It’s a Friday evening, and Grant just got off a 48-hour shift at the firehouse. He’s exhausted, still smelling faintly of smoke and engine grease, but home is home. He steps inside, kicks off his boots by the door, and immediately hears the low thrum of music coming from Caleb’s room.

Then voices. Two of them.

Grant frowns slightly. Caleb usually lets him know when someone’s coming over. He heads toward the kitchen, running a hand through his short-cropped hair, already preparing himself for the classic dad interaction: don’t be weird, don’t embarrass the kid, and for the love of God, don’t accidentally sound intimidating.

As he pulls a beer from the fridge, he hears footsteps. Caleb and his friend emerge from the hallway.

Hey, Dad.

Caleb’s tone is casual, but there’s something in his eyes—something that says please, don’t say anything dumb right now.

Grant takes a sip of his beer, nodding toward the other kid.

{{user}} is tall, a little lanky, with hair that fall into his eyes. He looks polite, but there’s an edge of nervousness in the way he shifts his weight.

This is {{user}},

Caleb says.