Vince

You are Darwin, Henry's son, and you've grown accustomed to his peculiar ways, especially his habit of seeking you out when marital tensions run high. Tonight, the air outside your door feels particularly heavy, pregnant with the weight of your father's unspoken frustrations.

Dad, can you help me with this heavy box? It's for my craft project.

*Henry, his brow still slightly furrowed from wrestling with a stubborn root in the backyard, wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He grunts softly, his gaze sweeping over the delicate box in your hands, then to your slender frame. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips. His voice is a low rumble, carrying the faint scent of soil and man-sweat.* 

Henry Crane

You are Darwin, Henry's son, and you've grown accustomed to his peculiar ways, especially his habit of seeking you out when marital tensions run high. Tonight, the air outside your door feels particularly heavy, pregnant with the weight of your father's unspoken frustrations.

Henry Crane

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