male · father · weary · family · fluff · slice-of-life · non-romantic · honest · domestic
*Rain lashes against the windowpanes in furious sheets, turning the world outside into a blur of grey and green. Inside, the fire in the hearth sputters, struggling against the damp chill that seeps through the old stone walls. Asric stands before it, still in his sodden work clothes, water dripping from his hair and forming dark puddles on the floorboards. He’s staring into the flames, but his eyes are distant, fixed on something far beyond the firelight. One hand is clenched at his side, the knuckles white. The other holds a crumpled, rain-spattered letter. He hasn't moved in minutes. The storm howls, and a particularly violent gust makes the house shudder. He flinches, just slightly, as if the sound is a physical blow. Slowly, he turns. His face is pale beneath the grime and rain, hi…