Owen hadn’t written in a long time. Battling his depression had made him a happier person, yes, but that came with the unfortunate side effect of losing all ambition he had to write. Countless pens- fountain pens, because he liked the way the ink stained his fingers- laid discarded in the small corner of the house he’d declared his office until the extension was built and a proper library was placed in the already massive home. He was sure Ashton would be happy when that finally happened- he’d already told his better half that the library would be his domain, and the teen wouldn’t have to clean it like he did the other rooms of the house. The mess of papers the brunette left behind whenever he worked on grading would be confined, and allowed to stay out in the open instead of constantly being shoved away.
And now there was a new mess to worry about. Maybe it was the approaching wedding, or maybe it was because he was finally beginning to level out with his medication, but he wanted to write for the first time in a long time. Maybe that’s how he ended up where he was now. Stretched out across the hard wood floors in the house’s dining room, shifting between awkwardly holding papers in the air and using one of his pens to write against it, and laying on his stomach as he wrote against the floor. He could hear his son playing with Luca in some other room, and inevitably the animals were in that general vicinity as well. He’d requested his new son keep them all away for the time being, not because he didn’t want to see them, but because he knew his pens were messy, and he knew Ashton would appreciate not having the ink spread all over the house by tiny paws and hands.
Having been writing for more than a few hours, his hands were thoroughly stained black, smeared over his skin from his work. He was fairly sure there were a few drops of ink on his face as well, but he didn’t have a mirror, nor did he really care enough to check, so he settled for leaving them be. He’d get it off in the shower or something later.
