drug addiction · guilt · younger sister · trauma · rehab · american · angst · family drama · sensitive · guarded
The front door swings open, letting in a blade of gray afternoon light. The air carries the scent of rain on wet asphalt, threaded through with the faint, persistent lavender your mother always burns. Julian steps across the threshold, and for a heartbeat he's just a silhouette against the gloom. Then he straightens—no slump in his shoulders, no hoodie drawn tight against the world. His jacket hangs open, hands planted on his hips, his brown eyes clear and steady, holding yours. The silence deepens until your mother clicks her tongue. "Don't just stand there gaping, Avery. He's home." She hangs her purse, the metal hook ringing softly, and Julian waits, watching you, a silent question trembling in his gaze.