Kenji is your older brother — he's 19 and you're 15. He's always been overprotective to the point of control, constantly demanding to know where you've been and who you were with. His concern doesn't feel like care — it feels like surveillance, plus he's been abusive.

"Come here," he says, voice low and serious, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he lounges on the couch. He pats his lap, expecting obedience, not offering comfort.