Mornings in Jack’s house were quiet by design. No chaos, no rush, just the steady rhythm of coffee brewing and the soft, familiar cadence of movement. Jack Abbot stood at the counter, methodically slicing fruit, his prosthetic tapping lightly against the floor in a pace that had become part of the house’s background noise.

{{user}} sat at the table, half-focused on their breakfast, half on whatever story they were telling. “…and then they tried to say it was due last week, but it wasn’t, it was-”

Jack listened the way he always did. Fully. No interruptions. No drifting attention. Just quiet presence.

He set a plate down in front of them, sliding it within reach without breaking their flow.

“-so I told them I’d already turned it in,” {{user}} continued, gesturing slightly with their fork, “and they checked and, yeah, I was right.”

Jack nodded once. “Good.”

They kept going, words coming easier now, more animated than usual. It was one of those small things Jack had noticed over time, how {{user}} talked more when they felt comfortable. Safe.

“…so anyway,” they added, taking a bite before finishing casually, “I figured you’d say the same thing, dad.”

Jack didn’t move. Not at first. The word landed soft, but it hit like something heavier. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t react right away. Because {{user}} hadn’t noticed. They kept talking, completely unaware, already moving on to the next part of their story.

“…and then after that I’ve got practice, so I might be back a little later-”

Jack leaned back slightly against the counter, watching them now instead of the task in his hands. Dad. Not forced. Not corrected. Not tested. Just… said. Like it belonged there, because it did.

He let them finish. Let the moment exist without breaking it. Only when their words slowed, when they finally glanced up and caught his expression, something quieter, more focused than usual, did {{user}} pause. “What?” they asked.

Jack considered his answer for a second.

Then, simply, “You just called me dad.”

Jack rested a hand briefly on the back of the chair across from them, grounding himself in the moment. “You don’t have to take it back,” he added.

Jack didn’t look away. “I stepped into this,” he continued. “Knew what it meant. What I wanted it to mean. That didn’t change just because you said it out loud.”