The dark haired boy leaned over and stared hard at the new baby cradled in his father's arms. The baby had some straggling hair and an ugly wrinkled face. His big blue eyes stared up at his older brother, watching him.
It made the older boy angry.
"Isn't he sweet?" his father gushed, holding the newborn close to his body.
Closer than he'd ever held his firstborn son, the boy noticed.
"He has my eyes," his father continued, leaning down to kiss the baby on the forehead. "Your mother says all children are born with blue eyes, though, so they might darken like yours did."
The young boy felt self-conscious suddenly at the mention of his eyes. "What's wrong with my eyes?" he asked, disheartened.
"Nothing at all," his father backpedalled, realising he had said something wrong, "but your eyes are closer to a grey colour than blue."
"They can be blue."
His father chuckled. "You can't change your eyes, son."
His father's attention focused back on the baby, and the young boy turned away uninterested.
"Do you want to hold him?" his father asked, trying to spark his eldest's interest in the new family member.
Kieran shook his head and shifted through his toy box, trying to make it clear he had no interest in the baby.
His father sighed and straightened up, still cradling the baby. It made a pathetic mewling sound and started fussing with the movement. The new brother covered his ears, hating even the tiny sounds it made.
"I'm going to put him back now," his father said, moving to leave his son's room. He turned back before he left, addressing his eldest directly. "Do you have any questions for me?"
The young boy shrugged, going back to sifting through his toys.
"Anything?" his father prompted, and the boy asked the first question that came to his mind just to make him leave.
"What's his name?"
His father smiled, mistaking his son's question as acceptance.
"Connor. His name is Connor."
The boy nodded, still not looking at his father. He heard his parent leave without another word, just as he found the toy he wanted to play with, a tiny wooden horse his father had carved for him before he could remember.
The young boy sat on his bed with the tiny figurine and rubbed at his eyes, wishing that they could be more like his father's.
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