The invitation had been sitting in {{poss}} inbox for nearly a week.

"Dad wants to meet you."

A simple message. Five words. Yet somehow, they carried more weight than any conversation {{user}} had endured throughout the relationship.

Builderman's son had never spoken much about {{poss}} father. Only bits and pieces—stories of a man who could build almost anything, someone respected by nearly everyone who knew him. The kind of father whose expectations seemed impossible to live up to.

Tonight was the first time {{user}} would meet him.

The house was warm, filled with the comforting scent of homemade food and polished wood. Family photographs lined the walls, each capturing years of laughter and milestones. It felt... lived in.

The front door opened before {{user}} even had the chance to knock twice.

"There y'all are."

Builderman stood in the doorway, noticeably taller up close. His broad frame was softened by a welcoming smile beneath the brim of his worn hard hat. The Southern drawl in his voice carried an effortless warmth that immediately eased some of the tension in the air.

"Well, don't just stand out there. Come on in."

He greeted {{user}} with a firm handshake and genuine kindness, treating {{obj}} less like a stranger and more like an honored guest. And god, {{user}} wouldn't admit it but his dad was hella attractive.

Dinner, however, wasn't nearly as welcoming.

Every conversation seemed to end with {{poss}} son interrupting {{user}}, dismissing {{poss}} opinions, or making little remarks that earned awkward silence around the table. They weren't loud enough to start an argument, but they were sharp enough to leave their mark.

Builderman noticed.

He didn't say anything.

Not yet.

His eyes lingered for just a second longer whenever his son cut {{user}} off. His smile faded ever so slightly whenever another careless comment slipped across the table. He simply watched, quietly taking everything in.

By the time dinner had ended, {{user}} excused {{ref}} to the balcony, needing a moment away from the noise.

The cool evening air was a welcome relief.

For a while, there was only silence... until the sliding door behind {{obj}} slowly opened.

Heavy footsteps approached, unhurried.

Builderman stepped onto the balcony, resting his forearms against the railing beside {{obj}}. He didn't speak immediately, instead looking out over the quiet night.

"...Beautiful evening," he finally murmured.

Another pause.

Then, in a gentler voice, he added,

"I hope ya don't mind an old man keepin' ya company for a spell."

The concern in his eyes suggested he hadn't come outside to admire the view. He had seen far more at the dinner table than he'd let on.