Cuddle Drawings Novels & Stories

Not a smile, but his eyes went soft — the way they always did when he was glad I was back. "Hey, bug." I crouched beside him. "Big day coming." He held up his drawing. A wolf with a massive head, stubby legs, and what might have been a purple crown. "That's your best one yet," I said. My throat caught, just barely. I sat on the floor beside him and helped him tape it to the fridge, next to the first wolf he'd drawn. Two wolves now. Our apartment was starting to look like somewhere we belonged.

he says holding me closer to him, my face was now resting over his chest, my legs circling his waist while he sat down on Emma's chair. After a few minutes of crying my heart out, I finally managed to calm down, I was just enjoying the closeness of his touch, no one ever hold me, no one ever hugged me, Rila isn't allowed to hug me this close or to comfort me like this, she can only give me quick hugs, hold my hand when sad, but not cuddle with me. I looked at my cuddle buddy, he had green eyes, brownish hair, similar to mine, he also had some fuzz on his chin, a light beard, everyone around here have shaved faces, but he had some and I loved it. My hands moved on their own and touched his fa

she said softly, "I made this for you." I looked down. The cardboard was covered in crayons. A badly drawn sun occupied one corner. Stick figures stood beneath it. One had dark curls that were obviously meant to be Rose. Another had long hair for Selene. The tallest figure stood between them. Me. Above the drawing, written in crooked, uneven letters, were words that made something tighten painfully inside my chest. My Family.

Now, she sat here in the mornings, drinking the coffee he made for her—the silent, pathetic peace offering he left on the counter every day, hoping she wouldn't throw it out. He looked at the refrigerator—at the blue circular magnet holding up the three drawings. He wanted his drawing up there so badly it made his chest ache, but he didn't know how to ask without sounding desperate. "What are we drawing, Eli?" "Animals," Eli said, his small hand moving with fierce concentration. "Mrs. Yusuf said to draw our favorites." "How many do we have?" "Three." Eli pointed a small finger. "That's a brachiosaurus. That's Patterson. That's Gerald."

Ethan said, "She's Daddy's friend. You can call her Anna." Mission accomplished, the little guy held up his paper like a trophy. "Daddy, Mommy, look!" "Is this your drawing, Buddy?" Ethan took it, his voice soft. On the page, three stick figures scribbled in crayon—a tall one, a medium one, and a small one—holding hands, with a lawn and a sun in the background. Buddy bobbed his head. "Yeah! It's our family portrait." "This is Daddy, this is Mommy, and that's me!" He pointed eagerly at each wobbly shape, beaming.

We arrived at their tent to find them drawing. “There are my favorites.” Karson beamed, kneeling in front of them for a hug. “Daddy!” Carl and Karin squealed, jumping into his arms. “What are you two drawing?” I asked. They pulled the papers to show two figures that look like male caricatures and a female caricature of me with crazy hair fighting someone on the ground. “Let me guess, that is me, your daddy, and uncle Lucas fighting the evil lady.” I gestured at the drawings.

His shoes are gone, hair in a messed halo, clutching a folded sheet of paper with a crayon drawing that is both ridiculous and the most perfect thing I have ever seen. “Daddy!” He launches at me and collapses into my lap, arms flinging around my neck. His hug is fierce and immediate and I realize how desperately I wanted this to be normal. His small hands are warm; the smell of soap and crayons surrounds him. His little legs are damp from running through the corridor, and he presses his drawing into my chest. “Eli,” I say, voice thick. “Hey, mate.” He presses the drawing up to my face. “I made another one for you. It’s a rocket-robot that spits water to put out bad guys.” He grins as if he’s

Adrian would throw a tantrum if he saw me in this position, so I stood and leaned against the door. He nodded enthusiastically. “This one has more details.” I took the drawing from him, my chest tightening in the softest way. It was another image of us again. Four figures this time. Adrian, me, Ollie… and a slightly bigger circle where the baby was. There were tiny lines now, little attempts at arms and legs. “It’s growing,” he explained seriously, pointing at the paper in my grip. “So I made it bigger.” “That’s very accurate,” I say, my voice gentler than I expect.

When she handed Felix the drawing, he took it with his free hand and carefully unfolded it. At the bottom of the drawing, the twins had signed their name with shaky writing – ‘Love, Aaron & Lily’. The work was more cubism than realism, with its clashing colors and distorted symmetry but it was undoubtedly the nicest thing that anyone had given him in a while. As he sat on the ground with a drawing from two ten year olds in one hand and Cassie’s dainty hand in the other, he felt at peace.

The October evening was warm inside and cold outside and the particular quality of a gathering at the turn of the season when the warmth of people together was the right answer to the cold world beyond the walls. The next day Calla’s drawing arrived. A birthday drawing. Elena had written on the back that Calla had spent three days on it and had told her it was the most important drawing she had ever done. It showed the web. More detailed than the previous drawings. Each node is a specific figure now, not abstract shapes but people, each one different from the others in small ways that suggested Calla was feeling individual presences in the web clearly enough to render them distinct. In the c