Page 11 of BJ’s Lost Crayons (Found by Daddy #13)

BJ

“Our taking it slow didn’t really work out, did it?” I was snuggled against Glenn’s chest, warm and still sleep-heavy from the night before, not really wanting to move.

His steady heartbeat thudded under my cheek, and part of me wanted to stay like this forever, tucked safe in this soft, quiet space. But the other part—the part that remembered all the little things I wanted to show him, was already buzzing and ready to go.

Not that I was going to admit how excited I was. Yet.

“To be fair…” He kissed the top of my head.

I nuzzled a little closer. “Yes?”

“This is still slower than I wanted.” He chuckled, kissed my shoulder.

Snugly, sweet, affectionate Glenn was a keeper.

“I didn’t really want to leave, either,” he continued, “The first time I stopped by with your box, it…it kind of sparked something in me. I didn’t want to go then.

I wanted to see what was so important that you were trying so hard to find it, but also, I wanted to see more of that smile. ”

I lifted my head just enough to look at him. “You really want to see what’s in it? I’d love to show you, but I don’t want to push.”

“Of course I do, sweet boy. It’s important to you.”

He had no idea how true that was, but I was about to show him. I bounded out of bed like a kid on Christmas morning, practically skipping to the bathroom. “I’m gonna go get ready!” I called over my shoulder and heard him laugh behind me.

The world’s fastest shower followed. I barely even gave the water time to warm up, just lathered and rinsed. I had more important things to do than waste my time getting ready.

My skin was still damp when I dashed back into the bedroom to grab a pair of sweat pants and a tee, one of my favorite ones decorated with clouds and tiny blue bears. Technically, it wasn’t little, but it was little adjacent, and that worked as a nice in-between.

Glenn was still in bed, propped up on one elbow, watching me with a sleepy smile. He looked so good like that, all ruffled and relaxed, like he belonged in my bed. Like he’d always been here. Who was I fooling? He looked good every which way.

He made a move to get up, but I waved a hand to stop him.

“Stay. It’s okay.”

“Just need the bathroom for a minute, sweet boy,” he said and padded off. I tried not to watch his backside but failed. Damn, his ass was squeezable.

I attempted not to read too much into the sweet-boy comment. He wasn’t my daddy, and it was simply a turn of phrase. But also…I wanted it to mean he saw me that way.

By the time he came back, I had my special crayon box perched carefully on my lap. The box was well loved—creased edges, worn tape holding parts of the lid together, and faded streamers on the sides from where the design had rubbed off over time. But inside…inside was the magic.

“This,” I said, grinning up at him as he climbed in beside me. “This is what was in the box you brought me. My special treasure.”

He smelled like soap and warm skin and something entirely Glenn. I gave his chest a little playful nibble, earning a smile from him. “You smell delicious.”

“Thank you. But we aren’t here to talk about hygiene, we are here to see your collection.”

I bounced a little. The bed jostled under me. If it were anyone else, I would’ve been embarrassed by the energy, the excitement exuding from me, but not with Glenn. Not this time. He wanted to see my crayons. Actually wanted to.

“I have lots of crayons,” I explained as I lifted the lid, “but these are the treasured ones.”

One by one, I picked them up, explaining each color, each memory.

Some still had their paper wrappers—slightly torn, faded—but most didn’t.

It didn’t matter. I could tell you exactly what each color was, even without labels.

I could tell you when I got most of them, too.

The brick-red one that had a sharp point?

From a sidewalk sale at a church in my old neighborhood.

The midnight blue with stars drawn on the wrapper?

My very first yard-sale find. The chubby blue-violet stub, not to be confused with violet blue?

A gift from a friend I hadn’t seen in years.

I talked more than I’d intended. Way more. But he kept listening, asking thoughtful questions—like he genuinely cared about my answers. Like I was presenting something important. And maybe I was. Maybe this was important, not just to me but to him because it was mine.

“What do you like to color?” he asked after a while.

“Oh!” No one had ever asked me before…ever. “So, I don’t like the adult coloring books. The paper’s all wrong. It doesn’t take the wax right. It feels naughty, too, like I’m drawing in a book I shouldn’t.” I’d gotten in enough trouble for that when I was young.

He nodded like he understood.

“My favorites are the kids’ kind. You know, fat lines, wide spaces to really play with the color. I also really mazes—like the ones you do with your finger or a crayon. But only if the paths are wide enough for a crayon. If it’s too narrow, it’s not fun.”

“You stick with wax?” he asked.

“Yeah. I mean, pencils are fine, but they’re not the same. I like wax. I like the way it glides. And the smell. You know, that crayon smell?”

He smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

I went on and on, rambling about my favorite kinds of activity books—color-by-number, simple dot-to-dots, and those fun ones where you circle the differences between two pictures. It all came pouring out, like a dam had burst. Like I finally had someone who wanted to know.

Then he asked the best question I’d ever heard in my whole life.

“After breakfast,” he said, “can I color with you?”

I blinked at him, surprised. Even Derek didn’t want to color with me. He always did and pretended like it was the most fun thing ever, but it was his way of being nice, just like my playing with his dump trucks was my way. “Really?”

He nodded, serious. “And I don’t even have to use your special crayons. I can just use your regular ones.”

“No,” I said probably too quickly. “We’ll use the special ones. My special ones—together.”

Breakfast was nothing fancy—scrambled eggs and toast. I hadn’t had time to grocery shop properly, and it showed.

No bacon. No sausage. Not even yogurt. I made a mental note to fix that.

If there was a chance Glenn would be staying over again, I needed to stock up properly.

I wanted him to be well-fed when he left. I wanted him to want to come back.

After we ate, we sat at the table, coloring together.

He chose a book with smiling farm animals, and I flipped to a page with a castle and dragons.

It was the kind of silence that wasn’t really silent at all—just full of soft sounds.

The quiet scratch of crayon on paper. The occasional sip of juice.

Our knees bumping beneath the table, not so much on accident as much as me wanting to be touching him.

It was…comfortable. Comforting, even. The kind of moment that I could so easily have slipped into little space. In fact, I had to pull myself back a few times. We hadn’t talked about that yet, not really, and it wouldn’t be fair to assume he was ready to step into that dynamic. Not yet. Maybe soon.

Eventually, he stood with a sigh and said he needed to go. “My bunny’s probably hungry.”

I pouted a little, but I loved how he cared for his pet. I loved that he was the kind of person who didn’t leave a bunny waiting too long for food because his dick was ready to go for another round. There were enough jerks like that out there already.

“That was fun,” he said at the door, brushing a kiss to the tip of my nose.

“Which part?”

He gave me a look. “I was talking about coloring. But the rest was pretty fun too.”

“Agreed,” I said, cheeks burning.

He leaned in for a kiss—a real one, slow and lingering. The kind that felt less like a goodbye and more like a hello. Had it not been for his bunny, I’d have asked him to stay, to finish what we were starting.

“I’ll call you,” he said, and I knew he didn’t mean someday. He meant soon. Maybe even today. “You can meet Carrot.”

“I’d like that, Daddy,” I whispered, watching for his approval, approval he gave in the form of another searing kiss before one final goodbye.

I was already missing him the second he walked away.