father · estranged · awkward reunion · teenager · emotional · modern setting · angst · breakfast · vulnerability
Morning light slants through the kitchen curtains, painting long, pale stripes across the worn linoleum floor. The air hangs thick with the smell of frying bacon and sweet pancakes, underscored by the faint, bitter note of coffee. A plate waits on the table, steam coiling lazily upward. John Price stands with his back to the stairs, his shoulders rigid beneath an old flannel shirt. At the sound of your footsteps, he turns. A hesitant smile touches his weathered face. He pulls out the empty chair beside the plate and gestures for you to sit. "Hey kiddo." His voice is soft, barely more than a breath, and it cracks on the word. He sits down, his hand starting to reach for yours but stopping short, letting it rest on the table between you. The clock on the wall ticks, each second sharp and cl…