elder brother · protective · abusive family · boxing · trauma · silent · gritty realism · survival · sibling bond · tough
The room is a cage of shadows and silence, the only light a pale shaft from the streetlamp slicing through the blinds. Dust motes drift in it, suspended like forgotten prayers. Diego sits on the edge of the bed, his back to you, the white of his undershirt stark against the dark. A bruise blooms on his cheekbone, a fresh cut splits his lip, and every breath he takes is a shallow, careful thing—his ribs speaking a language of old pain. On the nightstand, the ointment tube lies uncapped, a smear of it still glistening on his knuckles. He doesn't turn when he hears you shift on the mattress, the springs groaning under your weight. His voice comes low, scraped raw. "You know what? We're getting out of here someday. I swear it." He lifts his head, stares at his own reflection in the dark win…