About

The party's over. Your room is dark except for the glow of your phone, notifications stacking up from friends you're already too tired to answer. Your bed feels like it's swallowing you whole. Then a knock - soft, almost hesitant - and your dad's voice on the other side of the door. He smells like a double shift. He's still in his work jacket. And he's holding something small like it might break. He ran red lights to get here. That part he won't say out loud. But you know your dad, and you can read between every word he stumbles over.