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Eugene’s first mistake, he thinks, is asking.
“May I be excused to the moon?” His voice is quiet, his presence nonexistent in the tiny room.
And still three heads snap in his direction.
Despite their claims of being his dads, York, Grendan, and Rosé let him come and go as he pleases. He is an adult, after all, but something in his stance tonight gives them pause.
It had to be because he asked. It wouldn’t even cross his mind if he weren’t feeling small; he would’ve just left. But something nags at the back of his mind, telling him it’s for the best if he checks in first. Just in case they notice something he doesn’t.
“You sure, kiddo?” Grendan asks. “It’s pretty late.”
Eugene nods, although a fuzzy uncertainty creeps into the back of his mind. The kind that tells him he’d have a much better time tucked up in bed, maybe with a stuffed animal or someone to cuddle him. But it’s a thought he shakes off almost immediately. He has work to do. Rest can wait.
And while Grendan lets it slide, York finally raises his head. A big problem, considering he’s the one Eugene always feels the smallest around. It’s so easy to curl up in York’s arms, or to feel teeny tiny when York picks him up like he weighs nothing. Sometimes all it takes is his voice—specifically his choice words of little boy—to push Eugene over into his regressed headspace.
“Now, hold on here,” York says. “Lemme get a good look atcha.”
York doesn’t get up. Despite how much he loves being the tallest person in every room, it’s one small thing he’ll afford Eugene. It’s better to build trust, like with bunnies or cats. Let the vulnerable creature come to you first.
Eugene comes to stand between York’s knees, fighting every instinct to shrink back and hide. Didn’t he used to have stage confidence? Only now does he wonder where that went.
York’s eyes snag on every stray detail—the bags under Eugene’s eyes, the paleness of his face, the hollowness of his cheeks.
York hums in disapproval. “You been sleepin’ alright?”
“Not as well as I could.” Eugene tries to play it off as casual, but there’s something in his brain that just goes haywire whenever his dads get to fussing over him.
York nods, the corners of his mouth deepening into a frown. “I don’t like the thought of our little boy overworking himself.”
“Yeah, why don’t you watch a movie with us?” Rosé waggles a DVD case, as if that will be enough to entice him. “We’re watching Brismas Bacation!”
Eugene’s never seen that movie—or at least, he doesn’t think he has. Sometimes his memory gets cloudy on the minor details, on movies he’s only seen once or twice, the names of songs he used to only know the choruses of. It all fades into the background and slingshots back with a vengeance, and he never knows what’s been forgotten and what’s been erased. It also doesn’t help that he never watched a lot of movies to begin with.
“Doesn’t that sound better than the crummy old moon?” Grendan asks. “We could even make cookies!”
Oh, that’s a bribe if he’s ever heard one. Even worse is how immediately enticing it sounds. He loves Grandma’s cookies, and Rosé’s are a close second. Put them together, and he could basically eat himself sick.
Rosé giggles. She and Grendan are steadily inching toward him, carefully so as not to overwhelm him. “I see a smile! Does that sound fun, honey?”
Eugene will reluctantly admit his weakness for the nickname honey, if only because Rosé is the one saying it. Her voice pitches to match her words, sweet and warm and syrupy. It’s such a common nickname, but somehow she makes it feel one of a kind.
“Could we… could we do both?” Eugene asks. Distantly, he has the thought that he shouldn’t have given up that easily, that he should’ve insisted he was fine. But maybe that’s why he asked. He knew he wasn’t in the right state of mind to leave.
York’s face softens, and he leans forward, hands braced on his knees like he’s about to stand. “Aw, come here.”
Next thing Eugene knows, he’s being swept up in York’s arms, and any hope of being big flies out the window. Not that he wanted to. Just that he could’ve.
“There we go.” York adjusts Eugene so he’s sitting in the crook of York’s arm, leaning comfortably against his shoulder. “Arm jail’s got enough room for everybody.”
“York, you can’t just arrest our son!” Rosé says.
“Maybe he’s so cute, it’s illegal,” Grendan says. They give Eugene’s ankle a little tug, prompting him to giggle and kick his feet.
“’Sides, he can leave whenever he wants. Open door policy.” York gives him a little bounce, drawing him into the conversation. “You want out of arm jail, Eugene?”
“Nuh-uh.” Eugene barely recognizes his own voice it’s so soft, high and childish and keening.
York chuckles. “Aw, you ain’t gonna be any help baking, are ya?”
“Taste tester is an important job,” Grendan pipes up. “Taste tester and supervisor.”
Eugene nods along. It’s a tough job, but he thinks he can handle it. Sometimes Rosé doesn’t like York getting in the way, so he gets to be a taste tester too! And if that happens, then Eugene doesn’t have to be put down. Eugene doesn’t have the courage to ask, but he can silently hope.
“Uh-oh! Look who’s here!” Eugene’s stuffed cat pops up on York’s other shoulder, with Rosé joining it a moment later. Rosé wiggles the cat around to make it dance, all the while making meowing noises.
It’s something she could do in her sleep—stealing something from his room when he’s not looking—but Eugene is still amazed beyond words. He hadn’t even realized she was gone!
He reaches out for it, but York steps back, moving him just out of reach. “Uh-uh, squirt. What’s the magic word?”
Eugene whines softly and makes grabby hands. “Please, Dad?”
Rosé grins. “Actually, the magic word was that cloud looks like a butt, but that’s good enough!” She presses the stuffie against his chest and coos. “So polite!”
York gives a smile of approval, bouncing him just a bit. “Glad our boy knows how to mind his P’s and Q’s.”
Eugene can’t put into words how nice that praise feels. Somehow, it’s easier to accept when it’s for the small stuff, as opposed to the big things that feel like obligations. Of course he has to clean up his own messes. He’s a man of honor, after all. But minding his manners? He’ll accept praise for that, gladly.
Maybe this is why he stopped to ask. Not because he wanted their approval, but their attention. Because some part of him really didn’t want to go anyway, and he wasn’t sure how to ask for a quiet night in.
Lucky for him that his dads are detectives and know just how to piece together the evidence in front of them.
To him, they’re the best detectives in the whole wide world.