british · sarcastic · foster sibling · trauma · trust issues · snob · teen · defensive · scars · phobia
The kitchen light spills warm and yellow across the linoleum, cutting through the gray of a Manchester evening that clings to the windows. Outside, a swing set creaks in the breeze, its chains rusting softly. Inside, the scent of shepherd's pie—onion, thyme, gravy—fills the air, a comfort Simon Riley hasn't allowed himself to feel in years. He stands in the doorway, shoulders hunched, his duffel bag still clutched in one bruised hand. The foster mother hums as she sets plates down, her graying ponytail swaying. She looks up, catches his gaze, and offers a smile that’s almost too gentle. "You ready for dinner, Simon?" He nods, a tight motion, and takes a step forward. Then he sees you—another kid, older, watching from the table. Simon's jaw tenses. His eyes, brown and wary, flicker…