10

The Lost Child Enclosure

As spring fades away into summer, Sirius finds himself missing the peacefulness of the winter months more and more frequently. Although he hates the cold with a passion and his father's dance with the illness still scares him, something about that winter in Switzerland was incredibly refreshing. Perhaps it was the desolation of the landscape that made it so hauntingly beautiful, or simply the illusion of free time he had forgotten to cherish. During the winter, he had had his father mostly to himself, had indulged in the rarity of his undivided attention but now that summer has come, Sirius can't recall the last time they had a meal together. Every day for the past week, his father has disappeared before dawn, running off to help with the opening ceremony. Sirius had offered his assistance and been summarily rejected by all participants, something about how he "needed at least six hours of sleep to grow up healthy." He's not sure how to tell them that six hours is a luxury he can't afford, nor one that he desires when staying up late to welcome his father home is the only way that he's been able to see him lately. It does render waking up at dawn difficult, but it's a challenge he's willing to endure. Even if the strongest opponent is his father, who seems content enough to face plant onto the nearest surface upon returning to the trailer and not moving. Sirius doesn't have enough fingers to count the number of times he's woken up to see his father sitting slumped at his desk rather than in his bed. He wonders if his own habit of falling asleep on books is something he inherited from him as well.

At the very least, summer means that he no longer has to attend class in the morning; while his father has instilled within him the importance of education, Sirius thinks it's quite silly to attend a class where he already knows all the information. It had been alright when his father was the one doing the teaching because he understood that Sirius needed a different curriculum than the other children, but the troupe leader had recently hired a professional. And while she was quite nice, Sirius is going to go insane if he's asked to recite the multiplication tables one more time. He learned them five years ago and isn't planning on forgetting them anytime soon. He locks the trailer behind himself, checks to make sure that no one unsavory is lurking around, and then heads out into the bustling camp. His first stop of the day is the infirmary, where his father is in the process of splinting some crying child's arm, all the while glaring daggers at the child's parents. Sirius dutifully glowers at them as he sets a mug of coffee and a cinnamon roll on his father's desk. He swiftly scrawls out a note for him and leaves it someplace visible before slipping out the door again. If his father's glare is anything to go by, today is not a good day for him to get underfoot in the infirmary. Next, he heads to the main tent, slipping in through the back flap rather than risk the front entrance with its long line.

To his relief, the Troupe Leader is in residence, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he reads through a stack of papers. "Good morning," Sirius says quietly and places a coffee mug by his arm. He collects the one from the previous day and then moves the new one into a more optimal position.

"Morning lil'doc," the Leader grunts, a meaty hand immediately wrapping around the mug and taking a long gulp. "You helping out your ole man today?"

"No, sir," Sirius says, "He's already got his hands full; I was thinking of doing a little cleaning, helping out with the food." He pauses there when he sees a thoughtful look cross the Leader's eyes, one of his fingers tapping out a loud pattern on his desk.

"Help out Jim today," he says after a bit of thought. "Need to get those horses of his checked over before we can start offering rides. If he doesn't need ya, then go help in the kitchens."

"Yes, sir," Sirius replies, his heart accelerating in excitement at the prospect of being able to visit with the troupe horses. While he dislikes mucking stalls and would prefer to avoid the stables when chores like that are required, it doesn't mitigate his adoration for the beasts that reside in them. He leans in closer when the Leader makes a motion at him. "Yes, what else -" the words die in his throat when a heavy hand lands on his head, patting it once, twice, and then removing itself.

"Good boy," he says gruffly. "Off with you now."

Sirius wanders out, blinking in shock as he gingerly touches his head and then touches it again, unsure if he'd just imagined what had occurred. While head pats from the Leader were more frequent than one's from his father, he's confused as to what he'd done to deserve it this time. He heads to the kitchens, depositing the dirty dishware there, and then hastens his pace, excited to get to the horses. The stables are within earshot when another voice hails him, and he reluctantly turns away and trots over to a different tent instead. There he finds himself saddled with a box that feels as if it weighs nearly half as much as he does. The person who hands it to him sends him waddling off again with a laugh and instructions to haul it to the far side of camp. Sirius goes, albeit reluctantly, and staring longingly over his shoulder at the sanctity of the stables the entire time. His distraction is so great that he nearly walks into a guest, hastily taking a step back. "Forgive me," he says, eyes snapping back to the front to see a boy only a little taller than himself. Intense purple eyes meet his gaze, and he finds himself struck by the oddness of their color. He suspects that they're contacts; there's no way that anyone can be born with that vibrant of a coloration.

"Hi," the stranger says, his head tilting slightly to the side as he regards him.

"Good morning," Sirius answers awkwardly; he looks around and then back at the boy. "Forgive me; this area isn't open to the public. Who are you?"

"I'm Noé; it's nice to meet you!" the stranger chirps, lifting an arm to wave wildly, his smile akin to looking directly into the sun, and like gazing directly into a burning ball of gas, Sirius cannot handle it for long before he needs to turn away. The stranger, a boy, hopes down from the fence and trots after him. To Sirius' dismay, it only takes him a few strides to catch up. "I'm also very lost. Could you point me towards the lost and found, please?" He bounces around Sirius as if trying to catch his attention by imitating the local mountain goats.

"The lost children enclosure is that way," Sirius replies and points to his left, swiftly side-stepping when the boy stops dead in his tracks. "If you'll excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere." He excepts that to be the end of the conversation and hastens on his way again, arms beginning to ache from carrying the box of papers. There's silence from behind him, so he assumes the boy had done as directed and headed off in that direction, but when he glances over his shoulder, he spots him heading off to the right. With a snarl of confused outrage, Sirius skids to a stop and spins right back around, storming after the boy. "You! Hey, you!" He yells. "Wait up! Eurgh, Noah!"

The boy turns at his name, finally stopping just as Sirius was considering dropping his box to catch up to him faster. "Yes?" He asks, utterly oblivious to Sirius's stomach's mounting rage, his smile remaining devoid of malice.

"Are you blind?!" Sirius demands when he draws close enough to no longer need to yell. "I clearly pointed to the left. Why are -"

"Yes," the boy says simply, and all of the rage dies with that single word, leaving Sirius reeling in confusion.

"You - what - how?! You're clearly walking around just fine!" He squawks, confusion causing the words to come out much harsher than he'd intended them to be, but the boy merely looks tolerantly amused.

"My left eye," he says," as if that explained anything and didn't simply add more questions to his list. Sirius stares at him in mounting exasperation, but all he receives is a blank-eyed smile as the boy adjusts his straw hat. It becomes rapidly clear that the boy intends to give no further explanations. Sirius huffs and leans closer, intending to discern for himself just what is wrong with this strange boy. His clothing suggests that he's local, jean shorts and a simple shirt, dressed for the weather but not in a manner that suggests a tourist. In fact, the only outlandish item on him appears to be his straw hat, but even that is easily justifiable due to the strong sun beating down on their heads. In fact, Sirius finds himself rather desiring one of his own, if only to stop the sweat he can feel sliding down his skin. "Your eyelashes are very long," the boy says suddenly, and Sirius recoils in shock, stumbling backward with a desperate flail of his arms that does little to save him.

He lands with a thud on the ground, his box upending onto the ground next to him. He sits there for a moment or three, blinking in discontent shock; his butt hurts, the boy doesn't look remotely apologetic, but worst of all are the papers, previously pristine and now covered in dirt and dust. Papers that he'd been entrusted with were ruined by his own incompetence. The shame of it all sends him surging to his feet in anger. "You!"

"Me?" Noé asks, looking so irritatingly innocent as if this mess wasn't his fault, to begin with. "I'm sorry, was complimenting your eyelashes inappropriate? They really are quite long and pretty, though." He looks down at the ground sadly, scuffing his foot along in the dirt.

"You can't just talk about someone's eyelashes out of left field," Sirius eventually settles on saying after a good bit of strangled hissing. "It's impolite." He crouches down again, beginning to pick up the papers.

"I'm sorry," the boy says again and kneels down beside him. "I won't do it again," he sounds so truly remorseful that Sirius finds his innate pettiness to be of little match, not when the boy is sniffling. He sighs and then sighs again.

"It's fine; just help me pick these up, and I'll take you to the lost and found. We can call your parents from there." He gathers them up into a stack and deposits them into the box again, wincing at how disorganized they look now.

"I don't think that coffins have cell service," the boy says quietly as he adds his stack to the box. Sirius nearly drops it all over again.

He stares at the boy, mouth half-open in horror, but he only smiles back and takes the box from him. "Where do these go?"

"O-office," Sirius manages after a bit. "Are you alright? Never mind, don't answer that."

"No," the boy replies without the slightest regard for his follow-up statement. "I'm lost and hungry and hot, but I think I'd feel better with some ice cream." He glances sideways at him, and Sirius has never heard a bigger hint in his life.

"Let's get ice cream," he agrees tiredly, "I'm sure the LCE can locate your guardians." He keeps his mouth shut the rest of the way, leading Noé first to the office where he's saved from a scolding by virtue of it being empty, and then to one of the ice cream tents in their camp. Noé follows after him like a puppy, chattering about this and that until he's finally silenced by Sirius pressing a cone into his hands. Then and only then does his smile return as he rapidly demolishes it in three bites. Sirius shudders in horror at the sight, but as the boy is happy again, he doesn't comment on it, not desiring to risk the return of tears. He leaves the boy at the Lost Child Enclosure, and though he wishes him well, he fully expects deep down to never see him again. The circus might not be the largest, but it isn't small either, and with the crowds that come each day, there's simply no way that they'll cross paths again.

He's proven wrong the very next day.

His father had been called away to sit in on a different show, leaving Sirius at the mercy of his favorite troupe member. The horse master. Although the man had three children, all older than Sirius, they were occupied actually performing, and so that left him with the task of giving the horses a breather and a brush down. It's his favorite part of helping out, being able to pick which tasks he's willing to do and devoting all of his attention to them. He finds it soothing to stand on a box and gently make sure that the great unsung heroes of the circus are comfortable and taken care of. The horse in front of him is a sweet brown mare named Pears; she gained the name due to her love of eating the fruits and is one of his favorites. He gives her all the care that she is due, talking quietly to her all the while, and she responds in kind with the occasional nicker. He's just finishing up his tasks when he's hailed by a stable hand.

"Sirius! Go ahead and take her down to the lake when you're done with that," the man says before rushing off again. Sirius looks up at Pears, who appears utterly unbothered by this change, and then shrugs. The lake in question isn't far away, only a few miles or so, and he's walked it plenty of times before. Due to its remote location, most camp visitors don't bother to visit it, which makes it an ideal place to flee to when he needs to get away from the hustle and bustle.

"Let's go then, sweetheart," he mumbles to the horse and leads her out of the arena. Pears comes along willingly, occasionally stopping to try and steal a mouthful of grass or six. They argue about that, but Pears wins with ease when merely lifting her head to its full height is enough to send Sirius stumbling. He huffs at her, but she merely huffs back, and he wonders if this is how his father feels when dealing with him. "You're cute," he tells her, "but if we stop every three seconds to eat, we'll never make it to the lake." Pears headbutts him in response and then promptly tries to snatch up another mouthful of grass. He squawks a protest, shifts his grip to the halter, hauling her head up, and takes several rapid steps away from the luscious-looking grass. "No!"

Pears looks disappointed, but she gets over it a few minutes later when a new target enters her field of view. Sirius is distracted, waiting for a group of visitors to pass, when he's nearly pulled off his feet by Pears' suddenly lurching forwards. By the time that he's recovered and skittered in front of her, she's attempting to munch on a straw hat while its owner tries his best to dissuade her. Sirius stares, hidden by the horse's bulk, he doesn't think that the boy has seen him yet, but there's little doubt in his mind that this is the same nuisance from the previous day. Although he's changed clothes, his silvery hair is impossible to forget. Today it is held out of his face with Squirtle clips, and he's added a purple eyepatch to his outfit.

"Come on," the boy says pleadingly. "It's really not as tasty as it looks. I swear." He tugs on the other end of his hat, tears welling in his eyes once more. Sirius looks around, but there's no one nearby who can help him, and fleeing the scene would be the height of irresponsibility. He sighs; ever since the boy first appeared, he's been having nothing but trouble completing his tasks; at this rate, his reputation will surely fall to shambles. An unacceptable result as it would reflect poorly on his father, and then the both of them will be out on their ears. He shakes his head, fighting back the urge to sigh more. His brain is running away from him; he can feel the thoughts spiraling out of control again because there's no way that the troupe leader will throw them out. He likes his father and has been nothing but sweet to Sirius himself, but deep down in the depths of his heart, he still fears that it's all just a mask. That should he prove himself to be no longer of use, the man will exact his revenge and throw him out, and there will be nothing that he can say in return, for the troupe leader has every right to despise him when he's the one who killed his daughter. Another distressed cry from the boy snaps him out of his thoughts, and he steps forwards hastily, whipping out a carrot from his pocket.

"Here, Pears, won't you consider this instead? Come on, let the hat go; I've got a lovely carrot for you," he says, waving it around temptingly. Her ear twitches in his direction, and then with visible reluctance, she lets go of the hat, delicately accepting the carrot from his hand. Sirius sighs in relief and pats her forehead gently. "Good girl, thank you." He looks around her to the boy, who is busy checking his hat with eyes full of tearful relief. "If it's too badly damaged, I can purchase you another one," he offers, "I think there's a hat store in town."

"My grandma made it," the boy replies distractedly and then plops the hat back on his head. "It's fine; I don't need a new one." He pats Pears' nose reverently, his eye shining like the jewels in one of the national geographic magazines that Sirius had once read. "I'm sorry, horsey, you can't eat my hat, but I hope the carrot was good."

"She'd probably have preferred pears," Sirius says before his common sense can catch up to him. "She's named after them because she loves to eat them so much."

"Which one?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What type of pear is she named after, and can I bring her one next time?" The boy clarifies. He moves around the mare, fingers gently carding through her mane, looking entirely enthralled. It reminds Sirius of his own first encounter with the beasts. At first, he'd been too scared to approach, but his father had held his hand and slowly walked him up to his stallion, a Friesian named Takoda. He'd talked to them both in the softest of voices, and from the moment that Takoda deigned to lower his head and snuffle Sirius' hair, he'd been hooked. His love for them had only grown from that moment on, much to his father's pride.

"It's not after a particular type," he explains, "she just called Pears. If I had to pick a favorite, then maybe Comices?" He steps back, adjusting Pears' lead now that she's finished eating, and starts walking again. He's not surprised when the boy - Noah, he thinks his name was - falls into stride beside him, and though he's aware that he should send him away, he says nothing.

"Can I help?" Noé asks a few minutes later. He's been following along quietly enough that Sirius has almost forgotten he's there at all, and he startles to hear his voice now.

"Guests aren't allowed to help," he replies stiffly. Noé's disappointment is palatable, his feet scuffing slightly at the ground, and when Sirius glances back at him, he sees that he's pouting. He looks forlorn, akin to a puppy that has been rejected by its owner, and the sight tugs at Sirius's heartstrings. "Fine," he hisses, "you can help. Just don't do anything stupid. I'm not responsible for you." He knows the words to be a lie the moment that they leave his lips, but Noé brightens up and beams at him, utterly oblivious to the moral dilemma raging in Sirius's heart.

"What's your name?" Noé asks his accented voice adding a musical intonation to the words, one that Sirius doesn't find entirely displeasing. He nods, keeping a hand on the mare's halter in case she decides to get hungry again. The boy hums, the sound similar to the song that the acrobats had been playing earlier during their performance. He's horribly out of tune, but Sirius can appreciate a good effort, and for some reason, the thought of telling the boy to be silent disturbs him. He's not sure why; it's not as if they're friends; knowing someone for a few days hardly makes them acquaintances, and yet the boy's smile, when he'd agreed to let him help with the horses, had been so bright that Sirius was at a loss. He's never met someone with such a sunny disposition before, certainly not someone who could smile so sweetly at a stranger.

He hesitates for a heartbeat, but it seems silly to withhold his name, so he replies, "I'm Sirius."

"Sirius? Well, you are very serious, no wonder," Noé says, his eye glittering playfully.

"Mind yourself, or lose your privilege to help out," Sirius replies sharply and then adds hastily, "This is a one-time occasion, by the way." He attempts to say the words firmly, but his voice comes out more confused than anything else even to his own ears.

"Sure," Noé agrees easily and then returns the next day and the following day as well. Before Sirius realized it, it's been a week, and the boy had appeared as if by magic every day. Despite his professed blindness and inability to direct himself, he's somehow managed to find Sirius every single time, popping up in some far-flung reaches of the camp with a smile and a greeting. If Sirius' hadn't walked him to the bus stop on the edge of camp numerous times, he'd have thought the boy had moved in with them; his appearances are so frequent. Despite his concerns, he finds himself looking forwards to where he'll find Noé each new morning. The excitement of having someone new to talk to, of someone being happy to talk to him as well, spurs him into going to bed earlier just so he can awaken at a more reasonable time. His father takes a while to notice his new schedule, but when he does, he starts hanging notes for him by the front door. They're simple, short, usually only containing a few lines, but Sirius feels his heart twist with painful joy each time he sees them. Admittedly, they are just a list of chores that his father wants to be done before he goes off "to play," but it's communication, and he'll take that any day over-exhausted silence. He makes it an effort to make it home early enough to cook dinner, but Noé is an intoxicating distraction, and more often than not, he makes it back to the trailer by sunset at the earliest.

Although his father doesn't seem to mind his sudden turn towards irresponsibility, Sirius feels guilt swell up in his stomach when he returns one night to find dinner waiting for him on the counter. It's cold when he touches it. A glance towards the far side of the trailer shows him a closed curtain, and the guilt grows exponentially. He eats it as quietly as he can and then goes to bed, resolved to wake up early enough to thank his father the following day. Come morning. However, all he finds is a simple note, "no chores today," it reads, "enjoy your day off. Be home by 10 pm." He stares at it, stomach twisting, and then resolves to make it up to his dad as soon as possible. Which is how he finds himself in the kitchen, searching through his mother's cookbook for a recipe that will surely please even someone as picky as his father. His fingers gently trace over the notes that she's left on the pages, comments about things his father had liked, or more rarely, a meal she'd made for her own father, the troupe leader himself. The first time he'd searched this book and found that note, his heart had sunk straight to his toes as he realized who the troupe leader was to their family. It explained why his father had chosen to stay, why he listened to the Leader even when he'd argue himself blue in the face with anyone else, and why Sirius has always been instructed to go straight to the Leader in case of an emergency.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and, having settled on a recipe, goes out in search of Noé. He'll need fresh groceries for what he has in mind, and if the other boy is useful for one thing, then it is carrying heavy items, for his strength is ridiculous considering his age. Sirius isn't jealous, he tells himself, but it does little to help how he inspects his own scrawny limbs whenever he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Noé is more than willing to assist with his tasks to his unspoken relief. Following him around the camp as he shops and talks to the chef for advice, he is more than willing to be the packhorse between the two of them. Sirius thanks him for his trouble by buying him ice cream and then attempts to ditch him by the horses, but Noé merely rolls his eye and follows him to his trailer. "I'm helping," is all he says when Sirius asks, expression stating that he won't take no for an answer. Sirius doesn't attempt to question him again.

"What do you do when you're not helping your dad?" Noé asks later, seated on the counter, with his feet swinging in tune to the radio music. Sirius glances up at him, nose scrunching at the silly question, and goes back to carefully icing the desert before him. It's a lemon meringue pie - his father's favorite - and he thinks he might start crying if he doesn't get these swirls exactly right. It's not like his father will care if the pie isn't perfect; he knows that now, but that isn't an excuse to not give his best effort. He'd heard once that a cake was only as good as its decoration, and though the words had been directed at a kitchen aide rather than him, he'd still taken them to heart. Besides, his father deserved the best, and perhaps if he saw his favorite dessert on the plate, he might deign to eat it with him rather than immediately running off to some other assignment. Noé apparently doesn't think his question is silly, for, at the lack of answer, he reaches over and taps Sirius' shoulder impatiently. "Well?"

"I study," Sirius replies after a bit of thought. "My father gave me several books on medicine and various techniques, and they keep me quite busy, in addition to my school books." He exhales a sigh and mentally gives himself a pat on the back when the swirl he'd been constructing turns out almost as good as it had looked in his imagination.

"What do you do for fun, though?" Noé insists, in a tone of voice, suggesting that he thinks studying is not an acceptable answer. His feet have started to swing a little more rapidly, no longer in tune with the music. Sirius wonders if he's bored; the thought disappoints him for some reason. He doesn't want Noé to find him boring or uninteresting. He looks down at the pie again, focusing on it rather than the insistent gaze of the boy seated to his left. "Siri?" Noé presses, and it's truly unfair how he manages to make the nickname sound so soft, even as his brows furrow in concern.

"I like to read and cook," he says, stiffening in preparation for Noé's disgust, "I think learning new recipes is fun." There's silence for so long that he fears he'll need to kick him out, but then Noé hums.

"What's your favorite recipe then?" He asks cheerfully.

There is genuine curiosity in his voice, and it doesn't change even under the scrutiny that Sirius treats him to. The boy appears truly interested in his answer, and slowly Sirius relaxes, returning his attention to his work as he quietly starts to talk. Speaks of hearty meals and soups that taste heavenly on his tongue, of pastries that make him want to float away into the sky due to their tastiness. Noé listens to everything he says with glowing eyes, and before he knows it, Sirius has agreed to make him a variety of deserts when he returns next summer.

"You will be back, right?" Noé asks quietly, readjusting the two goodie bags that Sirius had shoved at him earlier. It's not the first time he's asked, but whereas previously, Sirius had been able to avoid the question by telling him the Circus' travel schedule, he can no longer do that. Already, elements of the camp have begun to be dismantled; this time next week, neither one of them will be here. He sighs and glances at Noé out of the corner of his eye. Although he's looking around at the various trailers, Sirius has been with him long enough to see the concern he's trying to hide. Noé, he's learned, is far too polite to ask someone outright about the things that worry him. Still, he hesitates, not wanting to provide false hope when he doesn't know for certain if the caravan will return come next July. Instead, he says nothing, taking his time walking through the trailers and eventually the fields surrounding the camp. Soon they'll arrive at the bus stop where Noé's grandpa will be waiting to take him away, and when he does, the summer will truly be over. The caravan will depart from Sète in two days, and Sirius will be onboard it, traveling for another year all around the continent, and although he loves it, a small part of him churns with unhappiness, for it means saying goodbye to Noé. Noé has somehow become an integral part of his life in just a few weeks, and his smile is enough of a reason for Sirius' heart to sink down into his toes. They reach the bus stop while Sirius is still pondering how he's going to answer Noé's question, but already time has left him behind, for, without hesitation, Noé runs ahead to greet his grandfather.

Sirius lingers in the dirt path, watching the two of them reunite as he turns his words over and over in his head. I wish you well feel far too formal, but see you later implies that there will be a later at some point, and goodbye reeks of a finality that makes his eyes burn.

"Siri!" Noé's sudden yell drags him out of his thoughts, and he heads to him automatically, giving a polite - if wary - smile to his grandfather. The old man returns it with far more fondness than Sirius thinks he deserves.

"Hello, young man," he says slowly, his voice dripping with the accent he's used to hearing in Noé's much lighter tone. He feels himself relaxing slightly at the familiarity of it all. "Thank you for keeping my boy company all summer," he continues, "this is just a little something for you and your father. I wish you safe travels on your route." He holds out a beautifully wrapped box, and though Sirius hesitates, torn between his excitement over a present and his worries about words unspoken, the man's gentle gaze is enough to win him over.

"Thank you, sir," he says quietly and tucks the box against his chest, cradling it in both arms. "It was my - I had a lot of fun. Noé is a great kid."

"What are you, my babysitter?" Noé asks, laughing as he leans half his body out the window. "It's okay, Siri; I think you're a great kid too!" He beams.

"You are both good children," His grandfather interrupts before Sirius can yell at him to sit properly. "I hope to see you next year as well, young man. You are always welcome to visit when you're next here."

"I hope to see you next year," Sirius replies politely, internally praying that the words won't become a lie. "Again, thank you. Both of you, and goodbye." He lifts a hand awkwardly, choking up slightly over the burning lump in his throat.

"See you next year, Siri!" Noé shouts back, and then they're off. The truck slowly gains speed until all that's left is a cloud of dust and the distant outline of its shape.

Sirius stands there until even that has faded, and the dust has once more returned to particles on the ground. He turns away then, heart heavy, as he makes the lonely walk back to his trailer. His father isn't there when he arrives, but the clock in the corner reminds him that the time for sadness is long past. He sets the present aside, rolls up his sleeves, and prepares dinner. It remains there, forlorn and forgotten, as Sirius goes about his afternoon chores, trying to keep the loneliness at bay by humming the tune that Noé had loved so much. It doesn't help. Not even his father's return can brighten his spirits, especially as the first thing the man does is forego food entirely for the bottle of tequila hidden in one of the cabinets.

"Father," he says and pointedly places a plate in front of him, brows furrowing unhappily when his presence is greeted with silence. "Father." The slightly sharper tone garners a glance, tired eyes sweeping across his face before turning towards the food with palatable reluctance. "I made cookies," he offers, trying his hardest to not sound whiny, but the bottle is still unopened, and if he can bribe his father to keep it that way, then it'll stay undrunk for a while longer. His father doesn't even like tequila, which, more than anything else, tells him what sort of day it's been.

"Chocolate chip?" His father asks, and Sirius nods empathetically, his hand inching towards the alcohol. Although he's trying to be discreet, his father notices anyway and makes a noise of amusement. "Alright, alright, I can take a hint when it's shoved into my face with all the gusto of a rampaging bull." He sets the bottle aside and picks up his fork instead. "How was your day?"

"Good, I finished up my chores and packed up the extra medical supplies," he replies and sits down opposite his father, starting to eat as well. "All that's left is to clean the infirmary, make sure that everyone has travel medication, and we should be all set to depart." He shoves a bite of food into his mouth before continuing. "Noé left today; his grandfather gave me a present."

"That was nice of him; what was it?"

Sirius freezes at the question, brain abruptly screeching to a halt as he realizes that he never opened the box. "Ah, um, I've been busy," he manages and shoves another piece of garlic bread in his mouth, cheeks heating in embarrassment. His father's warm chuckles are both a welcome sound and an irritating nuisance, for it does little to help with his blush. "Be right back," he snaps and darts across the trailer to his nest. The present is still there, mocking him with shiny wrapping paper and artfully constructed bows. He picks it up carefully and brings it back to the table, ignoring the weight of his father's eyes on his back. Glances up at him, but the man only gives an encouraging nod, and so he returns to the task of carefully unwrapping it. Hesitates once more once it's all been unwrapped, and his name is staring up at him in strong bolded letters that read "to Sirius de Montmirail" and then removes the top. Nestled inside is a framed photograph. In it, he sees Noé, captured mid-laugh as he sits in the paddock enclosure, sunhat around his neck for once so that his hair practically glows in the sunlight. It's a lovely photo but what catches his attention most is that he's in it. He's standing next to Noé, head tilted in his direction, as he laughs. Sirius stares at it, heart twisting painfully in his chest, as his eyes burn once more with tears. He doesn't remember anyone taking their photo, but he doubts he would have even noticed; he looks like he's having too much fun.

"That's a lovely photo," his father says, looking over his shoulder. Sirius hums in agreement, unable to tear his gaze away from it. Words have been carved into the frame, and he traces over them with a finger, mouthing them to himself. 'Ephemeral is the time spent together, but the memories will last forever.'

"Can we…?" He trails off, unable to finish the thought, but his father seems to understand him anyway, for he takes the frame and brings it over to the bookshelf. Sirius watches silently as he places it next to the only other photo in the trailer. It's of his parents, their heads bent together as they share a secretive laugh. It makes him happy to see the two frames sitting side by side. "Thank you."

"We'll be back," his father replies, and to Sirius' ears, it sounds like a promise; it makes his heart swell with warmth as he discreetly wipes his tears away.

"Thanks, Dad."