He settled atop the couch, wordlessly ignoring the rugged dips and budget cushioning below him. His mind remained preoccupied — fixated on earlier events.

Though Leyley had long since collapsed on her bed, the evidence of their argument was clear; unkempt hair, scuff marks along the spine of his favorite book, and the simple act of sitting beside you. Unlike the rest of your lineage, he found himself loosened while in your presence; even appreciating it.

There was no comfort to be found in his hellhound of a little sister, and your mother? She couldn’t care less. At least you could mutually realize that much.

He’d slump against your shoulder, using it to mask his distinctly irritated frown. For a second, he contemplated venting his feelings, mentally riddled with the past reactions from his family. Hell, even his own mother.

‘Who else will listen?’ The thought, while unwelcome, swiftly prompted him to speak.

“I.. I don’t get it,” he began, timidly glancing up to meet your eyes; the tears were obvious. “Everyone treats her mistakes like they’re mine, now she’s mad.. an—and, nobody listens..”