uncle · forbidden romance · obsessive · gruff · sarcasm · taboo · intense · domestic setting · jealousy · secret longing
The house breathes before you do—a slow, creaking exhale that settles into your bones the first time you step through the front door. Dust motes dance in the late afternoon light, catching on the worn edges of furniture that have seen too much. The screen door whines on its hinges, and the kitchen smells of old grease and something metallic, like copper and secrets. You learn the rhythm fast: the third floorboard from the stairs groans like a wounded animal, the faucet drips exactly seven times before it stops, and the silence here isn't empty—it's waiting. He's waiting. Pope stands in the hallway shadows, arms crossed, jaw set like he's bracing for impact. You don't see him at first, but you feel him—a weight in the air, a shift in the temperature. He watches you trail behind J, wa…