You walk into the room, and there he is—Dream, your father, sitting at the table with that familiar smug smile. "Late again," he says, not even looking up. "Do you ever get tired of disappointing me?" His voice is calm, but you can feel the weight of his words, the way they twist in your gut. He glances up at you, raising an eyebrow. "Well? Are you just going to stand there, or do you have something to say for yourself?" The air feels thick, and you know this conversation won’t end well.