Mytho is, Fakir has discovered, a little like a baby. Not a human one, mind, but like a duckling or a puppy, always following its mum. Or him, in this case.
It's not really how a prince should behave, Fakir knows, but he's also sure that there aren't many princes that don't have a heart, so Mithos can't really be that bad, all things considering.
But it gets troublesome when he asks him what to eat. "I don't know," is frustrating most of the time, but when it involves something like food, well...
As a prince, Fakir guesses that Mytho probably ate fowl and delicious meats, he probably had banquets every night (or at least the nights when he wasn't saving those in need), but as he is now, it makes no difference for him if he eats carrots and peas or broccoli and cauliflower sprouts. Fakir has asked Raetsel and Charon for the things he loves the most, and then for the things he hates to see if there's any change on Mytho's face. But Mytho just eats whatever is put in front of him, and when he's asked about it, he just repeats his 'I don't know's.
Fakir isn't sure why Mytho can't like something, even without his heart. He has a tongue and a stomach, and thus he should be able to say if he likes things sour or sweet, if something is too spicy for him or not. It seems unfair that he can't even choose food, the way he can't decide if he has a favorite colour, a favorite song, even a favorite dance.
And if he can't even make it so that Mytho finds something he likes to eat, in what else will he fail?
"Don't lose hope," Raetsel tells him, kissing his forehead. "One day, it'll be different."
And the way Raetsel has to speak about the future makes Fakir think that she might be right after al, so he asks her help.
"Milk toast!" Fakir tells Mytho, putting it in front of the prince. "I like it! My m--" but he stops himself, not ready to speak about his parents, not yet. "It's good, and I asked Raetsel to help me make it! Eat, eat!"
Mytho picks up the spoon and starts eating, quiet, no expression and no wonder on his face. Fakir sighs, because he had been hoping for surprise at the taste, the way his mother had told him that milk toast always made her feel happy, even when she just made it for him. But Mytho just eats it and...
"... Fakir?" Mytho says, almost even ask, but Fakir can't answer him, laughing at the milk mustache that the sugar milk has left on top of Mytho's lip, and perhaps he shouldn't laugh, but he can't help it, and if he's the only one laughing, he promises himself that it won't be for long.
**
"Milk toast," Charon informs Fakir, giving Mytho a plate, and then waiting until Fakir has managed to push himself against the headboard to give him one as well, his eyes still worried, still serious, but also very, relieved. "The way you like it."
"Thank you," Mytho says, before Fakir can say so, and it's still surprising, both to Charon and him, to see these proofs that Mytho exists as more of the white shadow he has been for the last eight years.
Charon smiles then, shakes his head. "It's nothing, Mytho. Eat it while it's warm."
"We will," Fakir says, nodding as well, giving his adoptive father a smile, watching as Charon smiles back, walking towards the door. His wounds still hurt, but Fakir is ever so grateful that the story was proven wrong, that he can still be alive, that he didn't completely fail.
He glances towards Mytho, unsurprised that he has started eating already. Mytho, perhaps sensing his glance, looks at him after he has swallowed.
"It's sweet," Mytho says. Fakir sucks in a deep breath.
"... is it?"
The prince nods, and then, almost thoughtful, so that it barely counts as a statement, he says: "I like it."
His heart aches in a way that Fakir can't completely describe, fierce and burning but brilliant, so very brilliant that he covers his eyes with his hand, feeling the way his shoulders start to shake, chuckling despite himself.
"... Fakir?" Mytho asks, but Fakir is still laughing too much to answer him.
And if he's the only one to laugh, well... he's certain that it won't be for much longer.
no subject
It's not really how a prince should behave, Fakir knows, but he's also sure that there aren't many princes that don't have a heart, so Mithos can't really be that bad, all things considering.
But it gets troublesome when he asks him what to eat. "I don't know," is frustrating most of the time, but when it involves something like food, well...
As a prince, Fakir guesses that Mytho probably ate fowl and delicious meats, he probably had banquets every night (or at least the nights when he wasn't saving those in need), but as he is now, it makes no difference for him if he eats carrots and peas or broccoli and cauliflower sprouts. Fakir has asked Raetsel and Charon for the things he loves the most, and then for the things he hates to see if there's any change on Mytho's face. But Mytho just eats whatever is put in front of him, and when he's asked about it, he just repeats his 'I don't know's.
Fakir isn't sure why Mytho can't like something, even without his heart. He has a tongue and a stomach, and thus he should be able to say if he likes things sour or sweet, if something is too spicy for him or not. It seems unfair that he can't even choose food, the way he can't decide if he has a favorite colour, a favorite song, even a favorite dance.
And if he can't even make it so that Mytho finds something he likes to eat, in what else will he fail?
"Don't lose hope," Raetsel tells him, kissing his forehead. "One day, it'll be different."
And the way Raetsel has to speak about the future makes Fakir think that she might be right after al, so he asks her help.
"Milk toast!" Fakir tells Mytho, putting it in front of the prince. "I like it! My m--" but he stops himself, not ready to speak about his parents, not yet. "It's good, and I asked Raetsel to help me make it! Eat, eat!"
Mytho picks up the spoon and starts eating, quiet, no expression and no wonder on his face. Fakir sighs, because he had been hoping for surprise at the taste, the way his mother had told him that milk toast always made her feel happy, even when she just made it for him. But Mytho just eats it and...
"... Fakir?" Mytho says, almost even ask, but Fakir can't answer him, laughing at the milk mustache that the sugar milk has left on top of Mytho's lip, and perhaps he shouldn't laugh, but he can't help it, and if he's the only one laughing, he promises himself that it won't be for long.
**
"Milk toast," Charon informs Fakir, giving Mytho a plate, and then waiting until Fakir has managed to push himself against the headboard to give him one as well, his eyes still worried, still serious, but also very, relieved. "The way you like it."
"Thank you," Mytho says, before Fakir can say so, and it's still surprising, both to Charon and him, to see these proofs that Mytho exists as more of the white shadow he has been for the last eight years.
Charon smiles then, shakes his head. "It's nothing, Mytho. Eat it while it's warm."
"We will," Fakir says, nodding as well, giving his adoptive father a smile, watching as Charon smiles back, walking towards the door. His wounds still hurt, but Fakir is ever so grateful that the story was proven wrong, that he can still be alive, that he didn't completely fail.
He glances towards Mytho, unsurprised that he has started eating already. Mytho, perhaps sensing his glance, looks at him after he has swallowed.
"It's sweet," Mytho says. Fakir sucks in a deep breath.
"... is it?"
The prince nods, and then, almost thoughtful, so that it barely counts as a statement, he says: "I like it."
His heart aches in a way that Fakir can't completely describe, fierce and burning but brilliant, so very brilliant that he covers his eyes with his hand, feeling the way his shoulders start to shake, chuckling despite himself.
"... Fakir?" Mytho asks, but Fakir is still laughing too much to answer him.
And if he's the only one to laugh, well... he's certain that it won't be for much longer.