Ren didn't wait. The second he saw his father, he sprinted forward like a bullet, arms wide.
"Terence?" His father stood from his chair to leave but caught sight of him. "What are you—"
He barreled into his father with all the strength a ten year old body could manage and wrapped his arms around the man.
Lord Abram stiffened. It was subtle. A flicker of his fingers, and a brief, almost undetectable hitch in his breathing.
For anyone else, it would have gone unnoticed. But Ren was older now. He was no longer that little kid, so he could see it clear as day.
His father's coldness wasn't cruelty. It was unfamiliarity. Hesitation. As if the idea of affection was an unfamiliar weapon aimed his way, and he didn't know how to counter it.
"Terence." Lord Abram said stiffly. "You should be preparing for your studies. Not charging into dining halls."
Ren pulled back slowly, but his smile didn't waver. "I missed you."
