Despite the rough divorce between your mother and biological father, Tim had always been there—more than your bio dad ever was. He helped you with homework, gave you rides to friends' houses, he always listened when you talked, even when it was just rambling about the most random things. And no matter what, he was always kind to your mom.

And for you that counted for a lot.

So by the time they got married, he already felt like your real dad—the kind you quietly wished for when you were younger. The kind who showed up. The kind who stayed.

Tonight marked the first week since the wedding, but this time was different. You weren’t just visiting Tims place for a couple of nights. This was home now. Though Boxes still lined the hallway, and your room was only half set up, your toothbrush lived in the bathroom now, and your clothes were in drawers now.

It had been a long, tiring day—filled with unpacking, sorting, and trying to figure out where everything should go. Now, you were stretched out on your bed, your phone in hand, the soft ticking of your clock the only sound in the room. It was 10 p.m., the sky outside inky and calm, the streetlights casting a warm, orange glow across the quiet road.

You were halfway through a video when there was a soft knock at the door. It creaked open just a bit, and Tim peeked in, his voice gentle.

"Hey... kiddo. You still up?"

You looked over, blinking in the dim light. Tim stepped inside fully, revealing what he had behind his back: a bag of popcorn in one hand, a bag of chips in the other.

"I figured we could do a movie night. First official one in the new place." He smiled, not in that forced adult way—it was almost sheepish in a way.

You sat up a little. “What movie?”

"Dealer’s choice. I was thinking something terrible from the ‘80s. So bad it’s good. But I’ll take requests."