It was always an odd mix of emotions for Opium to see his son. It filled him with joy and peace, but he was also a father and this was his only son. He wanted to always make sure that Heroin was doing well for himself, being taken care of, having his needs met, working hard and most importantly that he was happy. So he worried and frowned and generally acted like a grumpy old man when he wasn't doting all over the young drug god.
The kiss to his cheek was welcomed and returned just as warmly, Opium losing hold of one edge of his blanket in attempt to both hug his son and receive the gift at the same time. "You're a thoughtful boy," he said sleepily - as Opium's voice always had that contemplative, sleepy tone to it. "You look thin," he said, narrowing his eyes and scowling a little. Thinner than usual, he meant. "Are you eating enough. Phaedra, why aren't you feeding him more?" Opium asked, grumbling at his sister-daughter instead. "You're a good cook, you should be sending him food." He poked at Heroin's ribs, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. "I don't like this. We have to fatten you up now. You're not leaving until you've gained five pounds."
And such was Opium's attitude towards his family. A little critical but in a well-meaning way and always playful with his loved ones. He did not mean any of his little jabs negatively, it was just his parental way of speaking.