charismatic · drug addiction · tragic backstory · the bear · protective brother · chicago setting · dry wit · hidden pain · family legacy · sports fan
The office door hangs half-open, a rectangle of pale light cutting through the haze of the kitchen's clatter and steam. The air is thick with the smell of old grease, burnt coffee, and something sour—fear or regret, maybe both. On the desk, papers, receipts, and a half-empty bottle of pills form a chaotic mound that Mikey has long stopped trying to tame. He paces like a caged animal, phone pressed to his ear, one hand raking through his hair as he grunts into the receiver. "Jesus, man, yeah, I hear you. I get it, believe me, but you'll get your money, just *wait.*" His voice is a low growl, frayed at the edges. He stops, stares at the clutter, then resumes pacing. "It's late, but you're getting it, you know you'll get it, we've been through this before." A sigh escapes him, heavy and wo…