Anyway. Without further ado:
Disclaimer: In Soviet Russia, Minekura is Stigma's.
Warnings: drabblish, BL, shota
Author's note: I'm dearly in love with Stigma now, and have been divinely (or... not XD) inspired to write fic. Tit is the most adorable thing on the planet, and I like being in his head. He's so sweet... I hope I did him justice!
Tit doesn't care about blue skies anymore. After all, if they ever do find them, what difference will it make to him? He can no longer differentiate a dark sky from a light sky, a grey sky from a red sky, and and he's almost forgotten what it is to experience "blue," even in the few forms he knew it (jeans, Stork's shirt, taxidermy kingfisher). So what could a blue sky possibly matter, possibly mean to him, now three years blind? The blue sky was a dream of his childhood upon which he has given up, like the fairy-tales of youth that teens learn to scoff, adults learn to disbelieve.
It's not that he doesn't have hopes, dreams. Cleaner air to breath, birds in the sky, good food and clear water... there are plenty of things to move forward for, and it's certainly not that Tit has given up hope or become pessimistic. He has confidence that, every morning, he'll wake up to a (metaphysically) brighter morning, that one day, things will be okay, easier, happier, and that's what keeps him on the road, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. Today was bad, but yesterday was worse, and tomorrow will certainly be better, he tells himself, and because he believes it, it is true.
But though he dreams someday of a life where they're not always traveling, they're not always on the road, hungry, tired, it's certainly not the paradise he imagined in childhood. If, someday, they have a good apartment ("home"), jobs ("steady work"), people around them ("friends"), and they can live together comfortably, that will be enough for Tit. A little house surrounded by flowers and trees and beneath an endless blue sky-- that's child's play, Tit knows. That's the stuff of stories. There is no such place as paradise.
But this realism, this cynicism, almost, doesn't upset Tit, doesn't depress him or keep him from sleeping at night. After all, he has something else to keep him cheerful and happy, to help him sleep at night, and the something else outweighs a blue-skied-paradise hundreds of times over. Where would Tit be now if it weren't for that kind heart that saved his life, those long legs which so long ago cushioned his fall, those strong arms to which he returns every night?
Now, in the (presumably) dark (estimatedly) midnight hours, Tit snuggles further into those warm arms, feeling cozy and contented and comfortable. Maybe today was a little hard, maybe his muscles are a little sore, maybe his stomach is a little empty, but none of that matters now. Tomorrow, he tells himself, as he has told himself so many, many times before, will be better, because tomorrow he will still have Stork and, together, they will be a little bit closer to finding happiness. Happiness, after all, is what they're searching for now, not paradise. As a child, Tit was naive, and for almost a year, he didn't realize he had already found what he was looking for. But now he knows, wrapped up safe and warm in Stork's arms--that is paradise, and that is more than enough for Tit.