Chapter 167: Dad, Whose Side Are You On?!
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Before I lost my nerve... again, I swung the door open.
The familiar smell of disinfectant hit me right away, along with the steady beeping of the heart monitor, which I somehow found oddly comforting.
Sunlight flooded the small room through a large window, casting a warm golden light that made the space feel almost inviting, like somewhere you’d actually want to be, rather than a hospital room.
My dad looked up from the crossword he was working on, his pen frozen mid-air as if he’d forgotten what he was doing.
When he caught sight of me, his face lit up.
"Ollie!"
A smile broke out on my face before I even realized it, it was like a switch flipped the moment he said my name.
"Hey, Dad."
He looked better than he had a week ago. Sure, he was still thinner than I remembered from a few months back, and there were shadows under his eyes that hadn’t faded yet, but there was just a bit more color in his cheeks.
I held onto that feeling for a moment before anything else could crowd it out.
Then his gaze shifted past me.
His smile faltered, completely forgetting the crossword.
"...Oliver?"
I turned around.
Damien stood next to me, grocery bag in hand, looking as calm as ever, like meeting the dad of the guy he was dating(?) was just another thing on his to-do list.
Dad blinked a couple of times, looking between us like he was trying to do some math in his head.
"You brought someone?"
"...Yeah."
All the lines I’d rehearsed on the way over vanished from my mind. My mouth just kind of hung open.
"This is..."
Why was introducing someone so much harder than giving a presentation on psychology? At least a classroom wouldn’t look disappointed if I stumbled over my words.
My roommate? My friend? My fucking lover? What do I say?!
"This is...Damien."
Before I could embarrass myself any more, Damien stepped in, setting the grocery bag down by the door with his usual easy demeanor.
"It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir."
He extended his hand politely.
Dad took it right away, sizing him up with that unmistakably dad way, the kind of look I’d seen him give only one other person, just before grilling that poor kid for forty-five minutes.
Their handshake was brief, but Dad nodded approvingly.
"Well now." He chuckled, settling back against his pillows. "Strong handshake."
Damien smiled in response. "I’ve been told that’s important."
"It absolutely is."
Dad pointed at him as if he were making a grand statement, still clutching the pen like a tiny scepter.
"Strong hands for a college boy. I like that."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. We’d only known each other for thirty seconds. How were they already hitting it off?
Wait what was I even afraid of again?
Then it seemed like something clicked in Dad’s brain. I watched the moment he realized, his eyes widening as if a light had flicked on somewhere.
"Oh, wait!"
He pointed again, more emphatically this time. "You’re the roommate!"
Damien nodded.
"Yes, sir."
Dad waved his hand dismissively, almost knocking the crossword off his lap.
"None of that ’sir’ business." His grin returned completely. "Call me Frank, son."
"I’d be happy to, Frank."
"Much better."
Dad started fidgeting with his blankets, trying to make room despite being settled comfortably, tugging at the corners as if he were about to host a dinner party instead of welcoming two visitors in a hospital room.
"Come in, both of you. Don’t just stand there!" he said, "You didn’t have to bring all this, supplies are a lot more than they used to be."
"We wanted to," I said.
I set the grocery bags on the small table while Damien quietly added the rest beside them, arranging everything with more care than the situation really called for. Dad immediately peered into one of the bags, practically rubbing his hands together.
"What’ve we got today?"
He began pulling things out one by one, laying each item on the blanket as if he were cataloging treasures.
Crackers, tea, peanuts, sandwiches, a novel...then, his face lit up.
"My orange candies!"
He looked at me, mock accusation in his eyes, holding the bag up like evidence in a trial only he understood.
"You remembered the important thing."
I laughed. "I always remember."
"You forgot once."
"I forgot one time."
"It was devastating!" He exclaimed
"You survived."
"Barely." He dramatically clutched his chest, collapsing back onto the pillows with all the flair of someone auditioning for a soap opera.
"I’ve never recovered."
Damien chuckled softly next to me, and I shot him a look he simply ignored.
Traitor.
Dad’s attention shifted back to him, now looking at him with open curiosity since the candy crisis had passed.
"So."
He leaned back comfortably.
"Oliver told me you’re studying finance."
"I am." Damien said, "Business administration, sir—Frank. I’m focusing on finance and operations."
"And living with this menace at the same time." He pointed his thumb at me without looking, as if my presence was understood by now. "Must be quite difficult."
"I do my best."
"I’ll bet."
I glared at them both, "Excuse me?"
Neither of them acknowledged me. Dad had already moved on, leaning forward with the kind of interest usually reserved for his crossword puzzles.
He continued asking Damien about his classes, professors, campus life, the economy and future plans.
Damien answered each question with polite ease, never sounding rehearsed. He didn’t brag or try to impress anyone, somehow coming off as effortlessly respectful.
I sat back, half-impressed and half-suspicious, waiting for the façade to crack, yet it never did.
By the end of ten minutes, my dad looked completely charmed.
"You know," Dad said thoughtfully, tapping his pen against his crossword, "you’re a very well-mannered young man. Innocent, handsome, good posture. Exactly the kind of person I want around my son. You could learn a thing or two about manners from him, Oliver."
I choked on nothing but air.
Excuse me? Well-mannered? Are we talking about the same Damien Lockwood here?!