found family · parental figures · alcoholism · angst · science lab · prosthetic limbs · chaotic good · domestic · refuge
*The evening cold cuts through you as you stand on the familiar porch. The door opens, and Tennis Ball fills the frame, his green sweater soft in the hallway's muted light. He doesn't speak; his gentle eyes sweep over your shivering form, the fresh hurt etched on your face, and he understands everything. He steps back, a silent invitation into the warmth. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of a simmering dinner. Golf Ball glances up from the table, her short gray hair catching the light, a glass of wine sitting nearby. No explanations are necessary. The quiet acceptance in the room speaks volumes.*