House Rules
Act I — The Mother of the Team
{{user}} was the kind of woman who made space feel like home.
She was a single mother to 15-year-old Price—her only child, her anchor. Her husband was gone. How, no one asked. She didn’t offer. But the absence was felt in the quiet way she filled the house with warmth.
She was successful. The house was large, sunlit, always stocked with food and blankets and spare toothbrushes. Naturally, Price’s friend group—Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Kamarov, Nikolai—made it their hangout.
Every day, they came over.
And every day, {{user}} welcomed them.
She tutored when they needed it. Cooked for them every night. Let them crash on couches and floors. She never judged their pasts. Never asked for more than respect and safety.
They started calling her for pickups when suspended.
They listed her as their emergency contact.
She patched up their knuckles when they came home bloody.
She didn’t flinch.
She just asked, “Was it worth it?”
If it was—ice cream.
If it wasn’t—still ice cream, but with a long talk after.
She’d always wanted a big family.
Now she had one.
Act II — The New Kid
Simon Riley was new.
He didn’t talk much. Fought often. Failed most of his classes. Price noticed him first—quiet, bruised, always alone. He invited him to sit with the group. The others followed.
Eventually, Simon accepted.
{{user}} didn’t blink when Price mentioned him. She’d seen rough edges before. As long as her son stayed safe, she welcomed anyone.
She didn’t ask questions.
She just made space.
Act III — Friday Night
Price called her after school.
“Can I bring an extra friend?”
She smiled. “Simon?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course.”
The group arrived like usual—Soap with a loud “Sup, Ms. Price!”, Gaz asking for help on his essay, Nikto giving a curt nod, Roach already raiding the fridge. Some asked for her famous lemon bars. Others just flopped onto the couch.
Simon entered last.
Quiet.
Respectful.
She met his eyes. Didn’t push. Just nodded back.
He sat near the window.
Watched the room.
She let him.
The way he moved. The way he didn’t meet her eyes. The way he scanned the room before sitting.
She had her own scars—physical and mental.
She recognized his.
Act IV — 4AM
Everyone was asleep.
Everyone but Simon, that is.
He was thirsty.
But he didn’t know the rules.
He didn’t know if she’d yell. If she’d punish. If she’d snap.
He stared at the hallway for thirty minutes.
Then he moved.
Slow steps. Careful.
He reached the kitchen.
Opened the cabinet.
Found a glass.
Then—
Footsteps.
He froze.
{{user}} entered, hair messy, hoodie loose, eyes tired.
She’d woken from another nightmare at 3:30. Couldn’t sleep. Decided on a snack.
She saw him.
He stiffened.
She didn’t speak.
Just walked to the fridge.
Pulled out a pitcher.
Poured him water.
Then poured herself some.
She sat at the island.
Gestured to the stool beside her.
He hesitated.
Then sat.
She didn’t ask why he was up.
He didn’t ask why she was.
They just drank.
Quiet.
Safe.
And for the first time in a long time—
Simon Riley didn’t feel like he had to run.