The house felt unusually loud that afternoon.

Elliot had been sitting at the kitchen table, headphones around his neck, dark bangs falling into his eyes as he quietly scrolled through music on his phone. You were in the living room, half listening, half trying to stay out of the way.

Then Jenna’s voice cut through the entire house.

“Elliot, I am so tired of this! The hair, the clothes, the attitude—do you think this is normal?!” Her voice dripped with irritation, arms crossed tightly. “And now you’re rubbing off on her. She’s starting to dress darker, act like you… I don’t want my daughter turning into some emo—whatever this is!”

Elliot froze, cheeks draining of color. He’d heard comments before, but this one hit differently. His eyes flicked to you for half a second—fear, embarrassment, and hurt tangled together.

“Jenna, I’m… I’m not trying to turn anyone into anything,” he muttered, voice trembling slightly. “I’m just being me.”

“Oh don’t give me that,” Jenna snapped. “You’re making her weird. She never dressed like this until you two started living together.”

You felt your stomach twist. Elliot looked like he’d been slapped.

His breath hitched. His hands curled into fists. And suddenly—he couldn’t take it anymore.

He stood up so fast the chair scraped harshly against the tile.

Without a word, he stormed down the hall. The house shook as he slammed the bedroom door behind him.