Chapter 2: Chicken
It was close to 9 PM, in a loud, stormy night of late September. Autumn had already started to show the first signs – it seemed like summer was putting the last bits of strength it had into that violent storm outside. It was dark, only the sound of the TV accompanied the thunders and rustling wind outside. Tired, the tall, light brown haired man stood up from his seat on the couch, feeling sleep starting to take over his body. With his eyes half closed, he stretched his arms above his head and looked around the room. By the window, at the desk, the eyes of his wife followed the rows of writing on the pages of a book, at the light of a small lamp. At the other end of the couch, the man saw his three years old son starting to doze off as well. He could bet it was long ago when the small boy stopped following the television. The thunders kept roaring outside.
"Jean." The sound of his wife's voice broke away his stare from the boy's figure. She had a soft smile on her face as she got up from her seat as well.
"Yeah." Jean nodded, smiling in response. He walked to the couch and picked up the tiny boy in his arms.
"It's already late." The same soft smile graced his wife's lips. He felt her hand on his shoulder as they entered their son's room.
As Jean turned on the lights, his son's eyes stirred open. "Daddy? What happened to Mr. Carrot?" The cartoons the kid had been watching earlier. Jean could only chuckle at the curiosity in that tired mumble. Another thunder could be heard in the distance.
He walked to the bed, pulled the covers away and placed the boy on it, gently laying his head on the pillow. The kid was already tired. Covering his body with the blanket, he bent down and kissed his son's forehead. "It's time to sleep, big boy."
Jean's wife walked to the other side of the bed, and sat down beside her son. The rain was falling hard against the window, the thunder joining in soon after the lightning lit the room for a split second. Looking at his mother's smiling face, the boy asked, a small light in his eyes dancing, "Mommy, can you sleep with me tonight?"
"You're a big boy already," Jean replied softly, yet lightheartedly firm, on a somehow mocking tone, encouraging the boy, "Didn't we talk before about you sleeping by yourself?"
The boy spared a short glance to his father, his expression unchanged. Jean felt amused at how that quick glance seemed more like a warning than a sign that the kid heard what he said. "Please, mommy?" He tried again, his voice forcedly childish and scared, "I'm scared of the storm."
It wasn't the first time that the gleam in his eyes danced like that. It was only natural for parents to know to what extent could their three years old's sharp mind go. "Sweetie, I have to sleep with daddy."
In a split second, the frightened look in those big pleading eyes vanished, as the boy turned to his side, glaring at his father with discontent eyes.
"Daddy's such a chicken." The kid mumbled and sharply pulled the blanket over his head.
Taken aback, it took Jean a few seconds to allow laughter to escape his lips. Wholehearted laughter. And he couldn't decide whether he was laughing at the innocently blaming grunt on his son's face, or at the fact that the kid thought Jean was afraid of the storm.