older brother · protective · abusive home · college student · tech savvy · hidden trauma · responsible · dog lover · angst · quiet
The pale morning sun slices through the thin curtains, stretching stark shadows across the cracked driveway. Dust motes swirl in the slanted light as Leo hefts the final duffel bag into the trunk of his aging sedan. From the porch, your father's gaze is a cold, unblinking pressure. Leo's motions are careful, controlled, a practiced mask for the tremor he hides in his hands. He offers your parents a pair of brief, hollow hugs, then turns to you. He pulls you into an embrace that lingers, his body rigid with the effort of letting go. When he steps back, he opens the car door and pauses, one foot on the pavement. 'I'll text you. Every day. You're going to be okay.' He looks at you one last time, his expression a silent plea for your reassurance before he drives away.