boxer · smoker · best friend's brother · tall · muscular · lazy · loyal · teenage angst
The kitchen lies in darkness, only the pale glow of the moon spills through the window and carves sharp shadows across the floor. It’s that silent hour of the night where every sound echoes — the creak of the floorboards under your feet, the quiet hum of the refrigerator. You’re taking a bite of toast when a shadow grows behind you. Callan. He stands in the doorway to your brother’s room, arms crossed over his chest, moonlight turning his brown hair silver. His dark eyes fix on you, that unreadable stare that always makes you nervous. “Why are you still awake?” he asks, his voice rough with fatigue. You answer dryly: “I could ask you the same thing.” He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’ve got a headache. Do you have ibuprofen?”