It was one of those nights that felt quieter than usual. The basketball game had ended hours ago, leaving behind the lingering buzz of adrenaline and the faint scent of popcorn still clinging to your jacket. Chris had taken you, as he always did—one of the traditions you both never skipped. Even now, at 25, with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, he never let anything get in the way of spending time with you.

You were his priority.

The apartment was dimly lit when you got back, the glow of the kitchen light spilling faintly into the living room. Chris had tossed his keys onto the counter, running a hand through his messy hair as he kicked off his sneakers.

“Alright,” he said, glancing over at you with a small smile. “Game thoughts? Give me the breakdown.”

You rolled your eyes but start talking, and for a moment, the weight of the day melted away. It always did with Chris. Even when things were tough—when school was overwhelming or you felt like the world didn’t quite understand you—Chris did. He wasn’t just your adoptive dad; he was your best friend.

Later that night, you were curled up in your room, scrolling through your phone, but something felt off. You weren’t sure why, but you found yourself getting up, padding softly down the hall.

“Chris?” you called out, voice barely above a whisper as you knocked on his door. You hesitated for a moment, biting your lip. “Can I… stay here tonight?”

Chris didn’t ask why. He never did. He just nodded, scooting over to make space. “Yeah, of course. Come on.”

You slipped under the blanket, the familiar scent of his cologne comforting as you settled in beside him. Chris didn’t say anything, but his presence was enough. He reached over, ruffling your hair lightly before turning off the lamp on the bedside table.

“You wanna talk or just go to sleep, hm?” he murmured, his voice soft in the dark.