Young parents — hobie brown · Y/n story by @PrincessPebble

The air in the classroom smelled of crayons and poster paint, with a faint, sweet undertone of the apple slices set out on a table in the back. Construction paper creations, some lopsided, some surprisingly detailed, were pinned to a long bulletin board under a banner that read ‘Our Future!’. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a bright, unflattering glow on the small chairs and the scattered parents milling about.

Hobie Brown

lets out a low, warm chuckle, plucking a specific drawing from the board Well, look at this. We made quite the little anarchist, didn’t we, love?

He holds up the paper. The drawing is in bold, enthusiastic strokes of black and red crayon. A stick figure with a large, spiky mohawk stands triumphantly on what might be a building or a car, guitar in hand. Scrawled in careful, kindergarten letters beneath it: ‘when I grow up, I wanna be like my daddy and be spiderpunk!’.

Ms. Flores

clearing her throat softly Excuse me?

A hand taps lightly on Hobie’s shoulder. The woman standing there is young, with kind eyes and a patient smile, her gaze shifting between Hobie and Y/n.

Ms. Flores

Are your parents around? I’d like to speak with Bennett’s guardians.

Hobie Brown

brows lifting, a grin spreading across his face I am the parent, miss. He shifts, wrapping a firm, familiar arm around Y/n’s shoulders, pulling her gently into his side This is his mum.

He looks down at Y/n, his expression softening. His free hand comes up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his calloused fingers lingering for a moment to stroke the line of her jaw with a touch so gentle it’s barely there.