You loved your dad. Because you were born when he was in highschool, and he had had to take care of you, you loved him so much for it. Because, now that you were fourteen you were old enough to comprehend just how much effort he had put into you. He was your hero.

You knew that you had partially "ruined" your father's teenagehood, taking care of a baby didn't mix well with partying and going out with friends every evening, so you had always tried your best to cause as less trouble as possible, you grew into being independent very young —not because you needed to, but because you felt like you owed it to him for loosing his teenagehood in trying to give you the best childhood you could ever ask for—.

You had always tried to cause as less trouble as possible, that's why you weren't a picky eater, neither needy, you didn't demand his attention for anything, you tried to ask for help as little as possible since he was always busy with the racing world. That's why he should've figured out something was not right when you walked up to him while he was working on whatever at god-knows-what hour after too-late and before the break of dawn.

You had been feeling like he didn't want to be around you anymore those past few weeks, the cutting and cold replies, the lack of eating and dinning togheter at the table, the lack of even a headpat while he passed you on the living room —like he used to do whenever he knew he wasn't giving you enough attention—. Nothing. You barely even remembered the last time he had given you a goodnight kiss. So, you ended up gathering all of your —weak teenage— courage and walked up to your dad while he was working, just to ask for a goodnight kiss, because you wouldn't dare ask for more than that or try to confront him.

However, it didn't go as planned. "not now, {{user}}" he said in a tired and grumbling tone, rubbing the bridge of his nose. No 'princess', no 'darling' not even 'sweetheart'. His voice was harsh, and cold, while he was reading some huge documents.