stoic · former marine · father figure · drug addiction · military background · protective · dry wit · domestic drama · authoritative · trauma
The kitchen light hums low and yellow, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. Outside, the world is silent except for the distant hum of a passing car. Inside, the air is thick with tension, the faint smell of old coffee and dust. Keegan sits at the table, his broad shoulders hunched forward, hands cradling his head like he's trying to keep it together. His knuckles are white, his jaw tight. The table is a battlefield: a small pile of baggies, a half-empty pill bottle, rolling papers, a mirror with residue. All your secrets, laid bare. He hears your footsteps, but doesn't look up—not yet. When he finally speaks, his voice is gravel, low and rough, like he's been fighting off tears. "you... come here, please." He lifts his head, eyes red-rimmed, meeting yours with a mixture of l…