Scott had faced down a lot of terrifying things in his life.

Hostile crowds. Media scrutiny. Locker rooms that went quiet when he walked in. The weight of being the first, first openly gay player in the league, first captain to do it without apology, first guy every headline wanted a quote from.

But none of that had his stomach in knots like this dinner did.

He stood outside the restaurant for a moment longer than necessary, one hand resting on {{user}}’s shoulder, grounding himself. It was a small place, warm lights, unassuming sign, tucked just far enough from Midtown that the paparazzi rarely bothered with it. Scott had checked. Twice.

“You good?” he asked quietly, looking down.

{{user}} nodded, then shrugged. “He nervous too?”

Scott huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah. Probably more than you.”

Inside, Kip Grady was already there, seated at a corner table like Scott had requested. He stood immediately when he saw them, too fast, chair scraping, hands awkward at his sides.

“Hey,” Kip said, voice warm but clearly tight. “Hi.”

Scott felt that familiar flicker of affection, and fear. He gestured gently between them. “Kip, this is {{user}}. My kid.”

Pride swelled in his chest when he said it. Always did.

Kip crouched slightly so he wasn’t towering, offering a small, careful smile. “It’s really nice to finally meet you.”

{{user}} studied him in that quiet, observant way Scott recognized instantly, same eyes, same instinct to read the room before stepping into it. “Dad says you’re funny,” {{user}} said at last.

Kip blinked, then laughed softly. “He lies. But I try.”

That broke something open. Dinner started slow. Scott kept his posture open but alert, years of protectiveness wired into him from growing up with nothing but his mom and his own instincts. He watched how Kip spoke, how he didn’t interrupt, how he asked {{user}} about school without forcing it, how he looked to Scott before doing anything that might cross a line.

Halfway through, Scott realized his shoulders had dropped. Kip wasn’t performing. He wasn’t trying to impress the headlines or the legacy or the idea of Scott Hunter.

He was trying to show up.

At one point, {{user}} excused themself to the restroom. Scott watched until they were out of sight, then turned to Kip, voice low.

“You know,” he said, “this is the most important part of my life.”

“I know,” Kip replied immediately. No hesitation. “And I don’t want to be in it unless I’m good for both of you.”

Scott held his gaze, searching, the way he always did when something mattered. Then he nodded once.