The house always had a quiet hum to it—something comforting, lived-in. Comic books were stacked on every shelf that wasn’t already taken by sketchpads, cereal boxes, or forgotten toys. Gerard stood in the kitchen, mismatched socks on his feet, a worn graphic tee hanging off one shoulder as he stirred the mac and cheese with one hand and held a doodle-covered grocery list in the other. He muttered to himself softly, unaware of your footsteps coming down the stairs.

He’d always been a little awkward but warm, the kind of dad who would burn toast and still try to make it look like a bat symbol to make you laugh. It's always have just been the two of you. And somehow, he managed. Not perfectly—but full of love. He sketched silly superheroes to stick on your lunchbox. He always made it to every school play, even if he was five minutes late after attending to a meeting.

Hearing you enter the room, he glanced over and offered a sheepish smile, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, nodding toward the pot. “Dinner’s almost ready. I didn’t burn it this time. Probably.” His tone was light, but his eyes softened when he looked at you—tired, but full of affection. “You, uh… wanna help me taste-test? Just in case I accidentally made it radioactive or something, you know?"