number of windows that lined the exterior walls. Upon closer inspection, however, he saw that they were not gray. There were white lines against black. It reminded him of his mother’s white laundry basket that all of the family’s clothes would be dumped in before and after the wash. Why were there so many laundry baskets in nooks of this building? Was this just a big washroom? That would be a lot of dirty clothes… maybe since Katrin kept Kylan at home and other kids went to school she also had her own laundry room while everyone else sent their’s to this place. At the sound of footsteps, Kylan shifted along the fence line. There wasn’t any sense of his not being allowed to be there. He didn’t want anyone questioning him about what he was looking at so intently. He could ask his mother about the big laundry building when he got home, he didn’t need anyone else explaining to him like he was an idiot. In his movement something caught Kylan’s attention in one of the windows. For laundry baskets they all looked pretty bland, no color showing through of clothes. But in one on the bottom line he saw a flash of red. Kylan moved closer to the fence once he was sure whoever he had heard was gone. Maybe it was a red shirt? His father had one, although it was a brighter red. He squinted his eyes for a moment. It looked… fluffy. Like his blush toy rabbit, although fluffier. Did someone need their toy washed, like Katrin had the time Kylan had been sick and slept with his bunny the entire illness? Someone probably didn’t want their bunny getting sick either, like his mother had explained when she slipped his own away to have him put in the wash. Wanting to see this fluffy red bunny or other toy, maybe even feel the plush through the wire of the laundry basket, Kylan glanced about shortly before he slipped through the fence to come up to the niche in the wall and peer in. He had to place his hands along the ledge and pull himself up to even be up past his nose at this short distance. So there was a young boy, only seven, dangling a little above the ground to be able to have his flatly toned deep blue eyes over the edge of the barred window. Definitely not a laundry basket by the now apparent texture of the bars, and the dark, barely reflective glass behind them. Or the fact that… there was a person sitting there, not a red toy. there is a cemetery of words buried beneath your tongue

by worldie for becca

[Hamish A. Stuart]

It had been four years since he was taken away from his happy life with his mother and father. Even if it would have made his mother hurt Hamish wished he had just been found and taken away from his mother instead of knowing her neglect through the years wasn’t caused by the lack of love his mother had for him. What he thought would be a pleasant birthday surprise in turn what had been the event that shut the door to his trust and caused the child to become more guarded. How could he trust anyone when he wasn’t in the safety of his home and knew that if he were to ever leave this school he wouldn’t be welcome back? He didn’t know what he had done that was so wrong to turn him being sent away to rot inside the school.

For the first few weeks of being brought to Weeds of Tomorrow teachers tried to console him when the young red head began to openly weep. Moments after trying to touch the small upset child shadows would move to push the woman away before wrapping around the boy as if to protect him. Quivering voice that begged to know what he had done to upset his mother seemed to make most women feel pity for the youth but all began to ignore him knowing there wouldn’t be an act that allowed them to give him any comfort. The few attempts of trying to offer sweets in order to hush his weeping only seemed to earn the caregiver a look of terror as Hamish made an attempt to scramble away while crying for his father. In the end it seemed any effort was worthless and it was better to ignore the child until he grew tired of his own tears and focused on something else. All assured each other that once he calmed Hamish would begin to interact with the other children. How long could this child weep over the mother who abandoned him?

Little did the caregivers notice as the days of crying went on instead of opening up to the other students he began to become cold and distant to them all. Whenever the teachers weren’t arrowed children would grab his hair giving it a pull while mocking him for crying for his mother. Mocking words of “mama’s boy” were called at the young child. Trying to escape the torment Hamish escaped the room and began wondering the corridors trying to find a place where he could hide. During his search he heard words that would make him lose all hope of ever leaving the school.
Peaking through a crack in the door two of the teacher sat at a table talking about random thing while a third appeared to be reading a newspaper. Stopping for a moment she looked up. “Wasn’t the new mutant’s last name Stuart?” One of the other women looked over before giving a nod, “I believe so, what about it?” The two women who were talking listened curious as to what would have brought up the child they all couldn’t help but feel annoyed by. “Some man by the name of Gawain Stuart committed suicide the other day. It says he was found by his lover shot in the head. Maybe he has some reaction to that child.” Hamish didn’t need to hear anymore before he began running through the halls not caring if the women heard him or not. Loud cries were ripped from his throat as he moved to hide.

For the next four years Hamish just kept silent when around the other mutants and teachers and began to sob only during the nights causing his roommates to develop a stop hate for the child. The bullying didn’t seem to cease and only grew worse with time making the moments within the school intolerable for Hamish. By the time he turned seven he finally snapped at the other students lashing at them to keep them away form him and earn him a moment of peace. This was when the teasing began to stop and fear started to set in making the students fear the child who only wished to be understood. Never would he understand why that seemed too much to ask for after all misery he had to endure to get to this point. Why were they so kind to each other but left him to be alone all of the time? Why was he so different? Hamish always tried to understand why he was given different treatment by his peers and refused friendships they readily granted each other.

By the age of eight all Hamish seemed to do was perch himself in the window watching the humans walk by ignoring the child who sometimes would wave. His waves never were returned and yet he still tried to find a friend outside of the school as he couldn’t find one within. He never was sure what a friend was but he knew he wanted one. Not wanting to ask other children and be teased again the redhead remained silent with his questions. Someone nice would tell him one day he was sure.

It was rare that Hamish noticed a child passing by but he noticed the child begin to move closer to the fence before slipping passed it. Green eyes grew wide and he wasn’t sure what to do. Would the child be punished if they were caught? He didn’t want them to be in trouble for venturing inside the wall and coming over to his window. Maybe this was because he waved at the boy when they were passing by. Not sure what to do Hamish darted about the room and tried to find markers and paper to be able to say something to the boy. What should he say? What did the other kids do when they met each other? Name! Yes, they told each other their name and before they said anything else to each other. If he got this right maybe he could find out what a friend is. Maybe this boy could give him a friend or tell him how to get one of his own.

Almost forgetting about the note due to his excitement over getting what the other kids had he glance out the window only to see the boy right there looking into the window. Making quick work he wrote, “Hello, I’m Hamish Stuart. Who are you?” The lettering was neat and slightly curled as he learned to write looking over many books he had found around the room.

dark as the shadows in which you dwell

by worldie for dee

word count: 1100
tags: Kylan Thomassen
notes: I decided to use this one now

[Kylan Thomassen]

Word Count: 689 Tags: Hamish A. Stuart Notes: bbies

A s the boy inside moved about Kylan merely blinked at him, expression void of the curiosity he felt towards the other. Why was his hair so red? Was it really a funny hat? He’d read about people with red hair before. But he’d also read about dragons and unicorns, leaving hi not always entirely sure of what was fictional and what wasn’t. Why was the boy with red hair in this big dark building? Was it really just a huge house, and that was where the boy lived? That sure would be a lot of room to run around in, to play in… “Ah-” his fingers were slipping. He couldn’t stay dangling from the window for more than a minute or two, really. Kylan had to hop down and blow at his fingers to stop the mild stinging from the cut in circulation. The tips of his fingers were red, almost purple from hanging some long. He flexed them, watching himself do so as the feeling slowly returned and the color lessened. Good, he was hoping he hadn’t really hurt himself. His mom would be mad if he came back with red fingers… In his looking up Kylan saw the other putting up something pale against the window. What was he – was it paper? Kylan squinted, unable to quite read it just below the window at his height. All he could see was the top most line of something white. Guess he’d have to climb up again. This time around the boy put a bit more power into his jump up, grasping at the ledge of the window for a moment before he forced himself up to put an elbow along the edge. He blinked at himself – this could definitely work. There was enough space for him to just barely sit on the ledge if he could get himself up. That gave him some new motivation, brows furrowing and cheek puffing just barely in determination. Already his legs were dangling in the air, giving him nothing to push off of. All he could do was push himself up by his arms, leaving him to almost drop down once before he was finally able to heave himself up. At his age he had very little upper body strength. Nor did it help that he wasn’t exactly the athletic sort at this point. Leaning back against the inside wall of the little niche the window created, he breathed for a few seconds. Then he turned his head to the side, seeing then that it was paper. Hamish… Kylan’s head tilted to one side in a minute gesture. Ham-ish? What an interesting name… As for the response, that took a moment. At first Kylan straight out tried to write on the window, although that didn’t have much success with their dark tint and the bars. Even when he sat as close as possible his voice wasn’t heard through the glass either. The best course of action was writing… which, he could do, really. That was obvious by the notebook and pencil, tucked into the spiral of it, that he produced from the inside of his coat. His mother told him to practice writing whenever he could. He tried saying he could take notes whenever he went out, as an excuse for when he slipped out of the house, but that was a rather big lie by the only single page used so far. There was too much to see and too little immediate progress in his handwriting for him to feel he had to bother. As he wrote his reply, Kylan was rather frustrated. There were faint sighs through his nose of irritation at the way he still had to tightly grip the pencil to get anything at all legible. Even then the lettering was crooked, awkward. Nothing like when his mother or father wrote notes on the fridge, or even Hamish’s handwriting. He had only just begun to write by hand not some months before. The fact did little to quell his annoyance at the whole thing, however. Finally, when he got impatient enough, he held it up. “My name’s Kylan.” there is a cemetery of words buried beneath your tongue

by worldie for becca

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Seeing the small child fall from the edge Hamish found himself panicked. From his angle it appeared that the child had been standing to watch him but upon seeing them drop it dawned that they were hanging from the ledge to see him. It was shocking that someone so young would be able to support his own wait hanging from the ledge like that. For his age Hamish was rather tall and could probably peer over the ledge if he was outside but this made him forget most kids weren’t his height. Looking about he tried to see where the little boy had vanished. Maybe they left losing interest.

A pout coming to his lips he felt that the kid had abandoned him just like the other students and he once more was alone. There was a pain in his chest he had once he began to feel the boy left looking for someone else. Maybe they were the sibling of someone in the school and now went to look for them after coming across Hamish. It seemed that no one ever went out of their way to spend time with him making him feel rather foolish for believing this small blonde even wanted to talk to him. Feeling something on his cheek Hamish used his free hand to rub at his cheek only to find water on his hand. Looking confused he rubbed at his eyes trying to get rid of these tears. He had no reason to cry so he thought but thick tears kept rolling down his face and he felt himself begin to sniffle as he began to grow upset. Shaking his head he tried to fight away the tears but they continued to come making his already dark red lashes darken.

The note slipped down a bit as he began to lose hope that the boy was going to return and to talk to him. Had Hamish had anyone to talk to in the last few weeks? Usually he drew something naughty to just get scolded so a teacher might give him attention for a short while.

Seeing the blonde hair peek over the edge again as the small child began to pick himself up and try to get onto the ledge. Hamish felt silly for crying when the boy was still there trying had slipped and was trying to find how he was going to get back to on the ledge once more. Before the boy lifted himself more Hamish scrubbed at his eyes trying to erase the tears so they wouldn’t tease him. The other kids used to laugh when he cried calling him a crybaby when he would suddenly start crying when other kids would ignore him and push him away. If this kid teased him too he would have to fight with them and show he wasn’t weak at people thought. Trying to bring forth his anger he tried to call to the shadows and make them move.

A smile came to his face once the child was seated in the window allowing the two to be able to continue talking. The thick glass stopped the two from being able to hear each other it was like a glass kept their two words apart. If only Hamish could write on the window but then he’d only have a small space to write. For a moment he thought about putting his hand to the window to try feeling the boy’s hand through it. Part of him knew he couldn’t feel the heat or even skin through the glass but yet he pressed his hand to the glass trying to feel it.

Please don’t leave me; it was all he could think anymore seeing the boy pull out a notebook as if to write back. He wanted to cry thinking about the chance of them leaving but tried to fight it away.

Lowering his note he looked excited seeing the note held up. It wasn’t the best writing but still they answered him! Grabbing another piece of paper his hands wrote as fast as he could trying to hurry. Holding it up the note was a little messy but still clear, “Whaur urr ye fae? urr ye lonely?” Hamish was a little excited to get any answer as he soft kept saying the name, Kylan. He wasn’t alone thanks to Kylan.

dark as the shadows in which you dwell

by worldie for dee

word count: 728
tags: Kylan Thomassen
notes: Sorry for the wait

[Kylan Thomassen]

Word Count: 456 Tags: Hamish A. Stuart Notes: sORRY AH

L ater he may guess as to why he did so. If he knew that nothing could pass between inherently, or had already gathered it to be so. Why he did it if one of them were the case. As it was, when a hand was pressed against the glass on the other side, Kylan paused before rising his own to copy the motion. He didn’t even think about what he was doing or why. The action was completely subconscious. Holding his hand against the glass directly above that of the other boy’s, Hamish’s. There was no heat that could pass through the barrier. Not an ounce of human warmth physically making its way through the glass. For a brief moment, however, he could swear that his hand felt something. Kylan noted that Hamish’s hand was a bit bigger than his. He did appear to be a bit older. Or just taller for his age. Not necessarily bigger… From what he could tell Hamish wasn’t an especially broad kid like others Kylan had seen. Not that he was either, but all the same. When the second note was presented, in response to his own, Kylan stopped. He lowered his hand and tilted his head. Nearly vacant eyes showed a hint of his confusion by the slightly furrowed brows in thought. Only one of the seven words was spelled in a way he was familiar with. He had to sound them out slowly, once, twice, before a light went off. Where was he from? Was he lonely? Rising excitement was behind Kylan’s existing impatience and consequent rush to reply. He had yet to talk to anyone this much outside of his family. Or at least, not in a positive, friendly manner this long. He hadn’t felt lacking in his life for not having friends. Even when, through reading and watching other children later, he noted that it was a rather common thing. Even then he wrote it off as something he could always experience later. It had taken him some time to see, after all, maybe friends were something he would have to wait for as well. Consciously he didn’t even equate conversing with this boy as a possible prelude to friendship. At that moment it was curiosity and an unconscious wonder at talking to someone he wasn’t related to. Due to this rush, it took him a moment or two of having to stop and try again before he deemed his writing legible enough. “I’m from Arkadiya. I don’t think I’m lonely.” If he hadn’t had friends, how could he know if he was lonely? All he knew was he didn’t feel terribly sad like people talked about being in books when they were ‘lonely.’ “Are you?” there is a cemetery of words buried beneath your tongue

by worldie for becca

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Even if warmth was able to be felt through the thick glass Hamish wasn’t sure he would know how to respond to it anymore. Inside the school it was rather cold for Hamish as he either kept himself away from the others or they made it clear he wasn’t welcome. For a moment he almost felt sad that he wasn’t able to feel Kylan’s hand through the window so he could feel what it was like to hold the hand of another. A gentle touch instead of being pulled around by one of the guards that kept him from lashing out at the caregivers or other students. Nothing here was gentle. Maybe Kylan would laugh seeing the shadows he created and not run way from them or call him names when he made different shapes. Kylan might smile!

Looking at their hands Hamish gave a little smile seeing that his fingers were longer but they still were thin enough that he could see Kylan’s hand around his. For a moment he wondered if they held hands how far up Kylan’s hand his long fingers would be able to reach. Soon his mind wondered to how tall he would be standing next to the young blonde. Not many children were toward Hamish’s height anyway.

Seeing the lips of the blonde move over and over Hamish began to start to feel nervous and want to throw away his note. He probably spelt something wrong again. The teachers always scolded him for not writing like the other kids, using made up words wasn’t good according to them. Wide eyes watched for a little longer fearing the other would give up soon. Not usually one to cry the ginger knew if the new boy left because of him it wouldn’t feel good. He’d be alone again. Maybe if he was alone again he could talk to the shadows and practice reading. Noticing how Kylan’s eyes light up showing he understood Hamish found his panic disappearing for now as he waited for the reply.

Confusion came to Hamish’s face seeing the answer back. Arkadiya. He didn’t know where that was but maybe it was the name of city close by. Even though he knew this wasn’t Scotland where he was born no one bothered to teach him the names of the cities here since it wouldn’t help his training to know a few cities. Everyone always said there was little chance he’d ever be allowed outside with powers like his so he shouldn’t waste time learning of cities he would never see. Writing down his reply he carefully pressed the paper into the window. “Is this Arkadiya? ah think sae.” Pausing for a moment he wrote on another paper and placed it bellow the other one so the blonde would understand the order. “Weel ah'ament noo. Ye'r 'ere.” On the second message there was a small smile drawn in black at the end trying to show he was happy writing to the other. Maybe he would have someone to talk to like the other kids.
If he kept trying Hamish was sure he could get the other boy to smile at him. The other kids smiled at each other. But what if he frowned? Hamish didn’t want someone else that frowned whenever they managed to see him.

dark as the shadows in which you dwell

by worldie for dee

word count: 552
tags: Kylan Thomassen
notes: I thought I replied! I'm so sorry!!!

[Kylan Thomassen]

Word Count: 359 Tags: Hamish A. Stuart Notes: wEH

T here was a minute, almost imperceptible tilt to Kylan’s head upon his catching the small smile on Hamish’s face in response to their hands being over one another in image, only separated by the darkly tinted glass. It made him remember how once, when he had still been blind, his mother had taken him shopping for clothes. He could clearly recall the way the employee that was working in the fitting room of the child’s clothing store had gone quiet after her attempted sweet banter with him was met with his usual blank silence. His mother had explained his blindness and hurried him along to a stall in the back… but he could just catch the woman mumbling a confused, ‘can’t blind kids still smile? Do they not know how?’ Kylan’s mother had never asked him, she knew her son too well. But for others there was always that unspoken question. Why does he never smile? What was wrong with him? And, honestly, Kylan had never been able to come up with any sort of answer to those questions. When he actually wanted to smile, he did. There was no forcing himself if he didn’t want to. Simply… if there was the urge, he did so naturally. As he did at that moment. Well I’m not now. You’re here. And even a little drawn smile beneath it… It was that feeling it created that made smile. Not make him want to, but do so because of the sensation it left in his chest. A light, warm feeling. Kylan would occasionally think, even at his age, about how he made a lot of things more difficult or complicated for his parents than they could have been. Especially since he gained sight and could see the difference. Most of the time he simply took it as how things were. But he could not think of any time when his presence had made anything… perceivably better for another person. And so he smiled. A soft, warm sort of smile that gave a perfect background to the note he wrote and held up in return, still as clumsily written as before. ‘I’m glad.’ there is a cemetery of words buried beneath your tongue

by worldie for becca

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Had one of his teachers walked in to see the grin they would have panicked calling one of the guards to have him restrained in fear of his mind working on a plan to escape. The little boy would have gone unnoticed as the guards panicked over having Hamish out of their control once more. So far no one had ever been hurt more than a pierce made by a single needle his shadows formed but still none seemed to trust he wasn’t willing to bring more harm. Even now his thought of Weeds were long gone, his single thought was he wasn’t alone. His chest felt warmed at the thought of not being alone. It was the same feeling as when his father would put him to bed, giving him a kiss before Hamish drifted to sleep. This feeling was long forgotten causing one of his hands to touch his chest, curious as what to describe this feeling as; why did Kylan make him feel this way?

Green eyes grew wide seeing the smile developing on Kylan’s face in response to his message, not daring to look away his thin fingers searched for a piece of paper to write something. A moment passed as he fumbled around before a piece of paper was clutched so tightly it began to crumple. Panicking Hamish turned away to smooth out the paper and then his marker began to move rapidly over the paper, every few seconds he would turn to look at Kylan again in hopes of seeing that smile once more.

Smacking the paper to the window the smile never left the ginger’s face, his cheeks held a slight flush to them as his note was presented. Yer smile is pretty! A' body claims princesses tae be pretty bit ah think yer better than some lame princess.” Waiting a moment he gave Kylan a sign to show he waited the boy to wait a moment while he wrote something else. Marker moving rapidly once more he put another note to the window but instead of looking at the blonde his attention turned away, timidly. “Wull ye be th' princess tae mah story?” Giving a few moments his attention turned back to look at Kylan fearful of his answer.

Never before had he felt so fearful of an answer. Even when the teachers shouted his name or he was told he would be punished. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until he looked at his trembling arms that still held his note to the window.

dark as the shadows in which you dwell

by worldie for dee

word count: 432
tags: Kylan Thomassen
notes: I am so so so sorry for making you wait

[Kylan Thomassen]

Word Count: 465 Tags: Hamish A. Stuart Notes: wHAT SWEETS

W hy was Hamish staring at him so? Kylan tilted his head a hint at the way that Hamish kept his eyes on him while reaching his arm out, flapping it. It was not until the boy grasped something and showed a bit of panic until Kylan realized he had been reaching for a paper. As he wrote Hamish still would frequently look up at Kylan. Kylan caught himself glancing behind him as if to expect something else to be there that Hamish continued to look up at. None of the curiousity, possibly even worry, was obvious in the boys eyes. His eyebrows did not furrow nor did his lips tug into a frown. The only real sign was in the way his lips pulled from the smile into - something of a slightly lesser smile. Unsure. His smile was - pretty? His eyebrow did quirk at that. Bland blue eyes rose up to Hamish's face when he finished. Princess? Now Kylan smiled again. He even curled a little down in on himself, his chin dipping towards his chest as he let out small laughs. Kylan had been called pretty by many people. By strangers as compliments spoken to his mother. But it always felt wrong to Kylan - as if it was an apology. Sorry your son is blind, but at least he's pretty. He had also been called a pretty boy by the children that bullied him. But that was always simply for existing. Doing nothing at all but looking the way he does. Never had someone called something specific that he had done pretty. Definitely never had he been called better than a pretty princess. It was - funny but nice. A nice funny. Was that something that happened? Nice funny? He quite liked it. Seeing another flash of light in the corner of his vision Kylan looks up to see the next note. Would he be-ah. Kylan tilted his head again in the thought of it. Be the princess to his story? What did that mean? What did princesses do in stories? He supposed it depended on the story... Some princesses were locked away in castles and were saved by a brave knight. Some disguised themselves as normal girls and went out on adventures they could not have as princesses. They were all for the most part pretty and good at many things. Being a princess would not be so bad, he supposed, depending on how Hamish's story went. There was one other thing though. Kylan nodded to himself at what he had decided before he leaned down to write his reply. That little bit more firm and confident now with how he wrote it, how he held it up. 'Can a princess have friends? I want to be your friend too.' there is a cemetery of words buried beneath your tongue

by worldie for becca

[Hamish A. Stuart]

Each time Hamish glanced at the boy through the glass he feared the smile would fade way, that if he didn’t look long enough he wouldn’t be able to remember the smile. It was soft and yet warm. For once the mutant did not feel frozen in his prison, not he felt as if he was blanketed in the feeling of not being alone at last. Soon he would feel the cold hands wrapping around his limbs once more, Kylan would leave and he would remain… And yet he knew if he could remember that smile he would have a memory to warm him just enough to survive. Books mentioned having someone, willing to give up everything for them. Maybe, just maybe, he could do that so he might be warmed once more if he could just make Kylan smile once more.
These books always claimed that they saved the princess, men would give everything and anything to be the one to rescue the princess. Maybe he could be the knight of the book. He could save Kylan from a dull world. Being alone was exhausting, perhaps he could learn instead to have a friend behind a panel of glass.

Upon seeing Kylan begin to fold in on himself the redhead panicked pressing himself to the glass in fear of pain having befallen his companion. It took a moment for Hamish to realize laughter bubbled for not pained wails. Pressing his ear to the glass he wished to hear, to know the voice. Despite only glass between the two not a single sound managed to slip into the prison. Pulling away from the window Hamish gave a smile, normally his smiles seemed menacing, his teeth threatening to tear flesh from bone but this was different. Normally glaring eyes were shut and his face glowed, it was the look of a child waking on Christmas to find a bicycle waiting for them beneath the tree.

Opening his eyes he saw the thoughts running through the boy’s head and his heart froze, he feared what answer he may receive. What if Kylan already had a knight? Would he have to compete?

Glancing up at the sight up something moving there was a smile that came back to Hamish seeing that Kylan did not refuse the idea of allowing him to be a princess. Writing once more he looked a bit nervous but he had to reply. “Amurnay sure whit a friend is bit we kin be friends tae!”

Nothing about Weeds was fun, Hamish wished he could have Kylan there with him so he didn’t have to be alone. The shadows never spoke back to him. Other kids would whisper when he began to talk to the shadows, some teased him but many avoided him. Even if the other kids didn’t talk to him at least he could tell the shadows about Kylan, his princess! Now hen teachers asked him why he didn’t have any friends he could tell them they were wrong, he had Kylan. That was all he needed!

dark as the shadows in which you dwell

by worldie for dee

word count: 509
tags: Kylan Thomassen
notes: The fluff here!