I lay in my bed, finally, in my room faking being asleep as if it was an art. Humans may be many things but very few seem like early risers.

As a fae, it was instinctual to rise with the sun as trees breath out fresh air and birds rehearsed for the upcoming performance. Now, it is like everyone wants to stay asleep in the morning for as long as possible and then stay up at night for as long as possible.

Cultural Differences are things of wonder. I remember how every time your birth-day came it was a day to look down the memory lane and count the times you messed up. There were no greetings, no joy at growing older and definitely no cake. We never had cake. The world didn’t have cake.

Humans can be such ingenious creatures. As per an unsaid rule, every celebration must have at least one cake. It seems they like cake so much they simply made up reasons to celebrate and since it is my 5th birthday today, it is going to be a feast with cakes. Yes, more than one. Such Gluttony such joy.

As per my research, people on this world consider having survived 5 years an achievement. In that fashion, next achievement in this category is unlocked at 15,30,50. Apparently, very few make it past 50 hence no more achievement levels as every day afterwards is a small achievement and someone’s inheritance getting delayed. Rest in peace Poor Grampa Diehard.

“Adrain! Breakfast is ready!” comes my wake-up call from the kitchen down below. Almost every day we practice this delicate dance with me feigning normalcy.

As mentioned I have been busy conducting my research on how to be a human. The task has shown great progress and successful field results.

One of my many observations being ‘To be human, more precisely, to be a socially accepted human you must wear your flaws for the world to watch’. Hence, the need to keep on a lazy appearance.

I get out of my bed, a luxury I thank the God for every day, and walk over to the small mirror hanging low by the wall. Messed up brown hair, shoulders hunched and eyes screaming for more sleep. Ensuring my getup is right I then slowing begin to walk out the door and down the stairs at a steady pace.

And no later I am greeted by the aroma of a delicious meal being served to father as he continuous to read through some new cooking article he must have gotten his hand on recently. As useless as he may seem at home he sure makes up for this purpose of living when it is his turn to cook.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Both have this sort of ritual where they cook on alternative days slowing eroding my belief from the previous world that human males never enter the kitchen or this could be a unique event. I do not have sufficient data to reach a definite conclusion.

I will never admit it out loud for the sake of my mother, but he is a better cook. There is a reason why he is a cook at a restaurant and not some army mess.

Meanwhile, I eagerly start making my way to take my seat at the table. God bless these meals.

“Adrain! This again!? Where are your clothes this time!?” mother asks, her face a mixture of confusion, anger and defeat.

Behold my other carefully thought out flaw.

“The quilt feels good like this mama” and it honestly does. Imagine living in a snow-covered land and then imagine a bed and then a fat and soft quilt. Why tamper with the heavenly sensation of being wrapped in that quilt as it slowing devours you whole.

If I wasn’t so scared of any possible punishments for being lazy I just might stay wrapped in tight in bed for a couple of days.

Apparently, she couldn’t get herself to see the logic in my reply and gives me her usual arm-folded-I-am-your-mother look, “Go back upstairs right now, young man. If I don’t see you dressed up and back at this table in next 5mins you won’t be getting any of this flavoured milk I made just for you.”

“Then why is Papa drinking the same?” I say while pointing at the glass placed right in front of father.

“Because he is a good boy, aren’t you dear?” mama asks knowing full well his mind is lost in whatever he is reading.

“True true…”

“… see. Now Ad, aren’t you momma’s good boy too?” she says while leaning forward and making the same don’t-make-momma-cry look. Who is the kid here?

“Yes, mama~~” and back we go having completed the first sequence of the dance splendidly.

-x-x-x-

“My son is a creep” I whisper to Rugtaf as I watch Adrain slowing ascend the stairs.

“True true…” comes the reply from the meat bag. I snatch that damned paper out of his hand, pulling him back to the world of the living and familial responsibilities.

And to find the headline being ’10 delicacies that South does right’ only makes things worse.

“Are you really more worried about your crappy food wars rather than our son’s development!?” I whisper harshly to ensure Adrain doesn’t hear any of this.

Hands raised in guilty submission and smiling he says, “He is just a youngling. Maybe he just got that habit from watching some kid. Trust me he will stop doing it once he is a bit older and we will be laughing while recalling these events.” And starts to laugh at his stupid joke.

Falling at my seat in defeat and cursing my luck that my son has inherited his father’s carefree nature I start to eat my way to happy town and soon enough Ad comes dressed and fully awake to have his breakfast.

--------------------------- End of Part1-------------------------