In his pocket

He waited for Fletcher as he always did, with rapt anticipation. There was something about the undead man which resonated with him. His mother often teased that he enjoyed Fletcher’s company more than hers. It always flustered him.

Fletcher entered the room with a question. “Left or right pocket?”

He hesitated, but tried to forge on ahead, as Fletcher obviously wanted him to do. “L-left?”

Fletcher smiled. “Good. I was hoping you’d say left, young master. Shall we work on your mother’s birthday present?”

A wide grin broke out across his face. If only his mother knew how much of his and Fletcher’s time was spent figuring out ways to give her something.

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