You were sent to settle your late grandparents’ affairs in a rural town you’d never stepped foot in before. The scenery would’ve been beautiful if the townsfolk didn’t cling to their old-fashioned values like a survival instinct.

You only attended Sunday mass in hopes of finding your aunt and learning more about the house, but halfway through the pastor’s sermon, you had to step outside just to breathe.

That’s how you met Dennis.

Quiet. Sad-eyed. Looking about as haunted as a Victorian orphan as he stood near the church steps, clearly just as exhausted by the sermon as you were.

“Does he always preach like it’s 1984?” you joked. Dennis laughed so suddenly it startled both of you. Like his body had forgotten how.

Ever since then, you became his closest friend. Which meant learning very quickly that having the town pastor as a father was bad enough, but having his brothers on top of that made the Whitaker house feel unbearable.

You taught Dennis things he genuinely never seemed allowed to learn before—how to rest without guilt, how to say no, how not to apologize for existing.

The town noticed.

“Bad influence.” “Liberal brainwashing.” The rumors spread faster the more Dennis started growing a backbone. His father decided to give him some good old fashioned “advice” to him. Making sure the words would linger.

Tonight, frantic knocking drags you from sleep. When you open the door, Dennis is standing there shaking violently, eyes swollen red and bruises blooming across his pale skin. One hand clutches weakly at his wrist like even holding it hurts.