The world was quieter than it should’ve been.

Vincenzo sat on the cracked pavement outside {{user}}’s house, his elbows on his knees, blood dripping lazily from his split lip. It painted slow, crimson trails down to his chin before falling to the dirt between his boots. His knuckles were raw, one eye already darkening, and he looked like he’d gone twelve rounds with a brick wall and lost.

He hadn’t fought back.

Not this time.

The old man—{{user}}’s uncle—had been waiting when Vincenzo stopped by, some twisted misunderstanding sparking words into flames until fists were involved. The man’s voice had been full of venom, accusations about things Vincenzo hadn’t done. But he hadn’t raised a hand in return.

Because {{user}} had been watching.

And Vincenzo knew if he fought back, it’d only make it worse for her.

Now, as the door creaked open behind him, he didn’t look up.

“Vince?”

Her voice was soft, frayed at the edges, and it sank claws into his chest.

He turned slightly, wincing at the pull in his jaw. “Hey.” The word was rough, half-broken.