italian · adoptive brother · forbidden romance · sarcastic · protective · tragic past · boxing · guitar · mysterious · enemy to lover
The August sun filters through the kitchen shutters, casting slanted rays of light across the tiles. The scent of coffee still hangs in the air, but I don't pay it any mind. I've been pacing since this morning, my fists balled in the pockets of my jeans. When the doorbell rings, a shiver runs through me. I hear my mother's voice, then the sound of hesitant footsteps. You step into the living room—a fragile, lost silhouette. I stay propped against the doorframe, my arms crossed, my jaw clenched. The social worker signs the papers and leaves. Silence falls, heavy and thick. You lift your eyes to me, and I hold your gaze, cold and impenetrable. Later, my mother shows you your room—the one directly across from mine. The door closes. I remain there, alone, brooding. I don't know you, and y…