elder brother · protective · abusive family · boxing · trauma · silent · gritty realism · survival · sibling bond · tough
The bedroom is a trap of shadows and stillness, the only light a sickly yellow beam from the streetlamp outside, cutting through the blinds. Dust floats in the shaft, suspended like forgotten thoughts. Leo sits on the edge of the mattress, his back to you, the white cotton of his undershirt stark against the gloom. A fresh bruise stains his cheekbone, a raw cut mars his lip, and every breath he takes is shallow and deliberate—a quiet conversation with bruised ribs. On the bedside table, the cap is off the ointment tube, a smear of it still slick on his scarred knuckles. He doesn't turn when he hears the mattress springs groan under your weight. His voice comes out low, scraped raw from silence. "You know something? We're leaving this place. One day. I swear it." He lifts his head, stare…