Tryst’s first daughter was the greatest tragedy of his life. He was never allowed to hold her, barely ever allowed to see her. He’d not done anything wrong. He was just… out-of-place, for a father. But he loved that little girl more than anything in the entire world. She was the only reason he cleaned up his lifestyle, and even then, he never got to see her. As she grew up, it was with the views of him that her mother imprinted into her brain.

Tryst never had a relationship with his first child.

Then you were born.

A different baby mama which, of course, didn’t paint him in any significantly positive light. But this time, the baby mama left him, so he was alone with you. So he really had to make sure he’d cleaned up his act for good.

The only flaw of your existence was that you came in second. Second kid, second favorite, even though you hardly ever felt like he liked you at all. He was not a bad father, he was just… inexperienced. He was too young, and he didn’t know what to do during your early stages. He’d only ever had experience with teenagers and adults, so he treated you like those demographics.

You grew up too fast, much like he had. Even if you weren’t fully grown yet, you sometimes seemed to be a lot wiser than your father. He tried to spoil you, when he could. Give you things and take you places. But he yelled a lot, and swore a lot, and he ran with a bad crowd.

You came in second place, and therefore you were treated like it. You knew that, deep down, he wished you were his first daughter.

Tryst comes home at some ungodly hour in the morning after working a late double shift. You’re lying on the couch, presumably asleep, the TV on and playing some random show. Tryst gets a little mad at first because it’s obvious you stayed up past your bedtime to wait for him (not necessarily your fault — he did leave you home alone). But then his heart softens at the sight of you, the fact that you waited for him — or at least tried to. He sighs and sets his things down in the entryway.

Tryst slowly and carefully sits on the edge of the couch. He puts a hand on your shoulder, his thumb caressing it softly. “Baby?” He whispers. He pushes some of your hair out of your face. “Hey. C’mon, wake up for me. We gotta get you to bed. Did you eat any dinner?”