So I know I should be updating my other stories...Can't we all just get past that and enjoy the nice one-shot? Maybe? Yes? No? Ahem...Well, then. Enjoy the drabble.
The nice boy came again today. He read to her, and his voice lulled her to sleep. The man in the room with her looked like the boy. She liked they way they looked. She also liked his eyes, so when she woke up before he left, she made sure to give him the shiny piece of blue paper she had somehow gotten. For some reason, his eyes got all wet. Strange.
He didn't come for a long time. She never forgot the nice boy, with his soothing voice and blue eyes. They reminded her of the sky when her mother took her and the man in her room on walks.
The next time he came, a lot of wet came out of his eyes. She used to have a word for it, but she couldn't remember. She watched him intently, and gave him another shiny blue paper before he left. This time she noticed: it matched his eyes.
He came a lot after that. He even brought her stuff sometimes! Her favorite was the...Chocolate...she thought it was called. Yes. It was chocolate. It was much yummier that what mother usually let her have.
He brought people with him sometimes. The only one she really remembered was a young man with dark hair and green eyes. He told her stories, and when she gave him a wrapper, both boys eyes filled with wet. She never saw the man again. He had nice eyes.
The boy brought a girl with him one day. She had pretty hair, it reminded her of the sun. The girl sang a lullaby, and the man in her room fell asleep. She didn't, though. She listened to the pretty girl sing, and watched the young man cry, and perhaps not for the first time, wondered why he was sad. She knew that's why he cried. She'd heard about the wet and the sad, and didn't understand why he would cry when he saw her.
She began to watch the boy when he came. Yes, he looked very much like the man in her room. Very much. He didn't cry every time anymore, especially not when he brought the pretty lady with him. She saw him open something from his pocket once, and a shiny blue paper fell out. She'd given that to him, hadn't she? She couldn't remember. It was pretty, though, like the boys eyes. She reached her hand out as the boy picked it up, and he handed it to her, his eyes never leaving hers. She stared at the paper, then at the boy, and willed him to come closer. As if he had heard her plea, he stepped forward. She stared at the paper again, and touched it, then between the boys eyes. They were the exact same blue. For the first time in a long time, his eyes filled with tears again. Why had she made the nice boy cry?
So if you didn't get that, it's Alice Longbottom's view on her son as he visits her. And I'm not being all modest author when I say it sucks. Ah well.