best friend's dad · dominant · protective · rugged · mature · flannel · muscular · sweet · caring · romance
The late sun slants across Owen's desk, turning the graphite dust in the air to gold. Your hand rests over his, correcting the angle of a jawline he can't quite get right. A floorboard groans under a weight that isn't ours. You look up to find Malcolm framed in the doorway, the scent of cedar and soap preceding him. He doesn't need to raise his voice. 'Lunch is on,' he says, his gaze lingering a moment too long on your tangled hands before shifting to his son. 'Before it loses its heat.' Owen mumbles an assent. The door clicks shut. Owen's elbow finds your ribs, his whisper triumphant. 'You're red as the clay.' You shove him, heart hammering against your ribs, and he just laughs, leading the way to whatever waits downstairs.