he girl shivered under her blanket. There was something discomforting about knowing she was the only person in the room. At nine years old, Tatum shared a room with her older brother, Cyrus. It might seem odd to some people, but they have been sharing a room since Tatum was born and Cyrus didn’t mind having a shared room even at his age.

They weren’t poor nor were their parents stingy. The room they had was big enough for three people to live in comfortably and it was more than enough space for two kids to live in and have all their junk spread around in the room.

Cyrus was gone on a marching band boot camp and it was day one of him being gone and she didn’t like it. Every night, her brother’s snoring was like a lullaby that lulled her to sleep. Now she had nothing and the crickets chirping eerily outside did nothing but fuel her paranoia.

Tatum got out of bed and padded across the room to the door, not forgetting to bring her cherished tiger plushie with her. Out the door she went, and her destination was her dad’s room. Her small feet making soft thuds on the timber flooring of the Moon household.

The door to her parents’ bedroom creaked open and the only thing illuminating her dad lying in bed was the glow of the muted television playing some late-night movie.

She leapt up onto the bed, bouncing slightly from the springs in the mattress. Her dad awoke to the commotion and smiled at her. This was her dad, Roger Moon. He worked late nights for big shot companies, but he still had time for his little girl, no matter how late.

Like Cyrus, her mom was not at home either. Working as a pilot that flew in and out of the country meant that Grace Im wasn’t home most of the time, but don’t get her wrong, Tatum loved her mom to bits though she will always be a daddy’s girl. Spending time playing video games, working on the computer and reading stories with her dad was always an amazing time.

“Couldn’t sleep?” her dad asked quietly, pushing the blankets back inviting his daughter to snuggle in with him.

Tatum shook her head, her tiger clutched close to her chest. “It’s scary with Cyrus gone.”

“Come here, darling.” Roger pulled his daughter close, kissing her on the crown of her head. He her hair in a soothing manner, a small smile appearing on his lips.

For siblings that are 7 years apart, never would he have expected their bond to be so close. Sure, he was slightly worried for Cyrus considering he had a sister complex and when Tatum got older and boys started to chase her, Cyrus might go off the handle and micromanage his sister. But for now, he wanted to cherish the years he has with his children.

“Would you like to sleep with your old man until your brother gets home?” he inquired.

He could feel her nod against his chest. Her nods caused her hair to part at the neck and Roger could see her back through the hole of her shirt. Roger could see slight bruising and scabs marking her back near her spine.

Pulling her shirt further back to investigate even more, he couldn’t help but ask, “What happened here?”

“Hmm?” Tatum turned her head to try to see what her dad was looking at.

“You have bruises on your back and it looked like you were bleeding.”

It was as if a light bulb appeared comically atop Tatum’s head when she figured out what her dad was talking about. “Oh, that! The kids in my class were talking and one girl said that her mommy turned into an angel and flew to heaven! So, I grew my wings and showed her that I could become an angel too!”

Roger frowned. “Tatum…”

“It’s true!!” she insisted.

“Darling, tell me the truth.”

Tatum looked up at her dad and saw that he had a stern look on his face. She tried to maintain eye contact but crumbled under the look her dad was giving her. She sighed, burying her face into her dad’s chest once again.

“I jumped off the table and tried to… you know—"

“Fly?”

“Yes, I tried to fly.” She couldn’t glare at her dad, so she turned all her anger onto the piece of lint on her dad’s t-shirt.

All the kids in elementary school ate her stories up, no one questioned her. They all loved it when Tatum bragged about her adventures, how she got to sit in first-class seats most times she travels, how her brother took care of her, how she could play video games and not get in trouble. All the trivial things in life but when narrated from Tatum’s mouth, it seemed more significant and entertaining.

Everyone but her family enjoyed her stories, especially her dad. Her dad was the biggest party-pooper she knew, ruining all her fun and all her stories. The truth ; real life . There were some things in life that needed to be exaggerated to make it even more amusing and fascinating.

“You could’ve gotten hurt, Tatum,” her dad spoke first.

“I already did get hurt,” Tatum replied sulkily.

Roger sighed, he resumed her hair. “Even more so. I’m glad it’s only a couple of bruises, you could have broken your neck! What were you thinking?”

She continued her endless glare onto the poor innocent lint as she replied her dad, “If I willed hard enough, I swear I could have grown a pair of wings!” Her brows furrowed, her full concentration on the lint. “Just like if I concentrate hard enough, I could laser the lint off your shirt,” she mumbled.

“Pardon?”

Tatum snapped out of it, the lint obviously not disappearing nor were lasers coming out of her eyes. “Nothing. I’m sorry, dad. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

Roger eyed her daughter warily, she never kept most of her promises. But then again, what could he do. Tatum was a curious child; she was a bundle of energy and although she has a reading disability – dyslexia – she took it in stride and it never stopped her from doing whatever she wanted to do. Alhough her storytelling may get out of hand occasionally; she was a good kid.

 “Alright.” Roger sank deeper into the pillow, closing his eyes. “Ready to sleep now?”

Tatum shoved her tiger up her dad’s neck. “Yes, sir. Quinton and I are ready to slumber.”

A soft laugh escaped from Roger’s lips. Six years and he still could not get over his daughter naming a stuffed tiger Quinton. “Good night, Tatum, good night, Quinton.”

“Good night, dad.” Tatum sighed sleepily, her eyes fluttering close as she got comfortable in the arms of her dad.

In minutes, Tatum’s breathing became steady, letting sleep consume her and her dad waited. After knowing that she was out like a light, only then did he close his eyes and follow her to the land of dreams.

Tatum Moon; 9 years old

a/n: ( past ) teaser six! tatum's storytelling tendencies started as a child! a heartwarming story between a father and a child. hope you enjoyed it. :)