♡ mimi ♡

Noticing her struggle, he gives another light chuckle, hoisting her back up into a sitting position between two fingers.

“What do you mean, again? We haven’t even finished the story yet.”

“But the wolf has to blow down the third little piggy’s house.”

Adjusting himself on the couch to stop Clover from toppling over again, Jonah flips the page.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Lucky. The third little piggy’s house is so strong that the wolf can’t blow it down.”

“Aww,” she pouts.

“Are you big and strong?” he tries to deflect, giving her a soft poke on her side.

“Mhm,” she gives a firm nod. “I’m the biggest and the strongest.”

“I bet you are, especially after all that broccoli.”

Her nose scrunches up. “Yucky.”

Jonah smiles, continuing on with the story. “And so, the two little piggies ran as fast as they could, all the way to the third little piggy’s house.”

“That’s the brick one,” Clover says matter-of-factly, clinging onto Jonah’s thumb.

“That’s right.” He had read this story countless times to her over the last few weeks, and still, she couldn’t seem to get tired of it.

“Can I read it this time?” she asks giddily, tiny wings fluttering with excitement.

Jonah nods, gesturing for her to go on.

Clover fumbles over her own made-up order of events, vaguely picking up on the context from the pictures and familiarity.

She lost track a few times, attention grabbed by the colourful, textured houses and trees made of felt, until the wolf had ran away and the pigs were living happily ever after.

“…The End. All done!” She signs the motion with her hands to couple the declaration.

Jonah shuts the book and sets it on the couch as the little fairy crawls further up his chest, settling against the crook of his neck.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she says casually, burrying herself against him.

There’s a beat where his hand pauses, still being tickled faintly by the uneven flapping of her wings.

“What did you just say?” he breaths out, caught off guard by the title.

“I said thank you for letting me read the story.”

“No, no, the other part. The calling me Dad part.”

Clover was distracted, running her tiny hands over the textured stitches on Jonah’s collar.

“Clover?”

“Hmm?”

“Clover, honey, I’m not your dad. I’m just Jonah.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Nuh uh?” he parrots, dumbfounded, as he pulls her away from his neck to get a better look at her.

She giggles, squirming in his grip before he sets her back down on his chest. “You’re not Jonah, you’re my dad.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” he challenges, a mixture of flattery and worry weaving into his voice.

“Jelly told me.”

“Jelissa told you… that I’m your dad?”

She was one of the fairies that lived in the recovery house. A close friend of Shawn, who Jonah had known for as long as he’d known Eli.

“Yes.”

His brows furrow. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“She said that mummies and daddies are the ones that tell you stories and tuck you in for bed, and make yummy breakfast.”

His heart swells. “So you think that’s what I am?”

“Yeah,” she gives him a big smile.

He scratches the back of his neck, wondering what to do here. Clover knew she wasn’t staying with him forever, and by no means did Jonah think of himself as her father-figure. Not just yet, anyway.

“Eli makes yummy breakfasts, too. And sometimes Marve tucks you into bed.”

“No, no! But you also sing songs and get me pajamas and all those stuff.” She gestures to the pair she was wearing, a soft set covered with pink and purple unicorn detailing.

“You’re the bestest dad in the whole wide world. Ever.” She gives him a firm pat on the chest.

Jonah winces. “Well… I appreciate it, but you know that I’m not really your dad. Don’t you, Clover?”

“Why?” she zones out a bit, playing with the buttons on her shirt.

Another question. She was full of those.

“Why? Well, because… you’re a fairy. And I’m—“

“And you’re big?”

“Yeah. And I’m big. It just doesn’t work like that, sweetheart.”

The sudden pout on her face made him falter, her little eyes filling with tears.

He nudges her gently with a finger, pushing her into his palm.

“Don’t be sad, Lucky. I love hanging out with you. You’re the bravest, smartest, coolest kid I know.”

“And the biggest and strongest?” she croaks, rubbing at her eyes.

“And the biggest and strongest,” he chuckles. “But you’re not mine.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Okay, Jonah,” he corrects, sitting up on the couch.

“Oops,” she giggles again through her last spillage of quick tears. “Okay, Jonah,” she echoes, craning her head up to look at him.

“Atta girl.” He ruffles her hair with his thumb.

Clover grabs onto it, pulling it close to her chest.

“I love you, Jonah.”

“I love you too, pipsqueak. Now let’s get you to bed.” As Jonah stands up, Clover topples over in a half-somersault, faceplanting in his palm.

“Aw, shit,” she chirps.

His eyes widen.

“Who taught you that word?” He brings her up to his face, using his fingers to help her settle in the center of his palm again, expecting her to deflect.

“Shawn,” she says without hesitation, or any ounce of guilt. In fact, a cheeky smile was beginning to creep up on her face.

He was surprised she had used it correctly, more than anything.

“Well, Shawn and Jelissa are getting a talking-to first thing in the morning. So you better get some shut eye,” he affirms, holding her close to his chest as he moves to leave the office.

“Mkay.”

“Please don’t say that again, kay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Jonah. Okay, Jonah.”

“Okay, Jonah.”

The giant’s heart beats wildly, muscles tensed. They’ve gone completely pale and have lost the ability to speak. The tiny in their pocket can feel it, but they don’t know why. They couldn’t possibly guess what the giant’s friend had to show them.

Pinched between careless fingers. Being turned this way and that. The friend has a smirk or a sneer on their face. Commenting about how they found the little thing, how it was trespassing, how useless their kind are, making a mockery of the limp body between their fingers. Carrying it like a hunting trophy.

The giant feels like they’re going to throw up. They’re terrified. Hyper-aware of the little being tucked up against them.

At this point the tiny understands what’s going on, but hasn’t seen the full extent of it. They feel their giant clutching their chest or protectively curling their hands around them from inside the pocket, almost so tight that it hurts. Subtly backing away from their friend in an attempt to get the tiny as far away from them as possible.

The giant’s friend goes on to ask, “Anyway, that was my treat. What it is it that you wanted to tell me?” So casual about it. Still looking over the other tiny in their hands.

“Oh, uh.” They swallow the lump in their throat. “Nothing. Nothing, I just wanted to catch up.”

Their eyes are still locked on the body, and for a second, their own tiny friend flashes into their mind, the image of them bloody and pinched between their best friend’s fingers. The size of them is sickening.

And oh boy. When the giant takes the tiny home that night, they’ve never been more clingy and terrified for them. In tears and shambles and not putting them down, practically traumatized at the sight their best friend just put them through. Ough. The way they referred to the tiny as an “it,” the casual manhanding of the body, the comments about how they’d do it again if they found another one. All trust being lost. Gutting.