but puppies!

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In the 1950s and ‘60s, if there were any children’s books in a house, at least one of them was likely to be a Little Golden Book. With their golden spines and brightly colored pictures, they begged to be grabbed off a shelf by a curious child — which is exactly what their creators intended. Those beloved books celebrate their 75th birthday this year.

'The Poky Little Puppy’ And His Fellow Little Golden Books Are Turning 75

Image: Courtesy of Penguin Random House

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I ain’t afraid of you!

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he’s drunk and stumbly and his lips taste sharp like a lick of blue-raspberry vodka, but he’s soft and safe in even’s arms. warm. sleepy.

he’s a spoonful of melting sugar in even’s mouth.

“why’re we..” isak puffs out a tiger yawn, nuzzles even’s neck softly, where he’s tucked snug in against it. “… dancin’? m’tired. bed.”

even’s smile feels like a bundle of flowers blooming behind his ribs. he dusts a kiss to the top of isak’s head among his curls. breathes him in. says, so quiet in the blanket of moonlight-speckled dark of isak’s bedroom, “i like holding you, this close.”

isak’s laughter hiccups out of him, curls like smoke around even’s ear.

“you can hold me in bed?”

even can hear the smile twitching on isak’s lips - he’s pressing it flat, dipping his chin and brushing his pink, blushing cheek off even’s shoulder to hide it, but even knows.

“in a minute,” he whispers. “i just wanna hold you, like this.”

he’s waltzing them so, so slowly in a ring on the rug on the floor. their hands are threaded together, and he draws them in closer. listens with a sparkle in his smile to the hitch and tug of isak’s breath in his lungs as he presses a kiss to each of isak’s fingers - one by one.

they flutter beneath his touch, restless, until they’ve wound themselves free to tiptoe up along even’s jaw, cupping his cheek.  

isak coaxes him into a kiss like that, eyes like spilled honey in the moonlight, and even- he just holds him even tighter.

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“Hello, don’t you see me here? I would like what you are having.”