#it too

Children aren't born with visions, you know. Most never get any. And someone as corrupted as him does not deserve to bask in something as sweet and genuine as a child’s company, whether he made them or not. The younger the child is, the less he'd be around. If his feelings overwhelm him, that baby’s fucked. He'd feel cuteness aggression and immediately think himself ever worthier of death. To think of hurting something so small? A tiny person learning to navigate- everything?

When they're older, they at least get to know him.

He's a loving father- he really is- but there is only so much you can do in little pockets of time. Any time spent with the child- or children- would feel akin to sneaking into a temple and shoving the offerings made to the gods into his mouth. Grabbing the incense and sauntering out sniffing it like a bouquet. What the hell is he doing? They latch onto his fingers and look at him all wide eyed. They ask him where he's been and his heart pulses with guilt instead of blood, sending it into every corner of him. It's so potent he can't feel his fingertips anymore.

They just wanted to know where he was. They confusedly reiterate, because their father has fallen completely silent. Was he really killing monsters? He's so still. His movements are always so slow. He moves so gently even the cats walk up to him and ask to be petted. You don't even have cats. They can't imagine Xiao running, let alone something as dynamic as battle. Especially now, with him kneeling on the floor before where they sit with their legs splayed out. Just giant golden eyes taking them in.

Maybe they'd glance back at you- and it would break Xiao's heart further. He's their parent, too, he'd think. He'd immediately feel guilt for that, too. He's barely been here. There was a good reason, but he's barely been here. His heart feels so tired, so wounded. His fingers twitch as he almost clutches his chest, then decides not to at the last moment. Melodrama.

Were you really killing monsters? The child would ask, wide eyed. He'd feel sick to the stomach. He'd glance up at you with that look- the one that just screamed no no no no no no. I can't be here I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I'm so sorry. And he'd walk right out the door.

There's always a good reason for his paranoia, but long after the child is old enough to see him more, and understand why they didn't nearly as much in the past, he'd feel as though something in them just fundamentally thought of him as parent, and of you as parent.