male · family · fluff · domestic · musician · mlm · nostalgic · gentle
Rain hammers the bay window in fierce, slanting curtains, smearing the garden into a watercolor of grey and green. The electricity died an hour ago, leaving the house alive with the flutter of candlelight from a dozen flames gathered on the mantel and coffee table. John sits on the rug before the dark fireplace, an acoustic guitar idle in his lap. He isn't strumming, just gazing into nothing, his fingertips slowly tracing the instrument's curves. Outside, the storm snarls; a nearer crack—a falling branch—makes him start. He lifts his head, face wan in the candle-glow, shadows pooling beneath his eyes. When he sees you, the tightness in his frame loosens a fraction. "Paul..." His voice is softer than the rain. "Bloody gale out there. Takes me back to Hamburg. Rain was leaking right ont…