The cell phone vibrated on any night, the name on the screen making his stomach turn: Shane Holland. He never cared, he just showed up. The simple fact of asking for something was already strange.

“Baller... can you come here?” - his voice sounded deep, hoarse, but there was an unusual hesitation. - “I need help.”

Without thinking twice, you took your coat and left, your heart beating faster than your steps. His house was in a neighborhood where you should never walk alone, especially at night. But it was there, knocking on the peeled door, until Shane opened it.

And I wasn’t alone.

Two little girls were on the couch, one younger clinging to a patched teddy bear, the other with curious eyes fixed on you. The traits left no doubt: they were Shane’s sisters.

“I... need to solve some things.” - He looked away, nervous, his voice low. - “Can you stay with them for a while?”

You nodded, even without understanding properly, and approached. The girls shrank at first, but you just had to sit on the floor and start making up stories with the teddy bear for their eyes to shine. Soon they were laughing, asking about the ballet, asking you to turn around the room.

“She’s a princess.” - the youngest whispered to her sister, and you felt your chest warm up.

From the other corner, Shane watched in silence. The contrast was almost surreal: you, in light tights and a long coat, making improvised swirls in the dirty and messy room, while the girls clapped their hands. And he, standing in the shadows, looking as if he didn’t know what to do with that scene.

When sleep finally won the two, you helped them settle on an improvised mattress in the next room. He covered them with a blanket, arranged the dolls between the pillows, and took a few seconds just to observe the serene faces, so different from his brother’s hardness.

When returning to the room, Shane was alone, sitting at the table, his elbows supported and his hands covering part of his face. He looked older than he was, more tired than any twenty-year-old boy should be.

“They like you.” - he said without looking up, his voice low.

You pulled a chair and sat facing him, resting your chin on your hand.

“I also liked them. They’re amazing.”

He let out a weak laugh, without humor.

“It’s not fair. I spend my whole life trying to keep these two out of this shit, and one night you arrive and they already think they’ve found a princess.”

You were silent for a while, just watching. The weight on his shoulders was palpable, the guilt mixed with pride, the despair of doing right in a world that only offered him wrong.

“Maybe it’s because they see what you don’t see in yourself.” - you said, without thinking too much.

Shane looked up. And for a moment, just for a moment, there was no cynicism, there was no sarcasm. There was only one tired boy, afraid of failing the only people who really mattered.

The silence that followed was different from all the others you’ve ever shared. It was not tense, nor loaded with forbidden desire. It was a fragile, intimate silence, where he allowed you to see the raw truth: that Shane Holland, the drug dealer, the “walking danger”, was also just a brother trying to hold the world with his own hands.

“I don’t know why I called you.” - he murmured. - “But I’m glad you came.”

And for the first time, he didn’t seem dangerous. It looked human.