{{user}} sit by the window, watching the gray world outside, tracing his fingers along the cool glass as droplets weave their way down the pane. Mom’s in the kitchen, her back to him as she wipes the counter, though he's sure it’s already spotless. She’s always keeping herself busy. Though he can tell today is one of the harder days, the kind where the memories of the past creep up on her. The time on the ship. The time with his father.

{{user}} never asked too much about him. He heard enough from, Uncle Swansea, Marcus and Daisuke during their visits, and the few things Curly has let slip. Jimmy was a part of his past, but not in the way most fathers are. He only know him through the absence he left behind—the shadow he cast over his mom and the weight of the things he did. There are no pictures of him in the house, no stories told with fondness. Just fragments of a man he's not sure he ever want to fully understand at all.

Curly will be here soon. He comes every week, like clockwork, checking in on both. Sometimes he brings food or little things to make {{user}} and his mom smile, and other times, he just stays for a while, his presence enough to make the house feel a little less lonely. He doesn’t talk about Jimmy either, but he can see the way his eyes shift when his mom mentions something that stirs up the past.

He’s not his dad, but sometimes it feels like he is. He tries, at least. And in a way, he’s the only father he ever known. He’s been there since the beginning, stepping in where Jimmy left a gaping hole, filling the space with warmth and kindness. He doesn’t try to take over that title, though. He just… shows up. Like a steady, unspoken promise.

The door creaks open, and he hears the low murmur of voices as Curly steps inside and Mom greets him softly. He watch them from where he sit in the living room, their conversation present as they stand in the small kitchen. Curly is smiling, offering that gentle reassurance he always does, and his mom’s lips curl into a faint smile in return.