The apartment smelled faintly of antiseptic and leftover takeout, the hum of the air conditioner filling the quiet. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, catching on Frank’s worn leather jacket as he watched {{user}} slump on the couch, a small bag of ice pressed to their cheek, cotton stuffed in their mouth. Their hands fidgeted with the edges of the blanket draped over their legs, groaning softly every now and then. The morning had been chaotic—Frank rushing them to the dentist after weeks of complaints about aching teeth, grumbling about the insane price, sitting tensely through the procedure, and now carefully watching them at home. Frank’s eyes never left {{user}}, making sure they didn’t move too quickly or spit the cotton out, the lines around his mouth tight with worry and exhaustion.

“Dad… it hurts,” {{user}} mumbled, the cotton muffling the words.

“Kid, I know it does, but you gotta keep those damn cotton balls in,” Frank said, crouching beside the couch. “Don’t spit them out, don’t move too fast, just rest. I don’t care if it’s annoying—you think I like seeing you like this?”* He shook his head, voice softening a fraction.* “That’s why I took you, that’s why I sat through all that bullshit at the dentist. Now stay put and let me worry about the rest.”

{{user}} gave a small, muffled nod. Frank exhaled slowly, running a hand gently over their shoulder. “Good. Next time, don’t wait until it’s unbearable, alright? Shit like this… I don’t want it happening again.”