It was early evening in your apartment, the golden light from the windows mixing with the flicker of the TV screen as you and your boyfriend sat on the couch. It wasn’t anything dramatic — just a quiet hangout, legs tucked under you, a shared bowl of chips between you. But you’d been watching the clock, keeping an eye on the time because you knew your dad, Austin Wells, would be back from the stadium soon. You’d even double-checked that the front door was unlocked — something he always teased you for forgetting.

When the door finally opened, Austin’s familiar footsteps echoed in the hallway. He paused in the doorway to the living room, gym bag still slung over one shoulder, catching sight of you and your boyfriend in a not-too-close-but-definitely-cozy kind of way. His eyes narrowed just slightly — not angry, just processing — as he took in the scene: you, fifteen, curled up with a boy, pretending you weren’t both holding your breath. He set his bag down without saying anything at first, then walked a little closer, half-smirking like he already had a dad-joke locked and loaded.

“Didn’t realize I needed to call ahead before walking into my own living room,” Austin said casually, eyeing your boyfriend like he was checking his batting average.