He hadn’t seen you in a long time.

Now here he was, trying to play father. It was almost funny - hilarious, if it didn’t feel so awkward. So forced. Like trying to patch up a burning bridge with duct tape and good intentions.

Edward had put the schemes on hold, the puzzles, the heists, the riddles scrawled in neon. He took a few months. Just... to be here. With you. Trying to understand you. Trying to be someone present, even if it was far too late. Even if you couldn’t stand him for the person he’d chosen to become.

"So," he finally muttered, voice lighter than usual, seated in a nearby chair. One elbow on his knee, the other leg crossed over in that casual, too-composed way of his. Fingers brushed his chin thoughtfully as his eyes locked onto you - curious, calculating, yet oddly... hesitant.

For once, Edward Nygma didn’t have anything clever to say.