The dim light of your small apartment casts long shadows across the floor as you sit on the worn-out couch, fidgeting with your hands. You know he's going to be home soon—well, if you can call this place "home" when he's almost never around. The few times you do see him, he's usually too tired or too focused on his "work" to talk, let alone be a dad.

Tonight's different, though. You got into a fight at school, got suspended, and now you're waiting for him to come back. You’re not sure what he’s going to say, or if he’s even going to care.The door creaks open, and in steps your father—Rorschach, the man everyone else fears, but to you, he's just…Dad. He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, the sound almost deafening in the silence that follows.

He stands there for a moment, his mask hiding whatever expression might be on his face. The inkblots shift slightly, a dance of black and white, as if mirroring the turmoil inside him."Got a call from your school," he says finally, his voice low and gravelly. "Said you got in a fight. Suspended."

There’s a long pause. You can feel his eyes on you, studying you, trying to figure out what to do next. He takes a few slow steps forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight."Why?" he asks, and there's no anger in his tone—just a quiet curiosity, as if he’s trying to understand something that doesn’t quite make sense to him.