Chapter: Imitation, Misinterpretation, and Other Predictable Outcomes

Children learn not from instruction—

But from observation.

Which is why I was not surprised in the slightest when Persephone and Hades developed their own… interpretation of Beckett’s new routine.

It began quietly.

As most things do in this house.

I entered the sitting room to find both of them seated at the table, posture impeccable, expressions perfectly neutral.

Between their fingers—

Candy cigarettes.

Dark chocolate for Persephone.

Coffee-flavored for Hades.

They held them with remarkable accuracy.

Angle. Posture. Timing.

A near-perfect imitation.

Persephone exhaled.

Dramatically.

Despite there being no smoke.

“…Father,” she said calmly, “I believe I understand the appeal.”

Hades nodded.

“It creates an atmosphere.”

I paused.

Then slowly turned toward Beckett.

He froze.

Completely.

“…This is not—” he began.

I held up a hand.

“Don’t.”

A beat.

Then—

I laughed.

Softly.

“I find this acceptable,” I said.

The twins nodded, satisfied.

Beckett, however, looked as though he wished to dissolve into the nearest shadow.

“They’re copying me,” he murmured.

“Of course they are,” I replied. “You’re their father.”

He flushed behind his mask.

Family Observations

Naturally, this did not remain contained.

Nothing ever does when family is involved.

The group chat was active that evening.

Relentlessly so.

Mira was the first to respond after I sent a simple image:

Persephone and Hades, seated side by side, holding their candy cigarettes with aristocratic precision.

“NO WAY.”

Lina followed immediately:

“They look more composed than most adults.”

Then:

“Beckett… explain yourself.”

Beckett, who was sitting beside me, stared at the screen in quiet horror.

“…I cannot,” he said.

I leaned slightly closer to him.

“You could,” I murmured. “But you won’t.”

He said nothing.

Then Monica entered the conversation.

“My darling grandchildren are smoking?”

A pause.

Then:

“Adorable.”

Beckett visibly relaxed.

Moments later, Malcolm sent:

“They look cooler than us.”

Analise added:

“Detention. Immediately. Too stylish.”

I replied simply:

“They’ve adopted a refined version.”

The Photograph

It was, admittedly, inevitable.

Diana wished to see a life update

Mira requested “context.”

Lina demanded “visual proof.”

Monica insisted on “a proper family update.”

So I obliged.

Beckett stood beside me near the window.

Evening light.

Dim.

Controlled.

I nudged his mask down slightly.

He froze.

“…Diana.”

“Relax,” I said softly.

I held my cigarette between my fingers—not lit this time, simply present.

Aesthetic.

Symbolic.

Then I leaned in.

Close enough that the gesture was unmistakable.

Not quite a kiss.

Not quite not.

He flushed instantly.

I took the photo.

Sent it.

Silence.

Then—

Chaos.

“?????????”

“OH MY GOD”

“HE’S BLUSHING”

“THE MASK—DIANA—”

“IS THAT AN INDIRECT KISS???”

Monica:

“You two are incorrigible.”

Malcolm:

“And i thought i spend that much on jrpgs when you’re now spending it as much as weed i think now lol.”

Analise:

“I’M REPORTING THIS FOR BEING TOO ROMANTIC”

Mira:

“He’s never recovering from this.”

I glanced at Beckett.

He was, in fact, not recovering.

“…Mistress,” he murmured weakly.

I smiled.

Public Interpretation

The following day—

Predictably—

The outside world attempted to interpret what it did not understand.

We were at a quiet outdoor space.

Beckett beside me.

The twins nearby.

Each holding their respective candy cigarettes.

A woman noticed.

Of course she did.

Her expression shifted rapidly:

Concern → Judgment → Outrage

“You let your children smoke?” she demanded.

Beckett stiffened.

I did not.

“They are not,” I replied calmly.

“They’re copying you!” she insisted, gesturing at Beckett. “This is exactly the problem—parents setting bad examples—”

Hades looked up.

“…This is chocolate.”

Persephone added:

“And coffee.”

The woman faltered.

“Well—it still promotes—”

“Promotes what?” I asked.

She opened her mouth.

Paused.

“Unhealthy habits!”

I tilted my head slightly.

“Which habit are you referring to?”

“They’re smoking!”

“They are not,” I said. “You are observing incorrectly.”

She turned to others nearby.

Seeking validation.

Some nodded.

Others hesitated.

Then one person spoke:

“…Those are candy.”

Another:

“My kid has those.”

The shift was immediate.

The woman’s certainty cracked.

“Well—it’s still inappropriate—”

“Based on what?” I asked.

Silence.

She tried again.

Failed again.

Then, as expected—

She escalated emotionally.

“They’re going to grow up thinking this is normal!”

Persephone looked at her.

Calm.

Unblinking.

“It is normal,” she said.

Hades nodded.

The woman had no response to that.

None that held.

She left shortly after.

Frustrated.

Unresolved.

Aftermath

Beckett exhaled slowly once she was gone.

“…That was unnecessary,” he murmured.

“No,” I replied. “It was inevitable.”

The twins continued their candy cigarettes.

Perfectly content.

Perfectly composed.

I reached for Beckett’s hand.

He relaxed instantly.

“They’ll keep copying us,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“…Is that okay?”

I leaned slightly closer.

“They’re not copying the habit,” I said. “They’re copying the control.”

A pause.

“…Oh.”

He understood.

Good.

Conclusion

By evening, the matter had already faded.

The family chat remained active.

Teasing continued.

Affection constant.

Another image was requested.

And hapily provided a recreation this time lit, and the reactions are as expected livid as ever.

Beckett stood beside me once more by the window.

Calm.

Steady.

The twins nearby.

Drawing.

Occasionally lifting their candy cigarettes with theatrical precision.

I rested my head lightly against his shoulder.

Outside—

Noise.

Judgment.

Misinterpretation.

Inside—

Clarity.

Control.

Amusement.

“People really do see what they want,” Beckett murmured.

“Yes,” I replied.

A small smile formed.

“And they suffer for it.”

He leaned slightly into me.

“…We don’t.”

“No,” I said softly.

We never did.