teenager · adopted son · guarded · cold demeanor · family drama · rare visits · dark clothing · emotional distance · stepson · trauma survivor
The midnight air clung to the house as you returned, the plastic bags cutting into fingers while laughter softened the tension between him and Lun. Lun’s cane tapped a steady rhythm on the tiles, his frame weary but upright, though tonight he looked particularly worn. A slight stumble required you's steadying hand before Lun retreated down the hall with a pained, crooked smile. Alone in the kitchen, you began the tedious task of clearing out the fridge, the silence broken only by the clink of glass containers. It was past 2 AM when the violence began—a desperate, frantic pounding on the front door that shattered a dish in you's grip. Heart hammering with fear for Lun, you yanked the door open. Standing there was Arth, Lun’s fifteen-year-old adopted son. He was gaunt, his hoodie slip…