UNDER THE SUN
1222 Words
Seraphim's POV
Lunchtime at the school clinic was rarely quiet.
There was always someone with a scraped knee. A mild headache. A stomachache that suspiciously aligned with math class.
I was organizing files when I heard familiar footsteps running down the hallway.
Fast. Light. Determined.
Elsa.
She burst into the clinic without knocking.
“Mama!”
I looked up, already smiling. “You’re not eating in class again?”
She placed her lunchbox dramatically on my desk. “No. I came to keep you company.”
Behind her, Tristan stepped in quietly, hands folded behind his back, posture straight as always.
I raised a brow at my daughter. “And your friends?”
“They’re loud,” she said dismissively. “You’re better.”
I laughed softly. “That is not how social development works.”
She ignored me and opened her lunchbox.
Tristan stood there, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or leave.
“You can sit,” I said gently, gesturing to the chair near the wall.
He obeyed without argument.
Elsa immediately began unpacking her food. “Mom made snacks,” she announced proudly.
“I did not burn them this time,” I corrected dryly.
She grinned. “She only burns serious meals. Snacks are safe.”
I shook my head as she pulled out a small container of sliced fruit and homemade pastries.
She held one toward Tristan. “Do you want some?”
He paused.
His eyes flicked to me briefly.
Then back to the food.
“I’m fine,” he said.
Elsa frowned. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s good.”
He hesitated again, then quietly asked, “What’s in it?”
I smiled faintly at the question. “Flour. Eggs. Sugar. Nothing complicated.”
He studied it like it required strategy.
“It’s not poisoned,” Elsa added impatiently. “My mom wouldn’t waste sugar like that.”
I laughed softly.
After a long second, Tristan finally accepted the piece.
He examined it once more before taking a small bite.
Elsa leaned forward eagerly. “See? I told you!”
He chewed slowly.
Then gave a small nod.
“It’s… good.”
Her face lit up like she had personally baked it.
I watched them quietly.
There was something about the way Tristan accepted things — cautiously, like every offering needed evaluation. Like trust was something measured in grams.
“Sports day starts tomorrow,” Elsa announced suddenly, mouth half-full.
I sighed. “Swallow before speaking.”
She obeyed, then continued excitedly. “There’s running and sack races and relays. I’m going to win.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I said.
She turned to Tristan. “Will your dad be coming?”
The question hung in the air.
Tristan’s expression didn’t change, but something in his posture did.
“I don’t know,” he replied calmly.
Elsa tilted her head. “Why?”
“He’s busy.”
The answer was simple. Practiced.
“It would be good if your dad comes,” I said gently. “Events like that mean a lot to children.”
His eyes flickered toward me briefly.
“I’ll let him know,” he said.
There was no resentment in his voice.
Just acceptance.
And somehow that felt heavier.
The next day, the school field was buzzing with color and noise.
Parents gathered under tents. Teachers shouted instructions. Children ran in every direction with nervous energy.
Elsa was vibrating with excitement beside me.
“I’m going to beat everyone,” she declared.
“That’s the spirit,” I said, fixing her cap.
I scanned the crowd instinctively.
And I saw him.
Matthias.
Standing beside Tristan.
Hands behind his back. Expression neutral. Observant.
I blinked once.
So he sent the assistant again.
My jaw tightened slightly.
I shouldn’t judge. I didn’t know the full story.
But forming an opinion was becoming easier than I liked.
Tristan stood straight beside Matthias, already dressed for the race.
He wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t nervous.
He looked… prepared.
When the boys were called to line up, I noticed Matthias step back slightly, maintaining distance. Present, but detached.
The whistle blew.
They ran.
And Tristan moved like someone who didn’t waste energy.
Efficient strides. No panic. No unnecessary movement.
He crossed the finish line first.
The crowd applauded.
Matthias clapped once. Controlled. Minimal.
Elsa’s race came shortly after.
She ran like her life depended on it — messy, passionate, determined.
And she also came first.
She screamed in triumph and immediately ran toward Tristan.
“You’re impressive!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.
He stiffened for half a second — then relaxed slightly.
I walked over with two water bottles in hand.
Elsa ran into my arms next.
“Mama! I won!”
“I saw,” I laughed, kneeling to hug her tightly. “You were incredible.”
I handed her water. “Drink.”
She gulped it down dramatically.
Then I looked at Tristan.
He was standing slightly apart now.
Matthias had stepped aside to take a call.
Present, but not engaged.
I grabbed the second bottle and walked toward Tristan.
“You also need to hydrate,” I said gently, offering it to him.
He looked surprised.
“I’m fine,” he replied automatically.
“You ran under the sun,” I countered calmly. “That’s not optional.”
After a brief pause, he accepted it.
“Thank you.”
“You did very well,” I added.
He nodded once.
Elsa tugged at my sleeve. “Mom, I’m sweaty.”
“I can see that.”
I pulled out tissues and wiped her face carefully, brushing her hair back gently.
She giggled.
Without thinking, I looked at Tristan.
His face was flushed from the heat. Sweat lined his temple.
No one moved to wipe it.
No one crouched to check on him.
I hesitated only a second before stepping closer.
“Hold still,” I said softly.
He blinked in surprise.
I used a clean tissue to gently wipe the sweat from his forehead.
His body went completely still.
Not resistant.
Just… unfamiliar.
“There,” I murmured. “That’s better.”
He didn’t speak.
But his fingers tightened slightly around the water bottle.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Matthias watching.
Not with irritation.
Not with approval.
With interest.
A calculating kind.
I straightened.
“You both did well,” I said to the children. “You should be proud.”
Elsa beamed.
Tristan simply nodded.
But something in his eyes had shifted.
Something softer.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, I found myself watching the way Matthias walked beside Tristan.
Close enough to signal responsibility.
Far enough to avoid intimacy.
It wasn’t neglect.
It wasn’t cruelty.
It was… structured.
And for the first time, my forming opinion faltered slightly.
Maybe I didn’t know the whole story.
Maybe I was projecting.
Elsa slipped her hand into mine.
“Mom,” she whispered, “Tristan looked happy when you wiped his face.”
I swallowed gently.
“I was just helping.”
She smiled knowingly.
Children see too much.
As Tristan and Matthias walked toward the exit, I caught Matthias glancing back at me once.
Assessing.
Noticing.
Taking mental notes.
And suddenly I wondered—
Had I just stepped into something I didn’t understand yet?
- Writer
