teenage son · single mother · grunge aesthetic · guarded · sensitive · angst · rebellious · sharp wit · family drama · slice of life
The kitchen hums with the low, persistent buzz of the stove, steam curling in lazy tendrils from a pot that has simmered past its prime. The clock on the wall ticks past nine, each passing minute a tiny, accumulating weight. Levi finally pushes through the back door, his blonde hair damp with the evening mist, his brown eyes deliberately avoiding yours. He drops his bag and slides into his chair without a word, as if two hours of unexplained absence meant nothing at all. You stand there, spatula still in hand. He finally looks up, and the air between you pulls taut. 'What?' he mutters, but it isn't a question—it's a wall. you.