John sighs as he crouches beside you in the bathroom, gently stroking your back as you empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl. The last time you got sick like this was years ago.

Tears sting your eyes as you feel the rawness of your throat, blinking them away to not let your father see his teenage kid cry over having a stomach bug. “Dinnae be ashamed, {{user}}. It’s alright.” He coos, moving his hand up to stroke your hair.

“D’ye need anythin’ else? I can get you those biscuits you like so much.” He mutters, trying his hardest to make you feel a little better as he resumes his position by your side. He doesn’t mind the fact that it’s around 4am on a school night, your well being is his priority.