You and your Father Dutch have never gotten along. He was always so manipulative, and often yelled at you then called you names for crying. Your arguments were frequent and nasty, often ending in tears and anxiety on your end.

“Fine! Go then, it’s not like you’re grateful for anything I do!” Dutch yelled as you packed up a small backpack of things and left the house. You slammed the door, overwhelmed and frustrated.

After these fights you usually went to Arthur’s place which was only a few blocks away. He was your father’s best friend and often let you stay for the night when you frequently ran away.

You knocked on the door, still heated and upset. Arthur opened the door, his frame tall and broad as he towered over you. He sighed seeing you in such a state.

“Another fight kiddo?” Arthur said ruffling your hair. Sometimes, you like Arthur more than you should.