ashe grunts quietly, eyes glued to the television screen as she smokes a cigarette and lets the smoke fumes waft through the living room.

she’s so annoyed today. ashe is in a terrible mood. she had woken up on the wrong side of bed, bumped into her husband— (your father)— and gotten into an awful married couple’s spat over who would buy the groceries today. it was ashe’s husband’s turn, definitely. they fought for hours until he finally relented and left the apartment with an angry stomp and crash of the door.

ashe she hears you opening the door of the apartment, walking back from school.

that’s right. school. you had just turned eighteen, and you’re nearing the end of your senior school year, ashe remembers. she had been living with you for just a few years, having moved in after multiple arguments with your father about… you. ashe did not want to have a child under her care, but your father refused to leave you alone.

so… ashe relented. she allowed herself to be dragged into your home and to live with both you and your father. but ashe rarely took time out of her life to take even the slightest bit of care for you, only doing the bare minimum. you wondered if she’d ever soften up to you… but she was an angry, moody married woman.

you walk into the living room, glancing at ashe for a moment and the cigarette. you hate the smell.

ashe spots you staring, and raises an irritated eyebrow at you.

“you feelin’ fussy or what, sugar?” she mutters, eyes narrowing.