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Fic: the one you love (baby!Panic)
the one you love
baby!Panic | 897 words | G
Greta's glad her daycare group was capped at twenty this year; it gives her more time to learn each kid's idiosyncrasies and how they interact with others.
Yes, they're five-year-olds. This is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
harriet_vane's fault. And wordsalone for telling me a stupidly precious story about a five-year-old asking to be her boyfriend. I want to be embarrassed for writing this, but I'm so, so not. :D
The kids are having their afternoon snack of peanut butter and bananas. Greta waits patiently for them to finish up, watching with a fond smile as they lick their fingers clean only to smear them through peanut butter all over again. She's glad her daycare group was capped at twenty this year; it gives her more time to learn each kid's idiosyncrasies and how they interact with others.
Like with the littlest one of the group, Brendon--he hates being alone, and Greta equates that to having been raised in a house full of siblings. He's not the type to sit quietly on his own and color or hum to himself; it must be shared with someone, always. Usually that someone is one of three other boys, if not all three of them together. Greta has learned the hard way that separating Brendon from Ryan, Jon, or Spencer means a good five minutes of hard crying. And not the pouting crying; the heartbreaking, soul-crushing crying that almost hurts to listen to.
"You let him get his way too much," Vicky said once in between breaks from her own group. "Brendon has a million brothers and sisters, he knows how to turn the waterworks on and off."
"He can't be away from his friends, Vic," Greta had replied earnestly, watching the way Brendon tore his Fruit Roll-Up into tiny pieces to share with Ryan.
Vicky had sighed as she went back to her classroom to have art time.
But now Greta's content to watch her group--especially Brendon and his favorite boys--nibble their snack and make scrinchy, happy faces at each other. They're almost finished; she knows this because Jon has started to stack his banana slices into a tower.
"It's a castle," he says, correcting Greta with a solemn nod. He little lisp makes her smile.
"You don't eat castles," Spencer says matter-of-factly from across the table. Even though he's the youngest of the group (his mother insisted on enrolling him in daycare a year early), he's the most out-spoken. Which is different that Brendon's constant chattering; Spencer says exactly what he wants to say, whenever he wants.
"This castle is special, Spencer," Jon says, and his tongue trips up more than once over the abundance of Ss. But he's very adamant about it. He leans across the table and steals one of Spencer's banana slices, making Spencer glare.
Next to Jon, Ryan chews his lip thoughtfully and reaches over to line up his slices around the base of the "castle". He does it meticulously, slowly, like he does with every project. Greta has never seen a four-year-old fingerpaint with so much intensity in her life.
"What's that?" Brendon asks in what he deems his whisper voice, which is actually nowhere close to whispering. "Ryan, Ryan, what're you doing?" He tugs at the sleeve of Ryan's t-shirt, nearly sticking his elbow in Spencer's peanut butter.
Ryan bites the tip of his tongue as he finishes lining up the banana slices. "It's a moat," he finally replies, nodding slowly and then beaming at Jon. "Castles have moats." Greta wonders where on earth Ryan even learned that word, then remembers they all watched The Sword in the Stone last week. Ryan has been a little obsessed with King Arthur.
Jon's eyes flare happily. "See, special." He flails his hand at Spencer while Brendon leans close enough to really inspect things, nearly smooshing his nose into it.
Since Ryan added the moat, Spencer is looking at it with a much more invested interest.
Eventually Greta makes them stop playing with their food and shuffles them off for naptime. Mats and blankets are already laid out, and while most of the kids sleep spread out in all directions, the four boys always pile into each other, like a litter of newborn puppies. Actually, Greta has taken to calling them her "puppy pile."
Jon always shares his blanket--a fluffy, light blue fleece throw with kittens all over it--with Spencer, while Brendon sleeps curled up tight on Ryan's mat in favor of sleeping on his own ("Mine's cold, Miss Greta, Ryan's is warm"). Jon's blanket normally ends up tangled around the four of them, and Ryan's face is tucked away somewhere Greta can't see except for the very top of his hair poking up around Jon's shoulder.
At one point she hears Brendon whisper sleepily to Jon, voice muffled in the blanket, "Is Spencer your boyfriend?"
"No?" Jon whispers back. "Maybe?" In his sleep, Spencer's nose scrinches up, like he knows he's being talked about, and he rubs his face into the front of Jon's t-shirt. "Are you Ryan's boyfriend?"
"Maybe? He said he's gotta ask me first. That's how it works." Brendon wiggles tighter against Ryan, who makes a softly little snuffle.
"Spencer's never asked." Jon gets quiet for a moment, then says, "But I'd say yes if he did." He grins and yawns at Brendon. "And if Ryan never asks, you can be my boyfriend, too."
Brendon smiles so hard Greta wonders if his face hurts at all. "Okay," he whispers in his not-whisper voice. Then he yawns loudly and shuts his eyes, his hand curled in a ball against his chest.
Greta lets the kids sleep an extra ten minutes, just so she can watch her puppy pile a little longer.
baby!Panic | 897 words | G
Greta's glad her daycare group was capped at twenty this year; it gives her more time to learn each kid's idiosyncrasies and how they interact with others.
Yes, they're five-year-olds. This is
harriet_vane's fault. And wordsalone for telling me a stupidly precious story about a five-year-old asking to be her boyfriend. I want to be embarrassed for writing this, but I'm so, so not. :DThe kids are having their afternoon snack of peanut butter and bananas. Greta waits patiently for them to finish up, watching with a fond smile as they lick their fingers clean only to smear them through peanut butter all over again. She's glad her daycare group was capped at twenty this year; it gives her more time to learn each kid's idiosyncrasies and how they interact with others.
Like with the littlest one of the group, Brendon--he hates being alone, and Greta equates that to having been raised in a house full of siblings. He's not the type to sit quietly on his own and color or hum to himself; it must be shared with someone, always. Usually that someone is one of three other boys, if not all three of them together. Greta has learned the hard way that separating Brendon from Ryan, Jon, or Spencer means a good five minutes of hard crying. And not the pouting crying; the heartbreaking, soul-crushing crying that almost hurts to listen to.
"You let him get his way too much," Vicky said once in between breaks from her own group. "Brendon has a million brothers and sisters, he knows how to turn the waterworks on and off."
"He can't be away from his friends, Vic," Greta had replied earnestly, watching the way Brendon tore his Fruit Roll-Up into tiny pieces to share with Ryan.
Vicky had sighed as she went back to her classroom to have art time.
But now Greta's content to watch her group--especially Brendon and his favorite boys--nibble their snack and make scrinchy, happy faces at each other. They're almost finished; she knows this because Jon has started to stack his banana slices into a tower.
"It's a castle," he says, correcting Greta with a solemn nod. He little lisp makes her smile.
"You don't eat castles," Spencer says matter-of-factly from across the table. Even though he's the youngest of the group (his mother insisted on enrolling him in daycare a year early), he's the most out-spoken. Which is different that Brendon's constant chattering; Spencer says exactly what he wants to say, whenever he wants.
"This castle is special, Spencer," Jon says, and his tongue trips up more than once over the abundance of Ss. But he's very adamant about it. He leans across the table and steals one of Spencer's banana slices, making Spencer glare.
Next to Jon, Ryan chews his lip thoughtfully and reaches over to line up his slices around the base of the "castle". He does it meticulously, slowly, like he does with every project. Greta has never seen a four-year-old fingerpaint with so much intensity in her life.
"What's that?" Brendon asks in what he deems his whisper voice, which is actually nowhere close to whispering. "Ryan, Ryan, what're you doing?" He tugs at the sleeve of Ryan's t-shirt, nearly sticking his elbow in Spencer's peanut butter.
Ryan bites the tip of his tongue as he finishes lining up the banana slices. "It's a moat," he finally replies, nodding slowly and then beaming at Jon. "Castles have moats." Greta wonders where on earth Ryan even learned that word, then remembers they all watched The Sword in the Stone last week. Ryan has been a little obsessed with King Arthur.
Jon's eyes flare happily. "See, special." He flails his hand at Spencer while Brendon leans close enough to really inspect things, nearly smooshing his nose into it.
Since Ryan added the moat, Spencer is looking at it with a much more invested interest.
Eventually Greta makes them stop playing with their food and shuffles them off for naptime. Mats and blankets are already laid out, and while most of the kids sleep spread out in all directions, the four boys always pile into each other, like a litter of newborn puppies. Actually, Greta has taken to calling them her "puppy pile."
Jon always shares his blanket--a fluffy, light blue fleece throw with kittens all over it--with Spencer, while Brendon sleeps curled up tight on Ryan's mat in favor of sleeping on his own ("Mine's cold, Miss Greta, Ryan's is warm"). Jon's blanket normally ends up tangled around the four of them, and Ryan's face is tucked away somewhere Greta can't see except for the very top of his hair poking up around Jon's shoulder.
At one point she hears Brendon whisper sleepily to Jon, voice muffled in the blanket, "Is Spencer your boyfriend?"
"No?" Jon whispers back. "Maybe?" In his sleep, Spencer's nose scrinches up, like he knows he's being talked about, and he rubs his face into the front of Jon's t-shirt. "Are you Ryan's boyfriend?"
"Maybe? He said he's gotta ask me first. That's how it works." Brendon wiggles tighter against Ryan, who makes a softly little snuffle.
"Spencer's never asked." Jon gets quiet for a moment, then says, "But I'd say yes if he did." He grins and yawns at Brendon. "And if Ryan never asks, you can be my boyfriend, too."
Brendon smiles so hard Greta wonders if his face hurts at all. "Okay," he whispers in his not-whisper voice. Then he yawns loudly and shuts his eyes, his hand curled in a ball against his chest.
Greta lets the kids sleep an extra ten minutes, just so she can watch her puppy pile a little longer.
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