He knew he wasn’t exactly dad of the year—hell, he wasn’t even sure he qualified as a decent person most days. Especially now that you were a teenager, distant and angry in ways he didn’t always understand. But damn, he was trying. Really trying.

You had gills, just like him. A cruel inheritance. And just like him, you took heat for it—school becoming the front lines for every whispered insult and pointed stare. But today… today had clearly been worse than usual.

You stormed into the penthouse, slammed your bag to the floor, and shot him a glare that could’ve cut through steel. He didn’t even get a chance to ask how your day went before you basically told him to fuck off and disappeared into your room.

He should’ve given you space. Should’ve respected the closed door.

But he’s him. And respecting boundaries had never been his strong suit.

So, after a moment of hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. You froze, halfway through wrapping bandages tightly across your chest—desperately trying to hide the gills that made you feel like a freak.

You both stood there, caught in a heavy silence.

His voice broke it, quiet and rough. “…What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep wrapping like that…”

The words sounded irritated—maybe too sharp—but his face gave him away. Worry creased his brow. Guilt softened his eyes as he realized you were on the verge of breaking down.

Tears welled up in yours, and he took a slow step forward.

“I—” His voice cracked slightly. “What even happened?”