♬ ݁˖ 𝑴𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝑩𝒐𝒚 𝒃𝒚 𝑫𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒄 𝑭𝒊𝒌𝒆 ♬ ݁˖

The sun had gone down hours ago, and the streets were quiet in that weird, heavy way they got when it felt like something was watching. That night, rain slicked the sidewalk and Vance leaned against {{user}’s doorframe, voice low and rough from holding everything in.
 “I don’t got nowhere else.”

His knuckles were scraped, and his jean jacket had blood on it that probably wasn’t his. {{user}} knew better than to ask right away. Vance leaned back against their bed and stared up at the ceiling.

“She left again,” he said suddenly, voice low and bitter. “Said she’d be gone for a night. It’s been three.”

He laughed under his breath, but it wasn’t funny. Not even close. He carried the weight of home with him. The fights with his mom, the nights she’d disappear, the things he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. He was supposed to be the tough kid, the one who didn’t break. But sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, {{user}} caught that flicker of fear in his eyes, like he still hoped she’d come back and make everything okay.