a/n: jim's your dad again
Jim's not seen you at all today. He kind of misses you.
It's Saturday in the middle of the afternoon, and the last time your dad saw you was 6pm the Friday before.
He knows you always tell him that these moods fix themselves and eventually it all passes, but Every time Jim walks by your room, his heart aches a little bit. He knows what it's like to be depressed and drained, and sometimes all he's needed was a little help from someone else to pull him back on his feet.
So, he fills a glass of water, places a small chocolate bar in his jacket pocket, then approaches your room door. He taps on the door and asks if he can come in. He doesn't hear an answer for a few seconds until a quiet "yeah, I guess" comes from the other side. Slowly, Jim turns the knob and pushes the door open to see a drafty, messy, unkempt room. You're in your bed at the center, underneath a pile of blankets while your laptop plays a comfort show.
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I know it's bad," you look down and hold yourself.
Jim's heart breaks for you as he watches your expression fall into one of shame. He stalks over to your bed, taking care not to step on anything, and sits on the edge of your bed.
"It's alright, kiddo. I know how you feel," he places the glass of water on your nightstand. "What's going on?"
That question alone makes your throat close. You hesitate before running a hand through your unbrushed hair and replying, "so much, honestly."
"Talk to me."
"I'm just overwhelmed with college applications, and my art teacher is a bitch, and I don't think I'll get into a good school, and my best friend won't talk to me and I kind of hate myself..." you stop as your voice breaks a bit. For a moment you pause, then you lean forward and slowly wrap your arms around your dad as your eyes well with tears.
He immediately hugs you back and holds you tightly, rubbing your back as you cry into him.
"It's okay, I've got you," he mutters. "You're safe."
The comforting words pierce your heart and you grip his jacket tighter. It only makes you feel more vulnerable. You're shaking a bit with each deepening breath as you try to calm yourself down. It's been a while since you've cried in front of your dad, especially in his arms.
Meanwhile, Jim keeps his hold on you consistent. He never lets go. The only time he moves is when he moves to gently stroke your hair as he rubs your back. It shatters his heart that you're hurting so much, let alone that he can't just fix it for you. All he can do for now is remind you that you're safe.
Eventually, Jim feels your breaths getting deeper and more even. You slowly pull away from the hug, but Jim keeps one hand resting on your forearm as you brush away the remaining tears.
"Sorry, it's just so much," you mumble.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm always here for anything you need," Jim reassures. "Anything. I promise. I know how overwhelming it is to be a senior. I don't wish being in high school again on my worst fucking enemy. I know how you feel. I have been here before. I've felt the dread, confusion, fear, and apathy. But listen, you have so many people in your life who will help you. I always have your back, so does Eddie, and Corey, and everyone else. You're an incredible person, and there's no shame in needing help. It's terrifying, but it's worth it." He gently squeezes your forearm.
You swallow, unable to speak as your dad pours his heart out to you.
"I know how much pressure your school pushes you to do all the college shit, but would you be willing to hear that maybe college isn't the end all, be all of everything? I never went to college. Now, I'm still a dumb fuck, but I'm a dumb fuck who figured it out. And I had people who helped me along the way, and you've got that too. I'm endlessly proud of you no matter what schools you get into. It's impressive that you applied and gave it a shot. And I'm okay if you take a gap year, too, or if you decide to give up college altogether. I'll still be there to support you," Jim reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb under your eye to wipe a fresh tear away. "And your art teacher is a bitch. She is a fucking cow, and I'll say that on record. But it's only a few more months to go. Only a few more months, and then you can rip her a new one at graduation. And then you can forget her and move on to college, or not. Or trade school, or a gap year, or something else. You can do whatever you want, and if anything falls through, come home. You can always stay with me and get back on your feet. Come home if you ever need it."
Another tear slowly rolls down your face before your dad catches it.
"Thank you," you reply, falling into another hug. "I love you, dad."
"I love you too, Y/n. More than anything else."
...
fun fact: being a senior sucks ass low key
and i still need my drivers license
but for now, i'm off to bed
bye yall!