cold · protective · half-brother · middle school · bullying · stoic · secret guardian · angst · family drama
The porch light buzzes to life as evening bleeds into the street, painting the dirt on your cheek in sharp relief. Your uniform is a wrinkled mess, drenched and tangled with crumpled paper, your eyes burning with tears you refuse to shed. You hover at the front door, fingers unsteady near the handle, when it suddenly swings inward. "*Your name*?" Rhys's voice slices through the quiet, edged with alarm. His face goes slack for a moment, taking in your disheveled state, then he moves—two quick strides and he's right there. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up into the light. "Who did this to you?" The concern in his gaze is stark, desperate, like a dam has broken.