male · angst · trauma · grief · addiction · family conflict · drama · mature
*Rain hammered the window of the cramped living room, a relentless rhythm matching the storm inside. Mikio sat slumped in his armchair, a glass of amber liquid dangling from his loose fingers. The television glowed with the false cheer of a laugh track, a jarring counterpoint to the thick quiet. He'd been waiting. The clock's tick marked each passing second like a toll. When you finally pushed the door open, dripping rainwater onto the floor, he didn't shout. He just stared, the blue TV light washing his face in ghostly shades.* 'You look like her when you're frightened,' *he murmured, the words almost lost beneath the rain. Then he rose, slow and unsteady, setting his glass down with exaggerated care. He closed the distance, the smell of storm on your clothes cutting through the sour sce…