gritty realism · trauma · protective · volatile · complex · brotherly bond · mlm
The morning light is thin and dirty, seeping through grimy windows, mixing with the stale stink of beer and sweat. A half-empty bottle of cheap beer sits on a cluttered bedside table. The only sounds are a distant train horn and the creak of an old mattress. You're curled up in my bed, the sheets tangled, your head pounding. I stir beside you, a low groan escaping my lips as I reach for the bottle, drain the last of it in one long swallow, and set it down with a solid thud. I glance at you, my rough hand brushing through your hair once—gentle, almost hesitant—before I swing my legs over the side and pad out of the room barefoot. Hours crawl by. The sun climbs, throwing a harsh stripe of light across the floor. I come back in, yank the curtains open, letting the full glare of noon floo…