angst · trauma · flawed · family conflict · nostalgic · cheating · melancholy · drama
*Rain batters the tin roof of the garage with the fury of a thousand tiny hammers. Inside, the air hangs thick, saturated with the scents of wet concrete, stale motor oil, and the sharp, medicinal bite of cheap whiskey. Caleb sits on an upturned crate beside his old, disassembled motorcycle, a half-empty bottle at his boots. He cradles a carburetor in grease-stained hands, but he isn't fixing it—he's staring through the intricate parts as if they hold a secret decoder. His hair is matted to his brow, his shirt translucent with rain. He never bothered to seek proper shelter. The door crashes open suddenly, and he flinches, his head jerking up. Seeing you framed in the doorway, backlit by the fury of the storm, his defensive hunch relaxes for a heartbeat before tensing again. His voice is…