Archive of Our Own

The high school hallway buzzed with the chaotic energy of lunch break, a familiar symphony of slamming lockers, shouted greetings, and the shuffling of a hundred conversations. For Grace, however, the world had shrunk to the glowing screen of Rosemary Winters's phone, where three Japanese girls in elaborate red-and-black outfits commanded the stage.

"Can you believe it?" Rose whispered, her eyes wide with a feverish excitement that made her pupils seem to swallow the blue. "Babymetal is streaming the Tokyo Dome concert live! Tonight!"

Moira Burton leaned in, joining in the conversation. "No way. My dad would have an aneurysm if I asked to go to a real concert, but this? This is perfect.”

Grace nodded, her gaze fixed on the screen. The synchronized dance moves, the heavy metal riffs fused with J-pop melodies—it was a world away from her quiet life of books and family responsibilities. It was thrilling.

"Speaking of thrilling things," Moira said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone as she locked eyes with Grace. "I heard there's a party tonight at Jake Muller's house. He said he’s able to stream the concert at his place!”

Grace's heart did a painful lurch against her ribs. She kept her expression carefully neutral, but she could feel a traitorous heat creeping up her neck. "So?" she managed, her voice sounding more nonchalant than she felt.

"'So?'" Rose repeated, setting her phone down with a dramatic thud. "Grace, this is not just 'so.' This is Jake Muller. The guy you've been crushing on since he transferred here last year and you spent three hours telling us how his eyes are the exact color of the sky before a storm."

"I did not say three hours," Grace mumbled, picking at a loose thread on her jeans.

"You might as well have," Moira laughed, nudging her shoulder. "This is your chance! He's finally having a party, and you have to go."

Grace bit her lip, the familiar battle waging inside her. The part of her that desperately wanted to go, to see Jake outside of the sterile environment of school, to maybe even talk to him without her voice shaking. And then there was the other part, the part that heard her father's voice in her head, the part that knew the questions he would ask.

"I don't know..." she hedged. "My dad..."

"Oh, come on," Rose pleaded, her expression softening. "Grace, you're the best student in our class. You've never skipped a day, you get perfect grades, you do all your chores. When was the last time you actually asked for anything?"

"And it's not like it's some random rave," Moira added logically. "It's Jake Muller. He's on the basketball team. His dad is, like, some important government guy or something. It's going to be supervised. Probably."

The last word did little to inspire confidence, but they had a point. She was the responsible one. The quiet one. She never gave her father any trouble, not since... well, not for a very long time. Surely, after everything he'd been through, everything he still carried, she deserved one night.

"Okay," she finally said, the word barely audible but feeling monumental. "Okay. I'll... I'll ask him when I get home."

Rose and Moira exchanged a triumphant look.

"Yes!" Rose cheered quietly, pumping her fist.

Grace managed a small, nervous smile. She had no idea if her father would say yes, but for the first time, she thought he just might.

_____

Meanwhile, across town, the breeze air in the luxury outlet center was a welcome relief from the early summer heat. You trailed your fingers along the polished glass of a storefront, the light weight of the shopping bags on your arm a comforting reminder of the day's success. Leon walked beside you, his presence a steady, warm anchor in the sea of opulence.

"You're quiet," he observed, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. He glanced down, a soft smile touching his lips as he took in the frilly white sundress you wore, the layers of tulle swishing around your thighs with every step. "Regretting the last purchase already?"

"Never," you replied with a laugh, stopping to face him. You reached up, smoothing the lapel of his linen shirt. "I was just thinking... there's one more place I want to go."

He raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "One more? Sweetheart, I'm not sure my credit cards can take much more of your 'one more places'." His tone was teasing, but there was an indulgent warmth beneath it that made your stomach flutter.

"This one is special," you insisted, taking his hand and tugging him gently toward the monogrammed brown-and-gold storefront a few yards away. Louis Vuitton. "There's a bag I saw online, but it sold out before I could even think about it."

Leon let out a soft, resigned sigh, but he followed without protest. "Of course there is. Let me guess, it's 'the last one they'll ever make'?"

"It might be!" you said defensively, a playful pout on your lips. "It was the Capucines, but in this beautiful periwinkle blue. Not the standard color. It was an online exclusive."

Inside the store, the air smelled of expensive leather and quiet ambition. A sales associate in a perfectly tailored black dress greeted you with a polite, neutral smile. Leon, however, seemed unfazed by the palpable aura of wealth. He just looked at you, his expression patient.

"Show me," he said softly.

You pulled out your phone, your fingers quickly navigating to the screenshot you had saved. The image filled the screen: a stunning structured bag, the color of a twilight sky, with the subtle LV pattern embossed into the leather. It was elegant, understated, and completely out of reach.

Leon studied the picture for a long moment, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "I see the appeal," he murmured, his eyes lifting from the phone to meet yours. "It's beautiful."

While he spoke with the associate, you drifted toward a display of silk scarves, your fingers tracing the delicate patterns. You were so absorbed that you didn't notice the two women who had moved to stand beside you until one of them spoke.

"It's a lovely store, isn't it?" she said, her voice smooth as honey, but with an edge that you couldn't quite place. She was impeccably dressed, her blonde hair styled in a sleek chignon, a diamond tennis bracelet glinting on her wrist.

"It is," you agreed with a polite smile.

Her friend, a redhead with sharp, assessing eyes, chuckled lightly. "It's just... a bit much for some people, I suppose." Her gaze drifted pointedly over your dress, the delicate frills suddenly feeling childish and out of place. "The prices here can be... shocking."

You felt a familiar flush of insecurity creep up your neck. You knew what this was. You'd encountered it before. The casual, backhanded cruelty of women who had never had to worry about a price tag in their lives.

"I'm just browsing," you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

"Oh, we know," the blonde said, her smile widening, but it didn't reach her eyes. "It's just... brave of you to come in here dressed like that. I would be so intimidated."

The redhead nodded in agreement. "It takes all kinds, I suppose. Did you need help finding the exit?"

Before you could formulate a response that wasn't either a stammered apology or a string of curses, Leon's voice cut through the tense silence.

"Actually, she's just fine."

You turned to see him walking toward you, his expression unreadable but his presence immediately commanding the space. He slid his arm around your waist, pulling you gently against his side. The two women's eyes widened as they took him in—the confident set of his shoulders, the expensive watch on his wrist, the raw, masculine energy that seemed to radiate from him even in a luxury boutique.

"We were just admiring your friend's... enthusiasm," the blonde said, her tone suddenly syrupy sweet.

Leon's gaze was fixed on you, his eyes softening. "Good news, sweetheart," he said, completely ignoring the other women. "They had one more in the back. The manager is bringing it out now."

The blonde gasped, her composure finally cracking. "The Capucines? In the periwinkle? But that was an online exclusive! They're completely sold out worldwide."

"She must be mistaken," the redhead scoffed, though her voice wavered slightly. "They wouldn't have one just lying around. He's probably just bluffing to impress her."

Leon didn't even spare her a glance. The manager approached, a slim box in his hands, and Leon simply held out his hand. "I'll take it," he said, his voice calm and final.

From his wallet, he pulled out a sleek black credit card—the one you knew was reserved for emergencies, or for moments like this. He handed it to the associate, who quickly processed the transaction without another word. The two women stood frozen, their mouths slightly agape, as the bag was carefully placed in its signature dust bag and then into the large LV shopping box.

Leon signed the receipt with a quick, flourish, not even glancing at the total. He took the large shopping bag from the manager, his movements fluid and unconcerned, as if he'd just purchased a cup of coffee and not a bag that cost more than a used car.

You couldn't help it. A slow, triumphant smile spread across your face as you looked at the two women. Their perfect makeup couldn't hide the shock, the disbelief, and finally, the dawning realization of who they were dealing with. You gave them a little wave, a small, sweet gesture that was utterly devastating.

"Shall we?" Leon murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. He placed a proprietary hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the door.

You leaned into his touch, your head held high. The heavy glass door swung open, and you stepped back out into the bright sunlight of the promenade, the scent of expensive leather replaced by the warm, fresh air.

The moment you were a safe distance from the store, you couldn't contain it any longer. A delighted squeal escaped your lips as you turned to him, grabbing his arm. "Leon! Oh my god, that was... that was perfect! The look on their faces!"

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your heart feel full. "I told you I have my ways."

"But how?" you insisted, your eyes wide with genuine curiosity. "I checked this morning. It was sold out everywhere. Even the resale sites were cleaned out. How did you just... magic one out of the back room?"

He stopped walking and turned to face you, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let's just say the head of LV's North American operations owes me a rather significant favor. Something about a... consulting gig in Paris a few years ago. A situation involving a very sensitive prototype and some rather unsavory characters who wanted it."

Your jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

"I never kid about handbags," he said with a perfectly straight face, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Or about you. I sent him a text. He made a call. The bag that was supposedly 'allocated to a VIP client in Dubai' suddenly became available."

You just stared at him, completely speechless. This was the other side of Leon Kennedy. Not the tired, loving father, not the doting, indulgent boyfriend, but the man who moved through the world with a quiet, formidable power, the man who solved problems for a living. The man who could make a sold-out, exclusive luxury item appear with a single text message.

He took your stunned silence as an invitation, closing the small distance between you. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "You deserve to have nice things, sweetheart," he said softly, his gaze intense and sincere. "You deserve to never have to worry about whether something is 'sold out' or 'too expensive.' If you want it, it's yours. End of story."

You stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his, a kiss that was soft and full of everything you couldn't put into words.

"I love you," you whispered against his mouth.

"I love you too," he replied, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. He held you for a long moment, the heavy shopping bag bumping gently against your leg. "Now," he said, pulling back slightly, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "Let's go home. I think we've traumatized enough high-society women for one day. And I believe we have a new addition to your collection that needs to be properly appreciated."

You laughed, taking his hand as you continued walking toward the car.

_____

The drive home was comfortable, the low hum of the Porsche's engine a soothing soundtrack to the late afternoon. You sat with the LV box on your lap, tracing the gold lettering with your fingertip, while Leon drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh. Every so often, his thumb would stroke you, a silent, possessive gesture that never failed to make you smile.

When you pulled into the driveway, the house looked peaceful, the warm light from the windows spilling out onto the manicured lawn. Inside, the familiar chaos of home enveloped you the moment you stepped through the door.

Sherry was curled up on the far end of the couch, absorbed in a thick paperback, her brow furrowed in concentration. In the middle of the living room floor, Emily was a whirlwind of color, surrounded by a sea of crayons and construction paper. And in the armchair, Grace was a study in teenage indifference, her thumbs flying across the controls of her handheld console, her face illuminated by the screen.

The moment Emily saw you, she dropped her purple crayon with a clatter. "You're home!" she squealed, launching herself from the floor and wrapping her small arms around your legs in a fierce hug.

"Hey, sweet pea," you laughed, ruffling her messy blonde curls.

Her attention immediately shifted. "Daddy!" she demanded, her arms already reaching up toward Leon.

Leon chuckled, a deep, warm sound of pure affection. He set the shopping bags down, scooped her up with effortless ease, and settled her on his hip. "And how is my best girl today?" he asked, nuzzling her neck, which sent her into a fit of giggles.

Sherry looked up from her book, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Hey, guys. Good shopping trip?"

"It was productive," Leon replied, his eyes crinkling as Emily played with the collar of his shirt.

Grace, however, didn't look up from her game. But you noticed her pause, her thumbs stilling for just a second before she resumed playing. A moment later, she saved her game, set the console down on the armchair, and followed Leon as he walked toward the kitchen, her movements casual but purposeful.

"How was school?" you asked, directing the question to the room at large as you followed them.

"Boring," Sherry called out from the living room. "We had a pop quiz in chemistry that I definitely failed."

"I drew a unicorn!" Emily announced proudly from Leon's arms.

"It was fine," Grace mumbled, hopping onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. She rested her chin in her hand, watching as you moved to the pantry.

You smiled, pulling out the bright blue box of macaroni and cheese. "Well, I'm glad everyone survived." You grabbed a mug from the cupboard, the one with cartoon cats on it that Emily had claimed as her own. "How about some mac and cheese in a cup, Em?"

"Yes!" she cheered, squirming to get down.

As you measured the noodles and water, a tense silence fell over the kitchen island. You could feel Grace's gaze on you, a palpable weight of hesitation. Finally, she took a deep breath.

"Dad?" she began, her voice a little too high, a little too casual. "Can I ask you something?"

"Always," Leon said, leaning against the counter opposite her, his arms crossed.

"There's... there's this thing tonight. A party. At Jake Muller's house."

Leon raised a single, skeptical eyebrow. He knew Jake Muller. He knew Jake Muller's father, which only made his guard go up higher. "A party? Grace, you don't go to parties."

"It's not just a party," she said quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Babymetal is streaming their Tokyo Dome concert live tonight. Everyone is going to be watching it there."

"Everyone?" Leon repeated, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"You know what I mean!" Grace insisted, her frustration already beginning to bubble. "All my friends. It's a huge deal."

Leon sighed, his expression softening but his stance firm. He knew Grace. She was a good kid, responsible, level-headed. But she was still his daughter, and the world was not a kind place. "Grace, it's a school night."

"But it's a rare event!" she pleaded. "They don't stream live from the Dome very often! And I already bought the merch online. It was limited edition!"

You couldn't help but giggle from your spot by the microwave. The image of Grace, the cool, aloof teenager, gushing about limited edition band merch was unexpectedly adorable.

Leon shot you a brief, fond look before turning back to Grace. His voice was gentle but final. "The answer is no."

Grace's face fell, her hopeful expression crumbling. "Why? That's not fair!"

"It's not that I don't trust you, sweetheart," Leon said, his voice low and earnest. "It's the other people I don't trust. The guys. They're... they're not always thinking with their heads at parties."

"But it's not that kind of party! It's just to watch a concert!" she argued, her voice rising with teenage indignation. "You're being overprotective!"

"It's my job to be overprotective," Leon countered, his own voice hardening slightly. "And it's a school night. End of discussion."

"But Dad—"

"No, Grace."

"But everyone—"

"I said no."

The back-and-forth continued, a frustrating dance of teenage angst and paternal authority. Grace argued with the passionate, illogical conviction of a teenager who felt her world was ending. Leon stood his ground, his responses growing shorter, his patience wearing thin. He was the immovable object to her unstoppable force.

Finally, he'd had enough. He pushed off the counter, his posture rigid. "Grace. I said no. That is the final word. We are not discussing this anymore."

Grace's eyes flashed with anger and hurt. She let out a frustrated groan that was half-scream, slid off the stool, and stormed out of the kitchen.

"Grace," Leon called after her, his voice tight. "Don't slam the—"

BANG.

The sound of the bedroom door slamming shut echoed through the house, a punctuation mark to the argument.

"—door," Leon finished weakly, running a hand through his hair in defeat.

You frowned, placing the finished mug of mac and cheese on the island for Emily, who had been watching the exchange with wide, worried eyes. You walked over to Leon, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and resting your cheek against his strong back.

"Was I too hard on her?" he asked, his voice quiet, laced with the exhaustion of a parent who hated being the bad guy. "I just... I can't help it. The thought of her at some party with a bunch of hormonal teenage boys..."

"I understand," you said softly, squeezing him. "Completely. It's way too late for a school night, and you're right. Teenage boys are... a lot."

He turned in your arms, his blue eyes searching yours. "She just looked so... crushed."

"She'll get over it," you assured him. "She's a good kid. She's just testing the boundaries."

Leon sighed, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "I hate this part."

"I know," you whispered, stroking his arm. "Why don't you stay here with Em and Sherry? I'll go talk to her."

A wave of relief washed over his features. "Would you? Thank you."

"Of course," you said, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. "I'll be right back."

You left him in the kitchen, a small, grateful smile on his face, and headed upstairs, bracing yourself for round two with a heartbroken teenage girl.

_____

The upstairs hallway was quiet, a stark contrast to the charged silence left behind in the kitchen. You paused outside Grace's door, the closed wood a barrier between you and her wounded pride. You raised your hand and knocked softly, the sound barely disturbing the stillness.

"Grace?" you called out gently.

No answer came. You waited a beat, then tried again, a little louder this time. Still nothing. With a soft sigh, you turned the handle and pushed the door open just a crack, peeking inside.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the glow of a desk lamp in the corner. Grace was lying on her bed, face down, her body a defeated lump under a black comforter. She didn't move, but you could feel her awareness of your presence.

You stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind you. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you took in the space that was so uniquely hers. The walls were a collage of her inner world. Posters for bands you didn't recognize—some with aggressive, stylized logos, others with moody, artistic portraits—were tacked up next to prints of anime characters with impossibly large eyes. A shelf was lined with manga volumes and intricately detailed figurines. It was a room that screamed of a teenager finding her identity, a mix of rebellion and escapism.

But your gaze was drawn to the nightstand. Tucked into the corner of the frame was a photograph. A younger Grace, maybe ten or eleven, with a bright, unguarded smile, stood next to a woman with the same blonde hair and the same determined set to her jaw. Alyssa. Grace's mother. It was a quiet, powerful reminder of the ghost that still lived in this house, in all of their hearts.

You moved silently to the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as you sat down. "Hey," you said softly.

Grace shifted, turning her head just enough to mumble into her pillow. "Go away.”

"I'm not going anywhere," you replied, your voice gentle but firm. "Are you okay?"

She let out a sound that was half-sob, half-groan. "Of course I'm not okay! I'm embarrassed and I'm missing the only cool thing that's happened all year! And I don't even understand why!"

You frowned, your heart aching for her. "I get it, Grace. I really do."

She scoffed, rolling over to face you, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with teenage fury. "No, you don't. You get whatever you want. You just have to bat your eyelashes at Dad and he buys you a five-thousand-dollar bag."

A small, knowing smirk touched your lips. "That's true," you conceded, which seemed to take her by surprise. "But I was also a teenage girl once. A long, long time ago," you added with a theatrical sigh. "And I had a dad who said 'no' a lot."

Grace just stared at you, her anger momentarily replaced by curiosity.

"Your dad isn't doing this to hurt you, or because he doesn't trust you," you continued, your voice softening. "He's doing this because he loves you more than anything in the world. He cares about you so much it scares him."

"He's being dramatic," she muttered, looking away. "He's been like this ever since Mom died. He acts like I can't do anything. If there was a zombie apocalypse, I could fight my way through them, I swear."

"I don't doubt it for a second," you said sincerely. "And neither does he. Grace, your dad doesn't think you're incapable. He knows you're smart, and strong, and brave. He's seen it."

"Then why?" she asked, her voice cracking with frustration.

"Because Leon... he's seen things," you said carefully, choosing your words. "He's seen horrors all over the world that you can't even imagine. It changes you. It makes you... cautious. It makes you want to build a fortress around the people you love."

"So?" she said, a hint of defiance returning. "What does that have to do with me going to a party to watch a concert?"

"Because you're a girl," you said softly.

The words hung in the air between you. Grace looked offended, her posture stiffening. "So? What does that have to do with anything?"

You sighed, knowing this was the hard part. "The world can be a cruel place, Grace. And boys... nine times out of ten, when they're teenagers at a party, they only want a girl for one thing."

"That's disgusting," she shot back, her face flushing. "And Jake is NOT like that! He's not some... some creep!"

"I know he's not," you said, holding her gaze. "I'm not saying every guy has those intentions. There are good, decent men out there. Your dad is one. His friend Chris is another. But you can't always tell the difference right away. And it's dangerous out there for young people, especially for young women. Your dad knows that better than anyone. He's just trying to protect you from a world that has already taken so much from him."

You watched as the anger in her eyes slowly faded, replaced by a deep, lingering sadness. She was processing it, you could see. She didn't like it, but she was starting to understand.

"He loves you, Grace," you whispered, reaching out to smooth a stray piece of hair from her forehead. "So much. And I know it's frustrating, but you'll understand one day. You'll understand when you're older."

Grace didn't answer. She just frowned, her gaze fixed on the framed photograph of her mother. You knew you'd said enough for now. You gave her knee a gentle squeeze, then stood up, leaving her to her thoughts.

As you quietly closed the door behind you, you heard the faint click of her phone being unlocked. Downstairs, Leon was waiting, but your mind was on the teenager in the room, the one who was probably texting her friends right now.

Grace stared at her ceiling for a long moment, your words echoing in her head. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she grabbed her phone. Her thumbs flew across the screen, a blue bubble of text appearing in her chat with Rose.

Grace: It's a no. I can't go.

Rose: Ugh, parents. So that's it? You're just gonna miss it?

Grace: I don't know what else to do! He'd ground me for a year if I snuck out.

Moria: (joined the chat) A year? Try two. My dad would probably send me to a convent. But this is BABYMETAL, Grace. Tokyo Dome. This is a historical event.

Rose: Moria's right. This isn't just some party. This is a cultural moment. We have a plan. Moira's borrowing her mom's car. We can be at your place at 11. Just be ready.

Grace bit her lip, her heart pounding. The risk was enormous, but the thought of sitting in her room while her friends lived out this moment was unbearable. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, a war raging inside her.

Grace: ...Okay. I'll be ready.

_____

Dinner was a tense affair. Leon had made his signature spaghetti, a peace offering that Grace seemed to accept, at least on the surface. She ate quickly, pushing the pasta around her plate with a focus that was almost unnerving. When she was done, she stood up, her chair scraping softly against the floor.

"I'm pretty tired," she announced, her voice quiet but clear. "I think I'm just going to head to bed."

She walked over to Leon, who looked up in surprise, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Night, Dad."

Then she came to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders in a brief, tight hug. "Night," she murmured into your ear.

You hugged her back, a flicker of suspicion sparking in your mind. This sudden compliance was... unusual. "Sleep well, sweetie."

Leon watched her go, a confused frown on his face. "Well, that was... fast. And surprisingly pleasant."

You shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Maybe she just needed some time to process. She's probably feeling better about it now."

An hour later, the house was dark and quiet. Leon was already asleep beside you, his breathing deep and even. You had just drifted off yourself when a faint creak from the hallway pulled you back to consciousness. Your eyes snapped open, your senses on high alert.

You slipped out of bed, your bare feet silent on the cool wood floor. Peeking out into the hallway, you saw a shadow moving down the stairs. Grace.

You followed, your heart starting to beat a little faster. She was already at the front door, her hand on the deadbolt, dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt with the familiar red-and-white Babymetal logo.

"Grace," you said, your voice cutting through the silence. "What are you doing?"

She froze, her body going rigid. She turned slowly, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. "I... I'm just going for a walk."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "In the middle of the night? Dressed like that?"

"It's not that late," she lied, her voice trembling slightly. "I just want to hang out with my friends for a bit. Clear my head. I won't be long."

You shook your head slowly, a sad feeling settling in your stomach. "Grace, I can't let you do that. You know I can't. For Leon's sake... and for yours."

Her face crumpled for a second, but then it hardened again. "Fine," she muttered, turning as if to go back upstairs.

But it was a feint. With a sudden burst of speed, she juked to the side, yanked the door open, and bolted outside into the cool night air.

"Grace!" you hissed, running after her.

But you were too late. A pair of headlights flickered on down the street, and a car pulled up to the curb with a screech of tires. The back door flew open. Grace didn't even open it properly; she dove through the open window headfirst, tumbling onto the backseat.

"Go, go, go!" you heard her yell from inside.

Rose's face appeared in the driver's side window, her expression a mixture of exhilaration and apology. "Sorry!" she mouthed before hitting the gas.

The car sped off, leaving you standing on the lawn in your pajamas, groaning in pure frustration.

You turned to go back inside, only to find Sherry standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression grim.

"Oh, this is bad," she said, her voice low. "This is really, really bad."

"Leon is going to be pissed," you agreed, running a hand through your hair. "We have to get her back. Now. But I have no idea where this party is."

A thoughtful look crossed Sherry's face. "We don't need to know where the party is," she said, a spark of an idea in her eyes. "We just need to know where Grace is. We can use Dad's computer to track her phone."

Your eyes widened. "His computer? Sherry, that's..."

"It's our best shot," she insisted. "Come on."

The two of you crept into Leon's study, the room smelling of old books and cedar. His computer sat on the large mahogany desk, a fortress of technology. You moved the mouse, and the screen lit up, asking for a passcode.

You frowned. "Great. Now what?"

Sherry leaned over you, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She typed in a sequence: A-L-Y-S-S-A-1-9-9-8.

The screen unlocked, revealing Leon's desktop. You stared at her, shocked. "How did you know that?"

Sherry shrugged, a small, sad smile on her face. "The code is something he loves. It's my mom's name and the year... I’m not sure what the connection is, he never really talks about it, but he’s not as subtle as he thinks."

You felt a pang in your chest, but there was no time for sentimentality. Sherry's computer skills were surprisingly advanced. Within minutes, she had pulled up a tracking program, a satellite map with a single, blinking red dot.

"There," she said, pointing to a screen. "A residential address. About twenty minutes from here."

"Okay," you said, your mind racing. "I'll go get her. I don't want Leon to find out about this. He'll freak out, and it'll just make things worse."

"I'll cover for you," Sherry said immediately. "I'll sleep in Grace's room. If he wakes up and checks, he won’t be suspicious."

You looked at her, a wave of gratitude washing over you. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"I try," she said with a small smirk. "Now go. Before he wakes up."

You rushed upstairs, pulling on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. As you came back down, Sherry was already disappearing into Grace's room, pulling the door shut behind her. You grabbed your keys from the bowl by the door, slipped on your shoes, and headed out into the night, a woman on a mission to retrieve a very stubborn teenager.

_____

The car ride was a blur of adrenaline and pumped-up pop-metal. Rose expertly navigated the suburban streets while Morira scrolled through her phone, pulling up live tweets from the concert.

"It's starting in ten minutes!" Moria announced, her voice filled with excitement. "The opening pyrotechnics look insane."

Grace sat in the back, her heart still thumping from the escape, but now it was thrumming with anticipation. She was really doing it.

"So," Rose began, glancing at Grace in the rearview mirror. "That was your... stepmom? Back there?"

Grace shook her head, picking at a loose thread on her jeans. "She's my dad's girlfriend. It's... complicated."

"Do you like her?" Moria asked, turning in her seat to face her.

Grace paused, thinking about the woman who had chased her down the driveway, the woman who had sat on her bed and talked to her like an equal. "Yeah," she said, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. "I do. She's actually really kind. And she cares."

They pulled up to a two-story house that was already vibrating with bass. The windows glowed with colored lights, and silhouettes of teenagers moved behind them. This was it.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of cheap soda, pizza, and teenage hormones. A massive TV was mounted over the fireplace, the Babymetal countdown clock ticking away. The energy was electric, a sea of black t-shirts and excited chatter.

Grace was trying to act cool, scanning the crowd for her friends, when she turned and walked straight into a solid wall of muscle.

"Whoa, there," a voice said, a voice she knew instantly.

She looked up into the familiar, handsome face of Jake Muller. His buzz-cut hair was fresh, a smirk playing on his lips, and his blue eyes held that same confident, roguish glint she'd been admiring from afar all year.

"Jake! Hi!" she stammered, her brain short-circuiting. "I, uh, I like your... face."

Rose, who had appeared beside her, choked back a laugh. Grace shot her a death glare.

Jake just chuckled, a low, warm sound that made Grace's stomach flip. "Thanks. I'm pretty fond of it myself. Glad you could make it."

"Of course," Grace managed, her voice squeaking. "Wouldn't miss it."

He gave her a final, charming smile before melting back into the crowd. Grace let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Oh my god, Grace," Rose giggled. "'I like your face'?"

"Shut up," Grace mumbled, her cheeks burning.

The lights dimmed, and the crowd roared as the concert began on screen. The opening chords of a heavy guitar riff blasted through the speakers, and for a while, Grace was lost in the music, the energy of the room, and the sheer thrill of being there.

She was standing near the kitchen doorway, watching the performance, when a guy she didn't recognize sidled up to her. He was taller than her, with a lanky frame and the unmistakable smell of beer clinging to him.

"Hey," he slurred, his eyes a little too glassy. "You want a drink?"

"No, thank you," Grace said politely, turning her attention back to the TV.

"Come on," he pressed, stepping closer, his hand brushing against her arm. "Let's get you something stronger. We can go somewhere... quieter."

Grace stiffened, pulling her arm away. "I'm good. I want to watch the concert."

"I insist," he said, his voice losing its slurred quality and taking on a harder edge. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, his grip surprisingly tight. He started pulling her toward the hallway that led to the bathrooms.

Panic began to rise in her throat. "Hey, let go of me!" she whispered, trying to wrench her arm free.

"Don't be like that," he muttered, shoving her into the small, cramped bathroom and locking the door behind them. He was definitely drunk, his movements clumsy but his intent clear. "I just want to talk."

"Get away from me," Grace said, her voice trembling as she backed against the wall. She could feel the cold tile through her thin shirt.

"Or what?" he sneered, looming over her, blocking her only exit. "You'll scream? No one will hear you over the music. Just relax."

_____

You pulled up to the house, the thumping bass a physical presence even from the street. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the front door and were immediately assaulted by a wall of noise and chaos. Dumbass teenagers, you thought with a sigh, your eyes scanning the sea of faces.

You spotted Moria and Rose near the fireplace. You pushed your way through the crowd.

"Where is she?" you demanded, your voice tight with worry.

Rose's eyes widened. "Oh, crap. We don't know. We thought she was just finding a spot to watch."

Your heart dropped. You looked around frantically, your ears straining to hear anything over the music. That's when you heard it. A muffled sound from the hallway. It was a thud then a whimper.

You bolted down the hall, stopping in front of the bathroom door. It was locked. You jiggled the handle. "Grace?" you called out, your voice sharp.

"What's wrong?" Jake's voice was suddenly beside you. He'd seen you rush past.

"Grace is in there," you said, your voice laced with panic. "And the door is locked."

All the playful charm vanished from Jake's face, replaced by a cold, hard fury. Without a second thought, he took a step back and slammed his shoulder into the door. The lock splintered, and the door flew open.

The scene inside made your blood run cold. A lanky guy had Grace pinned against the wall, his body blocking hers, his hand over her mouth. Tears streamed down her face.

"Get your hands off her!" Jake roared.

Grace cried out your name, a sound of pure terror.

In a blur of motion, Jake grabbed the guy by the back of his shirt and yanked him away from Grace, throwing him against the opposite wall with a sickening thud. He didn't hesitate; his fist connected with the guy's jaw in a brutal, efficient punch. The guy crumpled to the floor.

Grace scrambled away from the wall and launched herself into your arms, hugging you like her life depended on it, her body wracked with sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she cried into your shoulder.

You held her tight, stroking her hair, coos of reassurance falling from your lips. "It's okay, baby. I'm here now. You're safe."

The drunk guy, seeing his chance, scrambled to his feet and fled the bathroom. Jake kicked him in the ass on his way out for good measure before turning his attention back to you and Grace.

"I'm taking her home," you said, your voice shaking with a rage you were barely keeping in check. You looked at Rose and Moria, who were staring in horror. "She'll be okay. And you two are lucky I'm not calling your parents right now."

"We're so sorry... please make sure Grace is okay," Rose whispered, her face pale.

As you led a still-trembling Grace toward the door, Jake stopped you. His face was etched with concern, the anger gone, replaced by a fierce protectiveness that reminded you, startlingly, of Leon.

"Is she okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You were about to unleash a torrent of fury on him and every other person in this house, but Grace stopped you, putting a small hand on your arm.

"I'm okay," she said to Jake, her voice small but steady. "Thank you. And... I'm sorry for almost crashing your party."

Jake shook his head, his expression serious. "This is not your fault. Not at all. That guy was an asshole, and he won't be bothering anyone again." He looked Grace straight in the eye. "There's one thing I'll never do, and that's putting my hands on a woman. Ever."

Grace blushed, a faint pink rising on her tear-stained cheeks. "See you later," she mumbled, wanting to say so much more but not finding the words.

You gave Jake a curt nod of thanks, then grabbed Grace's hand and pulled her toward the car. As you walked away, you couldn't help but smirk at their interaction. Teenagers. Even in the middle of a crisis, the crush was still the most important thing in the world.

_____

The drive home was silent, the only sound the hum of the car's engine and Grace's occasional, shuddering sniffle. She sat hunched in the passenger seat, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring out the window at the dark, blurred streets. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a hollow, trembling fear.

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "How did you find me?"

You kept your eyes on the road, your voice calm and steady. "I tracked your phone."

Grace flinched but didn't seem surprised. She was quiet for another long moment. "Why?" she asked, turning to look at you, her eyes filled with a raw, confused vulnerability. "Why do you care so much? About me, and Sherry, and Em? I mean... you're only here because of Leon, right?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded with all the insecurities she'd been carrying. You pulled the car into the driveway, cutting the engine. The dome light cast a soft glow on her face, illuminating the tear tracks on her cheeks.

You turned to her, your expression open and sincere. "That's how it started, Grace. You're not wrong about that. I walked into a bar looking for a man to take care of me. But that's not how it ended.”

You took a deep breath, the confession feeling both terrifying and necessary.

"I fell in love with your father. But I also fell in love with his family. I fell in love with the three incredible, complicated, amazing girls he was raising all on his own. I care about you because you're smart, and you're funny, and you have a heart of gold that you try to hide behind a wall of sarcasm. I care because you're part of him, and you're becoming part of me. You're not just Leon's daughter to me, Grace. You're my girl, too."

Tears welled up in Grace's eyes again, but this time they weren't from fear or anger. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "For everything. For lying, for sneaking out, for being so horrible to you when you first came."

"You have nothing to apologize to me for," you said softly, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "But you do need to apologize to your dad. He was the one you lied to. He's the one who was scared out of his mind."

Grace's face paled at the thought. "I can't," she breathed. "He'll be so mad."

"He'll be relieved you're safe," you corrected gently. "And then he'll be mad. We'll face that together. Now, let's go inside."

_____

Upstairs, Leon woke with a gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs. The nightmare was fading, but the images remained—the cold, sterile lab, the scent of antiseptic and terror, Alyssa's face, pale and determined, as the sealed door locked her in. He sat up, his breath coming in ragged pants, the sweat cooling on his skin. He reached for you, his hand finding only empty, cool sheets.

He frowned, his pulse still racing. He glanced at the bathroom door; the light was off. He assumed you'd just gone downstairs for a glass of water. He lay back down, trying to slow his breathing, but the argument with Grace from earlier replayed in his mind. Her hurt, angry face. The slammed door.

A pang of guilt and worry shot through him. He shouldn't have been so hard. He swung his legs out of bed, deciding to go check on her. Just to make sure she was okay.

He walked down the hall to her room, pushing the door open quietly. The room was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight from the window. A lump was under the covers, breathing steadily. Leon stepped inside, his heart softening. He moved to the side of the bed, leaning down to brush a stray strand of hair from her face.

"I love you, kiddo," he whispered to himself. "Even when you make me want to pull my hair out."

He was about to leave when he heard it. A small, distinct sneeze. Achoo.

Leon froze. That wasn't Grace's sneeze. He reached down, his hand gripping the edge of the blanket, and pulled it back.

Sherry blinked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of sleep and panic.

Leon's blood ran cold. "Where is she?" he asked, his voice dangerously low and devoid of all emotion.

Sherry opened her mouth to answer, but at that exact moment, the sound of the front door opening and closing echoed from downstairs.

Leon didn't wait. He turned and ran, taking the stairs two at a time, his bare feet silent on the carpet. He burst into the foyer to see you standing there, a pale and trembling Grace beside you.

All the fear from his nightmare, all the worry from the argument, all the pent-up paternal terror—it all coalesced into a white-hot rage. It was a rare state to see Leon in, a switch flipped from loving father to something far more primal.

"Grace Kennedy," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble that made the air in the room feel thick. "Where the HELL have you been?"

Grace flinched, shrinking back against you. "Dad, I—"

"Don't you 'Dad' me," he yelled, his voice rising to a full-throated roar. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Do you have any idea what I've been feeling? I thought something happened to you! I thought you were hurt, or worse! You lied to me! You snuck out of this house like a common criminal!"

"Dad, please, just let me explain—" Grace tried again, her voice trembling.

"I don't want to hear your excuses!" he thundered, his eyes blazing. "You betrayed my trust! You put yourself in god knows what kind of danger! For what? A stupid party?"

"Leon, stop."

Your voice was quiet, but it cut through his fury like a knife. You stepped between him and Grace, placing a hand on his chest. He was rigid, his muscles coiled tight.

"Look at her," you said softly, your eyes pleading with his. "Really look at her. She's been through enough tonight. Just... let her say her peace. Please."

Leon's gaze flickered from your face to Grace's terrified one. The anger in his eyes didn't vanish, but it receded slightly, tempered by the love he had for you. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping just a fraction. He looked at Grace, his expression still stern but no longer volcanic.

"Speak," he commanded, his voice firm but no longer a yell. "Tell me the truth. And don't you dare leave anything out."

And so, Grace did. Her voice shook as she told him everything—about wanting to see the concert, about sneaking out, about the guy at the party. She told him about being cornered in the bathroom, about the fear, and about how you and Jake had saved her.

As she spoke, Leon's face transformed. The anger melted away, replaced by a cold, creeping horror that was far worse. When she finished, he didn't hesitate. He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled her into a fierce, crushing hug.

"Oh, Grace," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Oh, my baby girl." He held her tight, his eyes closing. "Something terrible could have happened. If she hadn't been there..."

"I know," Grace sobbed into his chest. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm so, so sorry."

He held her for a long time, just rocking her gently. "I love you," he said, his voice rough. "More than anything. That's why I'm so hard on you. That's why I'm so scared."

He pulled back, his jaw tightening as the protective rage returned, but this time it was directed outward. He looked at the clock. It was well after midnight. He knew what had almost happened, and it made him want to break something.

"Alright," he said, his tone all business. "You're not going to school tomorrow. But you are being punished. You're on chores for the next two weeks. All of them. You're cleaning the bathrooms, you're cooking dinner and you're cleaning Emily's room."

Grace didn't argue. She just nodded, knowing it was more than fair. "Okay."

"Go on," he said, his voice softening. "You and Sherry, get to bed. We'll talk more in the morning."

The girls disappeared upstairs, and the house fell silent again. Leon turned to you, his eyes filled with a gratitude so profound it took your breath away.

"Thank you," he said, his voice low and intense. "For watching out for my girl. For... being you. I mean it."

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "Always," you whispered, and then you kissed him, a deep, meaningful kiss that held all the fear, relief, and love of the long, terrible night.

_____

The next day, the house was quiet. Grace was on her hands and knees in the living room, scrubbing a spot on the hardwood floor with a focus that was almost meditative. You watched her for a moment from the kitchen doorway before walking over.

"Hey," you said gently. "Take a break. I made you some lunch."

She looked up, surprised. "But Dad said—"

"I'll handle your dad," you said with a reassuring smile. "Come on. You've been at it all morning."

Grace hesitated, then put the scrub brush down, her shoulders slumping in relief. She followed you to the kitchen, where you had set up a tray with a sandwich, chips, and a glass of lemonade. As she sat down, you picked up the remote and turned on the large TV mounted on the wall.

"I know you missed it," you said softly. "So I thought we could have a private screening."

The screen flickered to life, and there it was. The familiar stage, the roaring crowd, the three girls in their iconic red-and-black outfits. The Babymetal concert from the Tokyo Dome, playing in high definition.

Grace's jaw dropped. Her eyes went wide, a look of pure, unadulterated awe on her face. "How...?" she breathed, her gaze flicking from the screen to you. "This was a live stream. It's not supposed to be re-aired."

You just winked, taking a sip of your own iced tea. "I have my ways," you said, echoing a phrase you'd heard from a certain someone else.

Grace turned her head slowly, her eyes landing on her father, who was leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, his arms crossed. He wasn't looking at the TV, but at her. A soft, genuine smile was playing on his lips, a look of pure, uncomplicated love in his eyes.

He held her gaze for a moment, then his expression shifted back into that of a firm-but-fair father. "Don't forget to take the trash out after you eat," he reminded her gently.

Grace's face broke into a wide, radiant smile, the first truly happy one you'd seen from her in over twenty-four hours. "Yes, Dad," she said eagerly, her voice filled with a new lightness.

She turned her attention back to the TV, her sandwich forgotten, completely absorbed in the concert she thought she'd lost forever. You walked over to Leon, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest.

He held you close, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. Together, you watched Grace sitting in the quiet safety of her home, finally getting to see the show she'd risked so much for.