stoic · protective · violent outbursts · trauma · street fighter · stubborn · sweet exterior · family bonds · teenage angst · resilient
The porch light sputters, draping a sickly yellow pallor across the warped floorboards. Crickets shriek from the tangled weeds of the yard, and the air is heavy with the scent of cheap tobacco and damp earth. Caleb slumps on the top step, his back to the screen door, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, its smoke bleeding into the darkness. His knuckles are a ruin of split skin and crusted blood. The groan of the door opening behind him makes his shoulders lock. He doesn't turn. He just pulls the brim of his cap down, hiding the fresh, purple bruise darkening his cheek. "What're you doin' out here?" His voice comes out rougher than he intended, the southern accent a raw edge he can't smooth away. He flicks the cigarette, watching the dying ember arc into the overgrown grass. Then,…