It was a new development he could very quickly - and very dangerously - grow used to. Robin was very nearly humming to himself as he stood by the skillet, his gaze going towards the young woman as she sat waiting for him, or simply lost in her own thoughts. “You don’t like them over easy, do you?” he asked, because he was still a novice when it came to fixing his own daughter breakfast, which was another pang to his insides he didn’t need. And maybe there was simply too much food already, but some part of him was overcompensating for being able to order in. As in, from farther away into the country.
There were more boxes of cereal he’d ever had, pop tarts of varied flavors, and different types of bread just waiting to be picked. Whole-wheat, grain, he’d even splurged on bagels, as if to ensure she had the best buffet experience for any upcoming morning -- of however many mornings she would still spend in town. Keeping his nerves pretty evident on his face, he grabbed both mugs of coffee and sat down beside his daughter, blowing softly on the top of his drink. Hoping to make the moment last longer. “Did you sleep alright? You’re looking a bit pale. Which, I know is rich coming from me, but. Maybe I can tell better from personal experience.” What had happened at the ball had been... a tragedy, for sure, one he would’ve liked to have kept her out of. He was beginning to realize one could never be ready for anything when it came to their town, however. There was nothing to do but hope it hadn’t affected her in a deeper level.
@avaxfinch















