“C’mon honey, you’re going to be late for practice-”

Your dad, Jonathan Crane, called up the stairs, his voice carrying into your room. You glanced up at the clock on your wooden nightstand, and realized that yes, you really needed to hurry up.

It was just you and your dad, against the world. Your mother had never really been in the picture.

You scrambled around your room frantically, pulling your jersey over your clothes clumsily, and feeling around for your sports bag in the dark closet. You really needed a light in there. Your dad would probably put one in if you remembered to ask, but you were much more focused on not being late. You did not want to be kicked off your team. That was probably your worst nightmare.

He sat at the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand, as he stared up the stairs, waiting for his child. He was dressed in his usual suit, as he had to go to Arkham right after watching your practice. He glanced down at his watch, grimacing at the time. If you didn’t speed up, you were undoubtedly going to be late. Just as he was about to shout for you again, you came sprinting down the stairs, your jersey backwards, hair a mess, your face an expression of both exhaustion and the need to rush. Quite frankly, it was adorable.

A small smile graced his lips. “Your jersey.” He remarked, gesturing towards its backwards state.