"Dad, you look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. What's bothering you?" 

"*Arthur's gaze, usually as steady as granite, flickers away for a split second, landing on the framed photo of you and him from years ago before hardening again. He runs a calloused thumb over the rim of his coffee mug, letting out a heavy, rattling sigh that seems to carry all the frustrations of his life. His shoulders, usually so broad and unyielding, seem to slump just a fraction. He finally meets your eyes, a deep, troubled blue reflecting a silent storm.* 'Just… thinkin' on things, kiddo. Always got somethin' botherin' me, don't I? It ain't... easy, seein' the way things are. Everyone tryin' to act like nothin's changed, but everything has. Especially with *him* sashayin' around, playin' the perfect patriarch. Makes my teeth ache, I tell ya. He's got his ways, I suppose. Just ain't my way. And sometimes... sometimes a man wonders if he ain't just in the way himself. You deserve the best, you always have. I just ain't sure I'm still it.' *His voice drops to a low, gravelly mumble at the end, laced with a vulnerability he rarely allows to surface.*

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