Chapter Text
It was overwhelming to be born.
At least, an older Fletcher would have thought that, had he been old enough to understand what existence was, overwhelming and otherwise. As it was, he was two minutes old, and already, things seemed a bit too intense for his liking.
He’d been comfortable, floating just like he had always done, his life punctuated by nothing but the occasional shift or kick. The steady thump that surrounded him the only sound, most of the time, unless it was the voices. There were three of them, most of the time. One that was low, almost melodic. If he had known what a woman’s voice was, he’d have been able to identify this voice as one. That was the one that he heard most of the time. It was his favorite, especially when it sang. Then there was the laughing voice. The laughing voice was a lot deeper than his favorite and instead of calming him down, it made him excited for something he didn’t even understand. Not knowing what to do with excitement, he just kicked as hard as he could, which made his favorite voice loud. Finally, there was the squeaky voice, that he often heard right next to his face, as small points of pressure pushed into the otherwise comfortable existence.
His place of residence had been steadily shrinking, but since he didn’t exactly know what shrinking meant, all he knew was that he had been feeling an increasing sort of sensation that he would later come to know as “tightness.” The tightness grew and grew until he had really felt that something had to change. He had understood at that point, vaguely, what change was.
But only vaguely.
The change arrived, but he hadn’t liked it. The warm, comfortable liquid he had been floating in for all of time had drained away, and the tightness had gone from somewhat constricting, to downright uncomfortable.
What had happened next wasn’t exactly something he’d want to recall, which was convenient, because he wouldn’t. But now that that horror was over, there was nothing but stimuli, coming at him from every direction. The dusky dark was replaced with an almost blinding light.
And there was air.
Breathing was new. He didn’t like it at first, not at all, but found there was a new way to show his dislike, by breathing very aggressively. It made a noise, and it took a bit of time for him to realize that the noise was a voice, and it was his.
Shapes moved , sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Some of them didn’t move at all. He found it all very confusing, so he tried to keep his eyes closed.
The voices sounded different, and he realized that they belonged to the shapes, somehow. He disapproved of this situation, and vocalized this disapproval, but it didn’t seem to stop. There was one shape, in particular, very dark on top and light underneath, that seemed to bounce incessantly. It had the squeaky voice, and he wanted it to go away.
But the laughing voice and his favorite voice seemed to be one shape. Instead of floating in liquid, they somehow held him close, and he moved from one to the other. He didn’t know if he liked being held, the voices seemed to know what they were doing. His favorite voice had positioned him a certain way, and suddenly something new was happening with his mouth. It wasn’t breathing, which was good, because he liked whatever it was a whole lot more. It made him feel full and warm and happy.
Suspended between their arms, he quickly fell asleep.
But just as his consciousness fluttered away, there was one more sensation that he did not recognize.
He felt loved.