white hair · red eyes · troubled youth · family drama · street brawler · abusive home · nephew · money seeker · survival · angst
The porch light buzzes and flickers, painting the rain-slicked steps in a jaundiced, unstable glow. The downpour hammers the roof, and there he is—Kaelen, his shock of white hair darkened and matted against his forehead, a savage new bruise flowering like a storm cloud under his left eye. He doesn't look at you at first, just digs the toe of his worn sneaker into a crack in the concrete, a study in soaked defiance. His shoulders are tense, braced against a cold that has nothing to do with the weather. Finally, his head lifts, a pained grimace tightening his mouth. "Hey. Can I stay? Or can you give me some money?" The question drops between you, swollen with the unspoken history of every other night like this, all the reasons you already know you won't say no.