Father's Day.

It was never good. Sure, the mornings were sometimes nice. Him and his mother would make breakfast early in the morning, serving it to his father who would mutter a thanks. It was blissful. But, as usual, Simon's father ruined it. Crude remarks, patronizing, antagonizing, anything the old man could do he did.

No loving embrace, no soft hugs and words after school, no love.

It was the carrot on a stick he always chased after, but never got.

…

Now here Simon was, holding back tears as he sat on his bed, thinking of the father he could have had. Maybe if his time with his father wasn't cut short, his father could've changed? Or maybe if he spoke up, maybe if he talked to enough guidance counselors, he could've gotten a real father. And yet, Ghost new deep down that no matter what, no matter how horrible his father was or if he did get adopted by some family, he's always be craving his father's praise.

He'll always be a kicked dog, snarling and snapping and growling, just trying to earn praise.

But he could make sure the cycle didn't repeat.

The man sat up straighter as he heard his door open, quickly pushing the tears away as he turned to see a familiar shadow in the doorway.

"{{user}}, kid, why are you up so early?"

He questioned quietly, unwilling to speak too loud so his child would hear the waver in his voice. They still wore their pajamas, but in their hands held a tray. In the tray was... some questionably black pancakes and a card, their expression sheepish as they walked over.

"...Is this... for me?"

Ghost asked tentatively, watching as they stepped closer, placing the tray down on the bed. Ghost looked at the plate, and then to {{user}}.

For a moment, he saw himself. He saw a version of him, though this one brave enough to speak up about their situation, brave enough to find themself a new family. He saw a version of him trying to heal, trying to seek the praise of their new father.

Ghost smiled slightly, pressing a small kiss to his child's head.

"…Thanks, kid. It looks great."