TWELVE YEARS LATER...
"Why do we have to go grocery shopping every Saturday?" Lucky grumbled as Rufus yanked him by the hem of his hoodie, pulling him quickly through the automatic doors.
"Because we need fresh food, and you need to be social," Rufus retorted, his tone teasing yet firm.
"Why can't we just order groceries online? Let's embrace the digital age!" Lucky countered, his voice a mix of frustration and humor. Rufus didn't back down; he knew Lucky was brilliant with technology, but the boy had a habit of retreating into his digital world, isolating himself more than ever. Rufus was determined to coax him out.
"You need to interact with real people, Lucky," Rufus insisted.
"I'm social, aren't I? We're talking right now," Lucky shot back, dripping with sarcasm. "That counts, right?"
"No, it does not! You need more than just me. You need to get out there, to see the world, to experience life, and connect with others!" Rufus explained, his eyes shining with an earnest intensity that Lucky couldn't ignore.
"I see the world whenever we move to a new state. What more is there to learn? I don't need anyone else, Rufus. I have you guys, and that's enough," Lucky said, shrugging off the rest of the world as if it were a bothersome fly.
With that, he abandoned Rufus, maneuvering toward the book aisle, that ever-familiar refuge.
Rufus sighed, half-exasperated, half-concerned, as he watched Lucky drift away.
These past twelve years had hardened Lucky in ways Rufus wished he could understand. Gone was the cheerful little boy he had known, replaced by a young man who wrapped himself in his books more tightly than ever.
Lucky had become less inclined to join others, preferring solitude over social interaction—a silent casualty of the tragedy that had stolen his mother from him.
It was a stark contrast to the Lucky who used to gaze wide-eyed at the world.
Now he was more likely to bury himself in tales of mythical worlds or obscure histories, rarely venturing out of his own head—or room.
Rufus knew Lucky had a fierce intelligence, one that kept him on par with, if not ahead of, his peers.
He'd even helped his father, Plutonic, manage some of their family's businesses.
But to Rufus, it felt like Lucky had become entangled in an invisible web, one spun from the memory of his mother's absence.
As Rufus wandered through the aisles, collecting what he needed, he couldn't help but notice how the grocery store buzzed with life—the chatter of families, the sound of children laughing, the aroma of fresh bread wafting through the air.
This was a vibrant world that Lucky had chosen to shut out.
He wondered if Lucky was alright, stuck in a routine that kept him skating along the surface of life without ever diving in.
Rufus paused at the flavored tea section. "Caramel or plain?" he murmured to himself, weighing his options.
He loved strawberry tea, while Araminta favored caramel. Plutonic preferred it plain, but Lucky?
He turned his back on all of it, a contradiction wrapped in mystery. 'What a strange yet striking guy,' Rufus mused, shaking his head and placing a box of each flavor into the cart alongside some plain.
With each glance in Lucky's direction, Rufus felt the pull deepening.
Lucky had grown into a remarkably handsome young man—his dark chocolate skin glowing under the bright store lights, long hair cascading down his shoulders, and a lean, muscular form that spoke of strength both physical and intellectual.
Yet he remained untouched by his family's heritage, refusing to shift into the Phoenix form that was his birthright. Even the were-phoenix transformations, much celebrated within their clan, were shunned by Lucky, a silent act of defiance—or perhaps of mourning.
The last time Lucky had shifted was twelve years ago. The loss of his mother had broken something deep within him that he hadn't yet mended.
It felt like part of his spirit had been buried alongside her, lost to the depths of his sorrow. Rufus glanced where Lucky browsed the bookshelves, seemingly oblivious to the world around him.
The Phoenix ceremonies—the once-beloved gatherings—had turned into shadows of their former selves after her passing. No one in the clan attended the last FireCross ceremony, and Rufus had no intention of forcing Lucky to participate; they all wore their grief like a shroud. Every year, the anniversary approached with a heaviness that pressed against their hearts, and the silent acknowledgment of their shared loss bonded them, even as they honored her memory in their own muted ways.
And Aisha, with her maternal instinct, had begun inviting Lucky to more social events, her worry bubbling to the surface.
She understood that isolation would only serve to deepen his despair, so she nudged him into the light, trying to draw him out with little gestures of normalcy—a few games here, a party there, even some shared laughter in the kitchen when Lucky would reluctantly help prepare meals.
Despite his quiet protests, those rare moments of collaboration—especially during dinner preparations—brought glimmers of happiness back into his eyes.
Rufus felt a surge of affection as he recalled their time in the kitchen together. Lucky, with a playful spark, had whipped up the best meat stews and chocolate brownies that could melt even the hardest of hearts. Cooking was one thing he didn't complain about; it was his craft, his art.
"Bacon?" Rufus suggested, forcing his train of thought back to the shopping at hand. A few slices of bacon would go perfectly with their meals.
"You've been here for almost two hours! The only things you've got are teabags and spices? I was about to give up on finding you outside!" Lucky interjected, crossing his arms as he joined Rufus again, irritation and humor battling in his gaze.
"I was deep in thought," Rufus replied, returning Lucky's glare with one of mock seriousness.
"Deep in thought? Looks more like classic daydreaming to me," Lucky retorted, a hint of his old playful self breaking through. He rifled through the cart, adding a few cans of energy drinks and snacks, his touch light and decisive as he worked.
"Maybe if we just did online shopping like I suggested, we could avoid this whole debate," Lucky mused, shaking his head slightly as Rufus grabbed some packets of bacon.
"Where's the fun in that?" Rufus shot back, chuckling softly. And just like that, the moment shifted—suspended in a fragile laughter that tethered their worlds together.
Rufus masked his feelings well, a persistent ache lingering in his chest that only grew stronger with every passing day. Being near Lucky was both a thrilling adventure and a painful reminder of what might never be.
How he wished he could weave his connection with Lucky into something brighter, something that could heal the boy who'd become such a significant part of his life.
But with every fleeting glance, every shared laugh, Rufus couldn't help but wonder if his feelings were ever reciprocated. As they pushed the cart to the checkout line, he smiled to himself, fortifying his hope.
Perhaps there would come a day when Lucky's walls would crumble; when the boy could not only let the world back in but might also let Rufus close enough to understand him entirely. An ache filled him as he thought, If only...