Welcome to Gaia! ::

Teddy kept the charm in his pocket all day.

He didn’t tell anyone about it, not even the nice lady at the counter who gave him some free icecream as he waited for Cary to finish up his shift. She’d asked, maybe having seen him fiddle with it, if he had a toy. Probably just to be nice. He shook his head and closed his fingers tighter around the little bird, almost as if it would fly away if he loosened his grip.

He didn’t want anyone to take it. He didn’t want anyone to look at it. Not really. Not yet at least.

It had been given to him by Eld, who wasn’t like the other adults. He didn’t talk to Teddy like he was made of sugar like their uncle sometimes talked to him, or glass like others. He didn’t smile in a way that adults did when they were lying. It was almost as if he just… saw things. Quietly observing. Like the way Teddy always sat a little apart from the others, or how he kept his sketchbook close even when he was playing with Henry and Abby. Eld never made him explain.

And today, Eld gave him this. A carved bird that was smooth and cool in Teddy’s hand, no larger than his thumb. It looked like it had been made with care, like every feather had been etched with patience. The shape was simple but perfect. It reminded Teddy of a wren. Or maybe a finch.

There was another one, too. Slightly bigger with stronger lines. One for Cary, specifically.

He hadn’t been surprised to see Eld at the ice rink, along with Tyr, who always seemed like he was in a perpetual state of melting, especially when the sun was out. Now, with the heat of summer, he was surprised Tyr hadn’t tried laying down on the ice. Yet.

They didn’t exchange too many words, just the passing of the gift, before finding a place for themselves, quietly talking and out of the way.

He wanted until he and Cary were home, waited until the front door had been locked and Cary had removed his shoes. He followed his brother, silent as a shadow, into their room where he sat on the edge of the bed. His socks didn’t quite match, and one had a hole in them, but he didn’t mind.

He hadn’t told Cary about the charms, yet. And now he was nervous. Maybe Cary wouldn’t like them, or maybe he would think it was weird. Or worse than that, maybe he’d think Eld was trying to buy their trust. Adults did that, sometimes.

Teddy held the birds in his hands, one in each palm, watching Cary from the bed. He could feel the weight of the moment building in his chest like a balloon. Like it was full and fragile and if it was popped it would be devastating.

“I have something to show you,” he said finally when he thought he might float away with anticipation if he kept it to himself any longer. His voice was quiet, but not scared. He was never scared of Cary, just worried he’d disappoint him. Or worried that Cary would be upset because he was disappointed by others.

“I saw Eld and Tyr at the rink today while you were working. Eld made these for us. Said we looked like we needed something nice.”

Teddy’s hands still hadn’t moved. He held the bird charms carefully, as if he were afraid they might vanish if he shifted them too quickly.

“They didn’t stay long,” he said quietly, his eyes lowered to the birds in his hands. “Just… they saw me sitting with my sketchbook, and he said I looked like I needed something nice.” Teddy paused for a moment, glancing curiously up at Cary. “You, too.”

Finally, his fingers curled around both charms. Not to protect them, but as a means to steady himself. As if he needed to convince himself that if Cary said he needed to give them back, he could do it without crying about it.

“I think this one’s a finch,” he glanced back down at the charms, rolling the smaller one in his palm. “Yours looks more like a hawk. They feel cool,” he continued, as if that made a difference to mention. “Even though I’ve had them in my pocket all day, they’re not warm.”

Gently, he brushed his thumb over the wing of the smaller bird, taking in how carefully each line had been carved.

“I think he meant it,” he added after a moment, his voice small, maybe bracing for disappointment. “That it was a gift, not a trade. He didn’t ask for anything.”

Teddy paused for another long moment, then glanced up at his brother. “Do you think I should give them back?”

When Cary asked, Teddy didn’t hesitate to hand the little birds over. Not because he wasn’t attached to them, but because it was Cary. If Cary asked, Teddy gave. That was just how it had always been.

They were passed carefully into his brother’s waiting hands, palms opening like a little bird release ceremony.

“He makes a lot of things,” Teddy said softly, curling his now empty hands into his lap. “For everyone, I think. But this was the first time he made something just for us.”

He sounded a little proud of that, except… no, not so much proud as he was honored. Honored that someone took the time to see not just him, but Cary as well.

“He tells stories sometimes. About dragons and places with a dozen moons in the sky and magic that lives in old trees. Not to me. Just… out loud,” he quietly explained, tugging gently at the edge of his sleeve to give his empty hands something to do. “So people can hear if they want to. I think he wants to make people feel better.”

Another moment of silence passed, but it wasn’t heavy. Instead it was just the quiet that settled after something important was said.

“You can keep the hawk one. If you want,” he said after a moment, voice almost a whisper. He still didn’t look up, wanting to give Cary a chance to express his emotions without having to hide them from him.

Teddy carefully took the birds back when they were handed to him, holding them in his hands like they might melt if he squeezed too tight. He didn’t hide them away just yet. He wanted to look at them a little longer while they talked.

“I think so,” he said after a moment. His voice was quiet, thoughtful. As though he wasn’t entirely sure, but it was honest.

“His stories don’t fix anything,” he admitted. “But… they feel like--... maybe things could be better. Someday.”

He brushed his thumb along the curve of the hawk’s wing. The edges were smooth but still sharp where they needed to be, as though it had been made to fly through storms and not fall apart.

“They don’t sound fake when he tells them,” he continued after a moment, before glancing up at Cary. “Even though they are.”

And that, more than anything else, was what surprised him and kept his attention. That someone could talk about magical forests and dragons that soared through the air and not sound like they were pretending.

He looked back down at the charms, carefully crafted and gifted to them.

“I like listening to him,” he said with a small nod. But then, his voice softer and maybe a little more vulnerable… “But I like when you tell me stories, more.”

Because no matter how many gifts Eld gave, or how many impossible things he said with that faraway voice of his, Cary was still home. And Teddy would not give that up for anything.

Teddy blinked curiously at the question, then looked down at the charms in his hands. Once again, he didn’t answer right away. He wanted time to think about it, the way he always did when something mattered to him.

“I think…” he started, his voice quiet and a little cautious. “... He watches people really closely. Not in a bad way. Just… like he’s always paying attention. Even when he’s joking around.”

He curled his fingers lightly around the birds, cupping his hands like a protective nest. Eld was… quietly curious, like Teddy was. He didn’t push for answers, but seemed to seek them out. Patiently. As though he had lifetimes he could wait if need be.

“You’re like the hawk,” he said after another moment, holding it up first. “But… not because you’re mean or anything, but because you always know what’s happening. Even when people don’t think you do. You see everything, and you’re always watching. And you’re protective. You don’t let anything get near me.”

He wasn’t looking at Cary when he spoke. His cheeks felt warm and he was a bit embarrassed to be so honest about his feelings. Instead, he looked at the little hawk between his fingers, as though it could answer back.

“Mine’s small, but it’s loud. And it’s fast. It likes to hide in trees and likes to watch stuff. It’s better in flocks.” He paused for a moment, looking between the two birds. “I think he picked them because he saw us. I mean… because he saw us. And who we are.”

Another pause as he lowered the birds, still holding them gently.

“...Or maybe he just likes birds,” he mumbled sheepishly, before continuing softer still. “You can still have the hawk. Even if you don’t believe in fairy tales.”

Teddy smiled softly. He didn’t always know how to say when something made him feel good, at least not out loud, but his smile usually spoke for him. It tugged at the corners of his mouth and settled in his eyes, almost like a secret he hadn’t told anyone yet. Because when Cary said that maybe fairy tales were okay sometimes, it felt like something warm was settling in his chest, like a tension was being released. The balloon wasn’t as big any more.

He liked that Cary was trying. It was hard to explain, but he could feel that Cary was being careful. Not in the same way grownups usually were, with their voices too sweet or awkward silences. No, Cary’s kind of careful was quieter. Like he didn’t want to crush whatever small, important thing Teddy had built inside himself.

“I don’t think he’d think you’re weird,” Teddy chirped, glancing down at the bird charms again. He rolled the finch between his fingers, as though memorizing the way the carved feathers felt. “I think he’d probably be really happy.”

He hesitated for a moment. The words he wanted to say felt stuck in the back of his throat, but they didn’t come out all at once. It was like he had to line them up carefully, like the pencils Cary lined up on his desk. Just right.

“He tells them like he misses them,” Teddy said at last, glancing up at Cary once more, but also trying to hide the quiet awe in his voice. “Like they used to be real.”

It was Eld’s faraway tone, like he was remembering instead of imagining. Teddy didn’t know where those places came from, or if they were real to Eld the same way dreams felt real to him sometimes, but he could tell they meant something. Every story Eld told had soft corners and sharp edges, like something that had lived a life already. He didn’t know if Cary believed in anything make believe any more. Maybe not. But he wanted him to feel how he felt when Eld told stories about places where nothing hurt and birds sang secrets into the wind anyway. He wanted to share that quiet magic with his brother.

“I think he’d tell you a special one, if you asked,” he said quietly, looking at Cary. Really looking at him, as though wanting to make sure he heard him and understood he was being sincere. “You don’t have to believe all the way. Just a little. That’s enough to hear them,” he promised, but looked back down quickly, his cheeks feeling warm again.

Okay, maybe that was silly to say, but it was what he believed, and the only way he knew how to explain why some of the stories felt true even if they weren’t.

The kiss to his forehead made his chest tighten in a gentle, good way that only happened when he felt really safe. With Cary, the world felt smaller and easier to understand. Like everything hard had been set aside for just a little while. Enough to give them a moment together.

Cary said okay.

He said he was going to ask.

He hadn’t laughed at him, or told him he needed to be more careful and not accept gifts from strangers, or that listening to stories was bad. He listened, and that meant more than Teddy knew how to say, so he didn’t try. Instead, he just nodded. It was a quiet gesture, but full of trust. Because Cary would always look out for him. He wasn’t sure if he believed in the stories Eld told him, but he liked how they made him feel. He hoped Cary might understand if he listened. Maybe he could try to give Cary a little preview, although he doubted his storytelling would be as good.

“Okay,” he nodded as well, voice just a whisper. “I’ll tell you one.”

He glanced down at the charms again. With them protected in his hands, he carefully slid off the bed and padded over to the desk. He would leave them there, to watch over Cary as he worked on his studying and research into the night. To keep Cary company when Teddy inevitably fell asleep.

He knew Cary wouldn’t say it, but Teddy knew he didn’t like leaving him there alone. Not with their uncle around. So, as he passed Cary he gave his sleeve a little tug. Not with the desire for attention, but instead as a quiet thank you.

He grabbed his sketchbook off the table and quietly led the way to the bathroom where he curled up on the floor against the wall, out of the way but where Cary could peek around the curtains to make sure he was okay if he wanted. Sitting cross legged on the floor, he was already flipping his sketchbook open to a blank page. He just had to decide what he wanted to draw. Maybe a hawk. Or a finch. Or maybe he would sketch out the story he would tell Cary when they settled into bed.

Fin!