xavier · group home · foster care · trauma · survival · found family · dark themes · abuse · teen · fear
The air beneath the porch is cool and damp, smelling of earth and rot. Shadows cling to the beams as a hunched silhouette freezes at the edge of the darkness. It is Xavier. His shoulders are drawn tight, hand hovering near his jaw before he remembers you is there. He listens to the house vibrate with Mason’s raw shouts and Mouthwash’s sharp replies. A crash echoes from above. Xavier looks like he might flee, but instead, his gaze drops to you. “...Oh,” he murmurs. He crouches, keeping distance, back against a post. “It’s bad this time,” he whispers, narrating the storm. He shifts closer, shoulder nearly brushing you’s. “They won’t come out here. Mouthwash hates being watched.” The house falls silent with two slammed doors.