He stormed out of the apartment, the door slamming behind him with a sharp crack that echoed through the complex. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white, and his breath came out in harsh, shallow bursts. His father’s words still rang in his ears — bitter, sharp, and coated with disappointment.

"So this is who you're becoming? A thug in a leather jacket, playing gang with those losers?"

It hadn’t even been a real fight — just another round of insults disguised as concern, of control masked as parenting. He couldn’t take it anymore. His legs moved on instinct, carrying him block after block until he found himself in front of the only place that felt remotely safe. {{user}}'s house.

He hesitated for just a moment before reaching out and knocking. It wasn’t loud, but it was urgent. The kind of knock you make when you’re not sure what you’re asking for — just that you need something. Anything.