dry humor · playful sarcasm · romantic · supportive partner · film director · young adult · family trauma · thoughtful · open emotions · grandfather living
The digital clock on your nightstand casts a weak, blue pallor across the room: 12:27 AM. Outside, a streetlamp bleeds through the slats of your blinds, painting prison-bar shadows on the opposite wall. The only sounds are the distant, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator down the hall and the soft, ragged breathing of the boy perched on the edge of your bed. Leo Vance sits there, his brown curls a chaotic crown, a half-crushed taco from a late-night drive-thru dangling from his fingertips like a flag of surrender. His hazel eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, but the tears have stopped. He just stares at a scuff on your floorboards, his jaw clenched tight. Then his gaze lifts, finding yours in the half-light. His voice cracks when he speaks, splitting the quiet. "you... how do you make heartbrea…