I'm sorry. This is a bit later in the day, I know. I formally apologize and cordially invite you to look at my homework pile. *Points To Pile* It is pretty large. Anyhow, here it is. This is neoneco, live from... A Cafe With Free Wifi. (Yes, those still exist. I know. It's weird.)
She knows he isn't happy.
It hurts, it does, it hurts, to know that. She doesn't want to know that.
But she does.
He is cheerful. He is carefree. When he is young, they play everyday, all day, and they don't have a care in the world.
When they are young, they can do anything they want, and there are no such thing as consequences or 'rules'.
He isn't carefree anymore. He grows up. He's not a child.
He is a child. He plays tricks. He plays games. He acts silly and cheats at the games he plays. Because children can never play fair if there aren't any rules.
Except he's too old to be a child.
Too tired. Too sad, though at a depth that leaves her confused, because how can someone be both happy and sad? Which is real?
Thinking about it makes her tired, and she can't be tired, because who else will rouse him into a game and make him happy?
She tells herself this even as his heart breaks, and something in her aches, and one of his children walks through him, again.
She scoops him up and takes him home.