Closed Oliver makes a friend (NOT CLICKBATE?!) PV | Cirrus Nam

The unruly boy could be barely contained by the seatbelt strapped across the small child in an X-style hastening. The car seat's fabric had car designs, which could be considered, at the very least, cute and ironic.

"Three craws sat upon a waaaaw, Sittin-Sittin... on a waw, sittin on a waw, Three craws sat upon a waw, On a cauld and frosty mornin...." the small Scottish voice sang to the nursery rhyme, in the off-tune incoherent way many three-year-olds did.

The boy's large, honey-colored eyes stared absentmindedly at the little screen hanging from the passenger seat, although there were no thoughts behind them; they sparkled like mango popping pearls none-the-less. Taking a quick peek at her son through the rearview mirror, Joyce couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle about the ignorant sweetness her boy always seemed to showcase.

"East Sands Play Park." He abruptly stopped his singing to read the passing white sign, catching Joyce off guard. The toddler kicked his feet in unwaning anticipation, slumping forward, the harness clinging for dear life.

"Yup, we're 'ere!"¹ She smiled as the two pulled up to the parking lot that was filled with parents and lots of children roughly 1-2 years older than her child, Cirrus.

The fact of the matter was that Cirrus had been able to quickly advance from pre-school to kindergarten, and he had been marked as a gifted child showcasing a great sense of intelligence and awareness around him. This had been a difficult decision as a parent, whether or not to keep him in pre-school or let him go a grade up. Ultimately, they had decided to go up, not wanting to hold back Cirrus from his full potential. That's why Joyce was happy that he still acted like a kid, scared that he would have a lesser childhood due to this ordeal. For at least now, her nerves were put at rest.

Despite having been so hyperactive and excited for his classmate's birthday party all week, Cirrus shyly hid behind his mom, holding her fingers. He used her like a human shield for himself as he clutched the party gift closely to himself with his free hand. As they arrived, if you listened closely, underneath all the children's pop music and happy chatter and ganter, the crashing of waves could be heard. It was the beautiful noise water made when attempting rode the rocky beach shores, Cirrus noticed but only for a moment as his attention span was quickly taken by the fox themed birthday.

After the Nams, mostly Joyce, gave a swift, yet polite greeting before placing their gift on a table stacked high with presents. Joyce then quickly ushered her son to go play with his classmates at the park a small distance away from the decorated tables. The park itself was nothing out of the ordinary and consisted of more land than actual playground, but for the children and Cirrus it was a treasure cove.

The party went by in a flash, and before anyone knew it it was time to pack up, clean-up, and go home. As the adults cleaned up the aftermath of the birthday, the children were sent once more to play at the park with the supervision of older siblings, cousins, and 1-2 adults. As time passed, the families seemed to trickle away, only the Nams and a couple others.

Joyce sat at the bench with another mother chattering away, as Cirrus and another kid who decided to go on the giant saucer wing together. The two agreed to make the swing go as high as possible through teamwork. Ever since his first instance of magic a couple of months prior, he had been convinced that, like Superman, he was indestructible and so forth.

At first, it was just an innocent little game, until the two began to swing higher... And higher! Joyce quickly took notice and gave a warning. But they didn't listen as they kept going. The parents quickly got up, but by the time they did so, it was too late as Cirrus lost his grip, was thrown off, suspended in air, and fell in what felt like slow motion. He watched as everyone's faces slowly contorted into horror before... THUD.

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Cirrus touched his upper lip, letting his fingers gently graze across the faint scar as he leant back in his chair in a dazed state as he recollected the hazy memory. He could have sworn he tasted the metallic salty taste of blood and a phantom feeling of throbbing on his lips all as fresh as the day of the incident. He put a peppermint in his mouth to rid himself of the taste.

The boy quickly shook his head as he fixed his posture, looking back down at the stacks of homework and books that lay sprawled out in front of him. He stared at the quill and piece of parchment in front of him, furrowing his eyebrows to try and hone in his motivation, beckoning himself to focus. He huffed in exasperation as he threw himself backward, letting the back of his head rest on the top rail of the chair, bouncing his leg in impatience and annoyance.

The Hufflepuff let his hands rub up his face, moving his silver thin rimmed glasses, before running them through his messy mousy brown hair. He knew he had to get this done, but he couldn't find the will to. Was he this much of a failure? He was awful at magic yet didn't have the motivation to get better in the very least. Not even bringing up what happened just a month prior, he closed his eyes shut as to try to block out the world around him.

He hoped that if he squeezed his eyelids hard enough, everything would be better when he opened them again. Cirrus heard a small noise. Reopening his amber eyes, he let his face fall lazily to the right of him to see who had made an entrance, a smile immediately crawling across his features as he saw familiar zircon-colored eyes.

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Cirrus had waited no time to accept his offer; he needed an excuse not to study, and now he could spend time with Oliver and get to know the boy behind the cutest cat he had ever seen, Otis. He didn't know where the blonde was leading him, but he followed with no thoughts clouding his mind, letting his brain become like a grocery store with no goods. Acting like a limp ragdoll being dragged along to its next location, the ballroom. Cirrus hadn't been here since November of last year, when he had folded paper cranes with a girl of porcelain, or so it seemed, of course.

The Hufflepuff sat as instructed, watching curiously as the boy dumped out a bag. A sight and smell of nostalgia hit him in a satisfying wave as art materials were scattered across the table. Cirrus's mother was an Art teacher, so arts and crafts were considered a little peaceful time between him and her. he had many fond memories growing up in her studio. He hadn't gained a single semblance of her artistic abilities, most of the time looking more like uneven scribbles than anything else.

Cirrus was grinning from ear to ear, his dimples becoming more prominent by the second, as Oliver set up the little fun project for the two of them. As the boy picked up the palette and brush, he suddenly stopped furrowing his eyebrows as he began to question the reason behind the random invite. But knowing his past experiences, he decided rather to forget that, rather wanting to be ignorant than disappointed by whatever truth there could have been behind this besides 'hanging out.'

Cirrus perked up at the sound of Oliver's voice cutting through the silence of brushes hitting the canvas and the squelching of paint being poured and squeezed. The room was bathed in a warm lighting, further highlighting his features, his hair looking like marbled bronze and gold and his eyes more piercing like sapphire. His dusty brown jacket only further added to the rather soft-glow peaceful visual.

"Mah day's bin guid, cannae complain pure... Howfur haes your's bin?"² He replied, squeezing out a little too much red paint, getting it on his fingers, and without thinking, he wiped them on dark turquoise cargo pants. He stared absent-mindedly at his tanned hands before accepting his fate and continuing to swipe the brush across the canvas in a painstakingly slow way. He stuck out his tongue slightly as he focused, itching his face every once in a while and smearing the paint across the bridge of his nose.

He even at some point stuck his fingers into the paint, opting to finger-paint rather than use the available brushes, huffing whenever he accidentally blurred the colors or mixed them all by accident into an ugly murky brown on his palette. Every once in a while, he peered over his shoulder, nosily peeking at Oliver's canvas, his mouth agape in awe.

"Whaur did ye learn tae dae that? ye'r pure guid!"³