−−− ꧁ CLOSED STARTER : FOR @deweytduck
The evening had settled comfortably around the estate. Most of the lights had been dimmed, leaving the manor bathed in warm gold from the lamps scattered throughout the halls. Donald had intended to head upstairs after finishing some paperwork from the council, but movement in the living room caught his attention.
Dewey.
Donald slowed his pace immediately. There was something about the way the boy sat that made him pause. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was years of raising him. Whatever it was, Donald had learned long ago that Dewey's loud moments were rarely the ones that worried him. It was the quiet ones.
Without announcing himself, Donald stepped into the room and settled into the armchair nearby. Close enough to be present. Far enough not to crowd him. For a moment, he didn't say anything. Just let the silence exist between them. Eventually, he rested an elbow on the armrest and glanced over. "You know," Donald began casually, "when you were younger, quiet usually meant you were either planning something dangerous or already halfway through doing it."
Donald leaned back in the chair. The truth was, he already knew things had been hard lately. He'd seen it in all three boys. Everything happening around them always seemed to leak into their home no matter how hard Donald tried to keep it at bay. Dewey had always carried more than he let people see. He knew that his 'boys' were far from children anymore but to him, they'd always be his little ones.
"You doing alright, kid?"
The question was simple. No pressure. No expectations. Just an open door if Dewey wanted it. Donald had learned over the years that forcing conversations rarely worked. Sometimes the best thing he could do was sit down beside them and let them decide whether they wanted to walk through it.
