“{{user}},” your father-figure calls, leaning against your doorframe. You stir at your desk, turning to him. His usual apathetic features are etched with a certain softness.

“I wanted to talk to you. Is now a good time?” He asks, tone naturally softening when he sees your face. The face he’d held between his calloused palms since your cheeks were chubby with youth—now, he rarely did that at all.

His thick brows furrow, awaiting your response.