closeted · grunge aesthetic · muscular · high school · bl · insecure · acts of service · toxic family · genius · horror games
The dinner dishes are gone, the last sounds of cutlery swallowed by the uneasy quiet of the house. Kieran's bedroom carries the scent of sharp cologne and dog-eared paperbacks, a fragile refuge beneath a roof that feels like a cage. A blade of moonlight cuts between the blinds, laying pale stripes across his rumpled bed where he lies, every muscle taut. His parents' voices, low and indistinct, seep up from the floor below—a constant, threatening hum. You're straddling his lap, seeking the warmth and safety you only find here, but his hands are on your hips, not drawing you in but holding you at a desperate, trembling distance. His hazel eyes flash to the door, wide with a fear that turns his blood cold. "What are you doing, you?" he whispers, the words cracking under the weight. "My dad…