“You okay there cutie pie?” Pom grinned down at Perses, face soft.

Perses looked up at him and nodded, suddenly shy about it. He crept over to Pom on all fours, bumping his head against Pom’s chest with a few greeting chuffs.

Pom scratched over Perses’ spiked back. “I can carry you, if your body’s taking a while to wake up.”

Perses rumbled a content sound and slumped into Pom’s arms. His scales lifted, showing off the subtle ombre effect that they had deeper in, where they turned a brighter red. Pom straightened again, a low churr in his chest as he cuddled Perses to him. Icelus was sure that if Pom’s scales could fluff, they would be doing it right now too.

“Where’s Father?” Deimos asked as he stretched his hands towards the ceiling, tail rattling itself out.

“Dio and Chi are still sleeping,” Pom said. “But I can shoot them a text, so they know you’re awake.” 

Pom carried his brother to the front of the house where an enormous bay window overlooked the street. Sheer cream colored curtains stopped anything but light from looking in, and another mobile of white crystals spun suspended in the very top glass panel. A table sat in front of the nook, close enough that anyone seated on the windowledge, with its pillows and cushions, could still reach the table. More chairs circled the sides of the table, and at the side opposite the window was an enormous red cushion matching the one by the couch in the living room. Pom settled there, curling his tail around himself. Perses stayed cradled in his arms, looking like a baby against the massive dragon’s broad chest.

“A text,” Deimos said slowly, taking one of the chairs to the left of the window. “As in a book?”

Icelus wondered if they threw books at each other to wake one another up. They hadn’t had books thrown at them this morning, but maybe it was something adult dragons did. 

“A text, as in a phone.” From the stove, Lamis strode over to the table, two plates in her hands, and several more stacked across her arms. Her hair was tied up in a half bun on top of her head, a few strands tugged loose. Moros’s tail wiggled as she got closer. “I can text them Pom, your hands are full.”

“Oh, yes. I know what phones are.” Deimos took a seat in the nook, Icelus sliding in beside him. Moros climbed up on Deimos’ other side, sitting with his knees pulled up to his shoulders.

“I made salmon with salad and oranges and a lot of different kinds of fruit!” Lamis said, laying out the plates. “You eat as much as you want, and let me know if you’re still hungry. You need to eat if you want to grow up big and strong!”

“We get to eat as much as we want all the time?” Moros asked in fascination.

Lamis kissed the top of his head, setting a plate in front of Moros. The oranges were placed in such a way they formed a smiling face atop the salad. “As much as you want,” Lamis assured.

Moros’ tail wiggled hard enough to smack one of the cushions off the nook, but he didn’t seem to notice. He passed Icelus an orange and then tucked into his food.

“The potatoes are still roasting, but they’ll be done soon so you can try them too. You can dip them in all kinds of sauces, so you can mix the things together to try new flavors, Moros! I thought you could have fun with that?” Lamis combed her claws through his short cropped crest of hair.

“Yeah!” Moros leaned into her touch. “I want to try all the sauces.”

“I got some metal flakes and things you can try too?” Lamis said. She reached to the center of the table where a lazy susan spun with tiny little bottles with metal caps punched through with holes. “There’s gold flakes, iron flakes, potassium salt– that one’s good on eggs! And the usual salt, cumin, and pepper shakers too!” 

“Metal flakes?” Moros picked one of the shakers up and sniffed, pupils swelling wide. “It smells good!”

“That’s oxidized silver! I chopped it up from a mismatched old tea set I thrifted. You can practically taste all the seasoning!”

Moros shook the flakes onto his tongue and smacked his mouth loudly. He grinned up at her. “I really like that! The only metal I ever ate was steel.”

“Well, you can have as much from the shakers as you want,” Lamis declared, her hair only a little floaty. “And you can try mixing them with the sauces and stuff too to see what your favorite flavors are!”

“Ooh!” Moros started shaking the flakes out over all the sauces he had accumulated in little ramikens.

Laughing, Lamis kissed his head again, before spinning back into the kitchen.

“Do you like salmon?” Pom rumbled, delicately feeding Perses bits of orange.

“Mmhm,” Perses churred, lounging like a king in Pom’s arms. “We all love fish…”

Lamis returned to the table carrying a tray covered in hand labeled jars of liquids and goops in bright pinks and yellows and reds and browns and greens. Icelus didn't know food came in so many colors.

“I can make different kinds of fish, if you want that too!” Lamy laid out the sauces in front of Moros, unscrewing the lids for him, and putting a tiny spoon in each jar. “The fishmarket has the freshest stuff if you go there in the morning, and I can call the Fish Phone to get the freshest catch! But there’s also chicken, and turkey, and ham, and steak! I’ll make them all for you, so we can try them and find your favorite!”

Icelus and his brothers grew still.

“Will we be needing steak?” Deimos asked, voice calm and even despite feeling queasy enough to put even Moros off taking another bite of salad.

Lamis blinked, looking over at him like she didn’t understand the question. “Uh, not if you don’t want any? We don’t have to have steak if you kids don’t like it. There’s lots of other food we can eat instead.”

They all relaxed slowly. Icelus noticed Pom and Lamis send each other concerned looks. Icelus just tugged the blanket around his shoulders more, nestling into it while he pressed it to his nose. It smelled nice. Like plants.

Everyone tucked into their breakfast but Icelus, who picked at the edges of Deimos’ instead. Deimos was used to the behavior and kept nudging different pieces towards the edge of his plate for Icelus to pluck in between sharp claws to nibble.

Footsteps and a familiar smell of salt and ozone from above heralded the arrival of Deimos’s father. Deimos perked up right away. Rounding the stairs to the rest of the open floor, Dio blinked, corners of their face lifting when they saw their son.