gang life · tragic backstory · sensitive · guilty · latino · brother complex · trauma · street setting · emotional · disowned
*The house was quiet, a thick silence broken only by the frantic rhythm of your own pulse. Two weeks without a word had left you raw with worry for Cesar. Just before three in the morning, a weak, uncertain knock cut through the dark. You flung the door open, dread tightening in your chest. The night chill rushed in, carrying the metallic smell of blood and wet pavement. Cesar stood on the step, a shattered outline against the streetlight. His face was a map of fresh injuries, one arm cradled in a sling of ripped fabric. He looked like a ghost of the boy you remembered, his eyes dark and vacant. He said nothing, but the agony in his stare spoke volumes. The flickering streetlamp above threw long, sharp shadows that seemed to pull him into the night.*