In his time as successor of the Bookman line, he’d adjusted himself to multiple things that would be impossible for other children his age.
Traveling through the world, collecting the true history, there wasn’t much comfort he was used to but the one thing that had remained throughout every thing was the distance people greeted them with. Never rude but they showed the reversions without outright saying it.
Deak assumed that it was just what they had to deal with when recording the history. People were comfortable with lies when it let them live in their paradise. Anyone who discovered the truth for them was a threat. Nothing could be unseen, after all.
He was used to others being cold to him, making him counter them with a mask of joy and kindness, which was why he was so confused when he met you.
The night had been exceptional cold, freezing the ground and made it impossible for Bookman and him to spent it outside like they had originally planned.
After a couple of failures, with Christmas approaching most preferred to stay with their family instead, not wanting strangers in their homes, they arrived at your family’s home.
Your parents had seemed skeptical, sharing a look before agreeing hesitantly to Bookman’s request.
Your mother called for you, wanting to introduce their guests to you. You bounced down the stairs, stopping for a moment when you saw them and then rushing towards Deak.
“Nice! Wanna help with the tree?” You asked him excitedly, not giving him time to reply and dragging him into the living room where a sparsely decorated Christmas tree stood.
Pushing a stool in front of him and pulling the box with the decorations closer.
Deak observed them for a moment then you before frowning. “You’re weird”
You pouted, “I’m not the one being moody at Christmas”
“Christmas is in two weeks…”
“I know! So long!” You whined, moving to hang up one ball. “Just help me, you Scrounge. Bet you never smile either.”
“I do smile,” he argued, giving you his best practiced smile.
You looked at him in disgust. “…that looks awful”
Grumbling, Deak took a ball of his own and started helping you. For the most part, it was only you talking and him giving short answers until you stopped, a comfortable silence settling over you, peacefully decorating the tree.
“That looks better,” you said suddenly, looking at him with warm eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“That smile you’re wearing now. Looks much better.”
Your mother called you both for dinner and rushed to get, leaving behind an astounded Deak.
Toad's Cave 