Illusive Eden - He Pretends He's the Hero

Autumn: the cold-warm season of mist and moist meadows, the mystical weather, the moreish air, the sweet scent of fresh baked bread wafting from the cottages, withering along the gusts of wind, flying yellow red and orange maple leaves.

Something about autumn breaths nostalgic, running through the red of the deep in the veins.

Something, always magical, perfectly miraculous. Serene, romantic, breezy, and warm.

The twirling flesh is the spell of seasons, the heart is where the Autumn whispers—sweet nothings.

Hazy blue sky, the maturing sun, swirling down west slowly, light rays seeping through the twisting and turning of black and grey branches, where swarms and showers yellow and orange leaves.

Sweet smell of ripened fruits, mystery in the cottage trees, bees in delight of the unceased, vibrant blooming flowers. Ripples of shadows on the unswept route, boundered with wooden and brick umber fences, below the arched bridges, where tranquilled emerald lake avenue a path to the cold ocean.

A kotatsu table on the cozy parlor of her cottage, overwhelming with warm beige blanket.

Neva rests herself, adorned in a white cardigan, over her misty rose feeding gown, legs crossed under, nurturing her child with her bosom, as he lay cuddled on his soft, light blue feeding pillow.

"He's gotten so chubby," Neva murmers, brushing his round cheeks with her fingers. Rhett chuckles, he was sat beside, elbow shored on the surface of the table—cradling his cheek, his eyes captured in endearment of the nursing baby.

She fondles her fingers through his thin, jet-black hair, mirroring his father's own. Glancing up at him, their eyes tangle, he smiles, nearing closer, and feathering her lips with a sweet kiss.

They peer lovingly at the growing baby, over a month old, over too adorable for the heart.

He sneaks in his index finger through baby Rhean's cute little fingers. And in a beat of the heart, he has his small innocent fingers wrap around his father's larger one, all the while feeding from his mother, staring at her with the blinking, doe blurry eyes.

They smile at each other, always in awe of his pure, sweet little gestures.

"He'll be a big mama's boy, I can already see it." Rhett says, as the baby unwraps his finger, now grabbing onto Neva's gown. She smiles, nodding, "Of course, he's my darling little boy."

A lovesome grin on his features, his tender eyes on her, as she scatters loving kisses on their baby's little hand.

"You're coming with me to Mrs. Barlowe's right?" Neva asks, looking at him, who's only worn grey sweatpants and long-sleeved t-shirt. "Do we have to?" He frowns.

Neva creases her brows, "She's looking forward to it. We can just leave soon?" She gazes into his eyes, deep yearning in her innocent doe eyes.

He shakes his head, "Even we can have bonfire at home, in our yard." He shrugs, earning a faltering glare from her, "It's different," she complains, faint pout forming on her lips.

His stare on her, deep and slow burning, amusement lacing his orbs, he has her delicate cheeks heat up apple red. "What?" She asks, fastening the gaze.

He chuckles, "Nothing," "If you aren't willing, I'll have all the barbecue with my son." She says, having him raise his eyebrows.

"Then I'm definitely compliant, I can't have my wife taken away from me." He embraces her—grinning wide, peppering dewy kisses on all of her fearures. She giggles—feeling tingles, shoving him away gently.

He lay his head on her shoulder, glimpsing down at the chunky baby in woolen sweaters. Neva adjusts her garment, she raises baby Rhean in her arms—to her chest, she pats his back gently to burp him, for the calm sunshine boy's along on the road to his dreamy slumberland.

♡

In the Barlowe's cottage yard, under the bright maple tree, shaded in the swirling late evening.

The flames of the burning wood, casting golden luminescence round the scene, and the people seated circling in peacefulness, on the cottage chairs.

There sat Mrs. Barlowe with adorable little Rhean in her arms, with Anna beside, giggling, chatting with him in baby languages, attempting to make a smile on the gentle features.

Mr. Barlowe and his eldest son were on barbecue duty, while Mr. Lonan sat there, with a healthier looking Ella, loafed up on his lap, as he makes small talks with them.

Neva sat there, leaning toward the sparkling orange-red fire, her palms spread about, soaking in heat. Close to her, sat a quiet Rhett, mindful of the guy accross her, stealing glimpses every so often, gaping at her with those affectionate eyes.

His stoned gaze on Jayden, their eyes rivet. Jayden looks away, gulping in nervousness. A man wouldn't all stay sane, and rufuse being furious if he sees some laddie eyeing his wife sensually.

From the corner of her eyes, Mrs. Barlowe does perceive the lingering eyes of her son on a married woman—weighing down her heart in ponderosity.

Neva peers up at Rhett, beholding his still, hushed self. Sneakily skittering her chair, she closens to him. His eyes trailing from the bonfire to his beloved wife, eyes threaded, she gives him her perfect smile.

He mirrors a smile, his better half sweet and warm daylight, fading his cold and bitter night.

"Are you bored?" She asks—as she puts her head on his shoulder.

"If I say yes, will you leave with me?" He asks, a shallow arch in the fringes of his lips. She silently intertwines their fingers, "Let's, stay a little longer."

Mrs. Barlowe finds baby Rhean fussing suddenly, squirming, his tiny face scrunches up, he's almost weeping. Bursting the serene bubble, Rhean cries aloud, panicking Anna.

"Oh my dear!" Mrs. Barlowe exclaims, earning all the focus from the people round.

"What is wrong?" Asks Mr. Barlowe. Mrs. Barlowe rocks the baby, softly patting his back, "I think he is hungry."

Neva emerges from her chair. As she reaches for the baby, Mrs. Barlowe carefully hands him in her arms.

"Shh...baby," Neva soothes him, caressing his tiny head in a beanie, swaying gently, the now placider baby. "Mrs. Barlowe, can I borrow a room?" She asks, the baby's hungry often, and she wishes to be comfortable while feeding him. "Sure sure, come, let me lead you inside." She says, arising to her feet.

Neva glances at Rhett, talking with the eyes, he reassures: he'll be fine.

⁠♡

At their warm home, the midnight oak moon bright high in the sky, obscured within the white gleaming clouds.

The married lovers in deep sleep, tangled up on the bed, under the warm covers, like they forever do.

The tranquiled baby by Neva's space of bed, on the mellow bassinet.

The white crib in the room lay empty, for he always slept on their bed, close to his mother. Rhett was anxious, afraid he would accidentally crush the baby, if he lay between his parents, and he always had a hard time, slumbering away from Neva's embrace.

Flinches the couple awake, an abrupt, blaring ringing noise of the phone, crumbling down their saccharine sleep.

Rhett grumpily picks the phone from the nightstand. His clouded eyes on the caller id.

He frowns: it's an unknown number. He slides his thumb over the screen. "Hello-" "Czar Raka, Raka's on his way," A paranoid voice exclaims out.

His body grows cold and stiff. "What happened?" He asks, sitting up sober. "How did he know?"

Neva sensing an ill situation sits up as well, attempting to discern his concerned voice.

"He trapped us on a mission, h-he plotted it all. I'm sorry, Ace, he was dying," She's breathless, her words ragged.

His jaw hardens. A brave Agent like Sky seemed shattered, how brutally did they torture them?

"How long has he known?"

"I'm not sure. But long enough," She returns.

He sighs, "Look after Ace. You know what to do next."

"Yes. Czar, I'm really sorry." Sky apologises again, feeling sinful in guilt.

Without replying Rhett hangs up the phone, his gaze landing on a concerned Neva. "Did something happen?" "We need to leave, have Rhean wear warmer clothes. I'll pack our things." He declares, getting off the bed.

"Why are we so abandoned by happiness?" She asks, a lone crystal tear drop floating down her eye.

Rhett stills, turning to her—he holds her sunken eyes, softening his own.

He closens in to her—attaching their foreheads, vision veiled with the closed lids, he breaths in deep.

"We'll be fine, just stay with me," pulling away, he kisses her forehead. "You have to remain strong; for me; for our son."

Her lowered gaze, she brings herself to look up at him. He squeezes gently her hands, affirming with a faint dip of his head.

She nods, her lips pursed, as long as they're together; they will not fall. If they had to cross an ocean, together; they shall built an ark of life.