Work Text:
Jules was a quiet kid. He was very introverted. Sometimes he liked it when his father played with him, but he liked playing by himself too. He liked to paint. There were a lot of paintings around; mostly of a nice-looking lady. She had a gentle smile. Jules liked her.
He liked to play with his ball on the beach sometimes too. One day, he decided to plop his ball in front of him and draw it in his sketchbook. However, Jules hadn’t taken into account that it was a windy day.
The wind blew his beach ball into the ocean. Jules made an alarmed sound, jumping up and throwing his hand out toward it, being carried away by the waves. He wasn’t allowed to swim without his father or mother around, but the ball was too far away for him to grab. He really didn’t want to lose his favourite ball.
He ran to the edge of the water and reached as far as his little arms could go. The ball moved just out of his grasp. Jules was getting upset.
“Stop!” he said.
He stretched too far, trying to get his ball, and fell forward. But instead of falling into the water, he fell on something solid.
Jules sat up on his knees and looked around. Ice cloaked a part of the water, even though it wasn’t winter and it wasn’t there before. His ball was frozen in the ice.
Jules stood up and carefully walked, so as not to slip, to his ball. He tried to pull it out of the ice, but it wouldn't budge.
“Do you require assistance, son?” asked a voice Jules knew.
Jules turned and looked up at his father. “Daddy. Ball,” he murmured simply, pointing at his ball in the ice.
Zane knelt down. He used his laser eyes to cut the ice around the ball. The ice sunk into the water and the ball swayed free. He picked it up, then handed it back to his son.
“Did you do this?” he asked, sweeping his arm toward the ice.
Jules hugged his ball to his chest and nodded.
“I see.” Zane smiled then, laying a hand on Jules’ back. “How about you come inside and draw? Where it is less windy,” he suggested.
Jules nodded up at him, then picked up his sketchbook and started walking back to the lighthouse with his father. He looked back at the ice over his shoulder.
“Daddy.”
“Yes?”
“The ice wasn’t cold.”