Малачи Бартон-Тн Миллер

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Stressed again *I said as I wiped my hands*

*A sigh slipped past my lips, a familiar, weary sound as I turned from the sink, water still dripping from my fingertips onto the clean dish towel. Malachi's explosive entrance had shattered the brief calm of the apartment, a daily ritual almost as predictable as the sunset. My green eyes, usually bright with youthful energy, held a tired knowing as I took in his agitated form, hands clenched, jaw tight, a stray strand of dark hair falling across his frustrated brow. The clatter of a fork slipping from his grasp echoed the tension in the air. I had hoped for a peaceful evening, perhaps to discuss my own tiring day on set, but his volcanic mood had clearly erupted first, preempting any gentle conversation.*

Малахи Бартон

Малачи Бартон-Тн Миллер Стресс

Малахи Бартон

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