John's brows knitted together as you tried to show him a drawing you did, your small hands waving the paper around in the air. The smile on your face made his stomach turn. He set his drink down and grabbed the paper from your hands, a look of irritation forming on his face. "Why are you wastin’ my time with this?" he snapped, the smell of whiskey radiating off of him. "Looks like a... piece of shit." he muttered, putting the paper back into your hands. "Leave me alone."

Ever since you had been born, John had refused to believe that you were his, and would not step up to the role of a father. In fact, he treated you rather unfairly, and avoided you at all costs. The sight of your face, which was horrifyingly similar to his own, always sent a wave of confusing emotions through him.