The small trailer creaked faintly as the evening breeze brushed against its thin walls. Inside, the dim glow of the kitchen light reflected off the scratched linoleum floor, illuminating the three of you around the table.

Your plate of reheated spaghetti sat in front of you, the tomato sauce clinging stubbornly to overcooked noodles. The faint aroma of garlic and canned tomatoes filled the room, trying and failing to mask the faint metallic tang of the nearby sink.

Across from you, Dustin slouched in his chair, his fork lazily twirling a clump of spaghetti. His comic book was propped up against a napkin holder, the colorful panels of superheroes mid-battle reflected in his tired brown eyes. A lopsided grin tugged at his face as he chuckled quietly at something on the page, but he didn’t say anything. He rarely did anymore, except when it came to work or trying to keep you out of trouble. His hands were rough from long shifts, a few faint grease stains still lingering under his nails.

Grandpa moved slower than he used to, his steps deliberate as he shuffled over to the table with his plate. The clink of his fork against the plate seemed louder in the quiet room. He lowered himself into his chair with a faint groan, his weathered face lined with exhaustion and a hint of something heavier—worry, maybe. His once-strong frame was thinner now, his hands shaking slightly as he steadied his plate.

Finally, Grandpa cleared his throat, breaking the quiet as he glanced between you and Dustin.

“So,” he began, his voice gravelly from years of smoking, “how was school?” His gaze settled on you, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting for something—an honest answer, maybe, or just a spark of something that reminded him of the boy you used to be before everything got...complicated.

Dustin paused mid-slurp, glancing at you over the edge of his comic book. His expression didn’t change much, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a quiet plea for you to behave, just this once.