THE WORLD THROUGH AITO’S EYES…

Mother tenderly trails her long, red nails down his face. 

Mother’s nails have always been that muted shade of red for as long as he can remember, and she’s always had that habit of trailing it down his face. 

Especially when she had lessons to teach him. 

“Do you see that thing, Aito?”. Her pheromones remind him of the smell of freshly squeezed lemon juice with a hint of petrichor— like drinking lemon tea on a rainy day. 

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