"Now open your mouth.". The little boy squirmed under the attention and command. "Open it….". By the look of his face, it was obvious he wanted to shrink and disappear. "Ichigo…" She warned dangerously, stressing each and every syllable. "NO!!!" The woman blinked, surprised by the sudden outburst. "You'll say I'm sick, and just make me eat that nasty, pink water!" Pink water? She puzzled over it for a moment, before remembering their last escapade where she had forced him to drink some pink coloured medicine.
She stooped down to eye level with the young boy, who had his bright-orange head hung low and hands were gripping the chair between his legs until his knuckles were turning white. "Ichigo, dear…" Reluctantly, the boy looked up at the pretty face that loomed before him. "Now, I know you hate to eat the medicine. But just think! If you let me check your temperature, them we'll both know for sure if you have the flu. And if you don't, I most definitely won't make you eat that 'pink water'". He threw a glance towards the exit of the living room cum clinic, as if trying to find some reassurance from the door.
"But mooommm…" Ichigo pleaded. "No buts."
Arms crossed protectively over his small body, he reluctantly opened his mouth to make way for the thermometer. She beamed, and twittered happily, as she popped the thermometer between his tongue and gums.
He didn't have a temperature. But he did have a sore throat. She made him eat the pink medicine anyway. "Just to be safe!"
His face contorted into an ugly grimace, as he struggled to swallow the vile liquid. "When I grow up, I'll become a doctor, like daddy, so I can make medicine which taste like sweets!" he claimed resolutely. "Those are scientists, dear." He shrugged non-committedly as he swung his legs around the swivel chair, trying to get a better position so as not to hurt himself when he hopped off it. He strutted confidently towards the door, memories of his submissiveness earlier, forgotten.
From the back, his mother smiled warmly, as a familiar feeling which she intuitively knew only mothers could feel burned in her core. She effectively stopped him in his tracks as she swooped down and planted a kiss on his messy, tangerine hair, while pressing 2 pieces of sweets into his palm. "Here you go dear. You were a very brave boy."
Glancing at the sweet in his hands, he flashed a wide, toothy grin at her in thanks, as he ran out to savour his treat while playing outside. From the window of the clinic, she sat contentedly watching her son trip over a stray pebble, pick himself up, look around to make sure nobody saw his little accident, and ran out to find his "new friend who's a girl, but she's ok" so he could share his sweet with her. She cocked her head so that one side of it rested on the window sill, sighing contentedly.