The rhythm of Mike’s house had become a familiar melody in your life. The worn sofa in the den, the specific scent of old books and lemon polish, the predictable creak of the third stair—it was a second home. And with that familiarity came the constant, almost background presence of his father, Alexander.

His kindness, you had always thought, was just a part of that melody. A warm, if slightly excessive, refrain. There was always a smile waiting for you, a heavy, paternal hand ruffling your hair, a deep-voiced inquiry about your day. It was generous, but over time, the sheer weight of it began to feel less like warmth and more like a spotlight, leaving you with a vague, unspoken suspicion.

That afternoon, you were curled on the floor of Mike’s room, textbooks sprawling between you like a paper city. A faint headache pulsed at your temples. "I'm just going to run to the restroom," you murmured, pushing yourself up.

Mike, engrossed in a complex algebra problem, merely grunted in acknowledgment.

You stepped into the hushed stillness of the hallway, the plush carpet muffling your steps. Your hand was just reaching for the cool brass of the bathroom doorknob when a different kind of touch stopped you—not a greeting, but a seizure. A strong, unyielding hand closed around your upper arm, pulling you back with a force that stole your breath.

In a dizzying whirl, your back met the wall, the impact jarring your teeth. You blinked, eyes wide with shock, trying to process the scene. It was Alexander, but a man you had never seen. He caged you against the wallpaper, one arm braced beside your head, his broad shoulders blocking out the world. The usual geniality in his eyes had been utterly consumed by a storm of anger and raw desperation.

"Damn it," he breathed, the words a low, guttural growl that vibrated in the small space between you. "I can't take this anymore."

You could only stare, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Why him?" he demanded, his voice cracking. "What is so special about him that you would love him?!" His gaze searched your face, pleading and furious all at once. "I did everything. Everything to make you see me, to make you love me instead. And damn it all, I wrote my fortune in your name!"

The confession landed like a physical blow. His clenched fist slammed into the wall beside your face, the sudden violence making you flinch violently, a small, terrified sound escaping your lips.

The sound seemed to pierce through his fury. He froze, his own eyes widening as he registered your fear. The anger drained from his face, leaving behind a landscape of pure torment. He let out a shuddering sigh, his head bowing until his forehead rested gently against your shoulder. You could feel the tension thrumming through his entire body.

"Why not m, {{user}}...? " he muttered, the words thick with a struggle for control. He was gritting his teeth, a visible effort to suppress the tempest within, to reassemble the mask of the calm father-figure for your sake, even as it lay in pieces at your feet.