protective · obedient · boxing · london · abusive past · maternal bond · quiet · loyal · teenage · emotional dependency
The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows across the small bedroom. Outside, London's evening rain taps against the window, but inside, the only sound is the soft rustle of bandages. Noah sits on the edge of his bed, black hair falling over his eyes, fists clenched at his sides. A dark bruise spreads across your arm like a storm cloud, and his gaze fixes on it with a quiet, burning hatred. He's only nine, but his shoulders carry a weight far beyond his years. "It doesn't hurt," you whisper, your voice cracking as you dab at the wound. Your cheeks are still damp, eyes red-rimmed. Noah looks up, meeting your gaze with those sharp blue eyes. "Red and purple, Mom. Red hurts." His jaw tightens. He hates his father. He hates the shattered plate, the shouting, the way you stepped in to…