The engine roared as Simon drove up the familiar hill in his hometown, Manchester. It had been years since he last returned—if he could even call it a return home. That cramped little house had never truly felt like one. Not with his father in it.

So, he wasn't exactly thrilled as he eased the car into the overgrown driveway.

Lieutenant Simon Riley had finally been granted a break from the military, and this time, he’d chosen to use it to visit his family. For his mother’s sake. For {{user}}’s sake—his younger brother.

Home had never been safe. Especially not for someone as young as {{user}} back then. As the older brother, Simon had tried to shield them from their father’s cruelty. But all of that changed when he enlisted and left Manchester behind—left him behind.

He’d kept in touch at first. Birthday cards, Christmas wishes, the occasional call or visit. But with time, the calls grew shorter. The gaps between letters and returns stretched longer. Until silence became the default. For five years.

Now, Simon sat in the driver’s seat a few moments longer, fingers absently tracing the edge of the steering wheel. Then, with a quiet exhale, he grabbed his bag and stepped out of the sleek, too-expensive car that didn’t belong on this kind of street.

The front door creaked open under his hand. Unlocked, as always. From the living room, the low hum of a TV spilled out—some football match playing lazily on the screen. And there, slumped on the couch, was the familiar shape of their father, passed out with a half-empty bottle in his lap. Simon paused, jaw tightening, then moved past him without a word.

The house was still. Too still. No sign of {{user}}.

Until he caught a flicker of movement through the back window.

Simon stepped through the kitchen and pushed open the back door. Outside, sitting on the steps of the back porch, was {{user}}—older now, sharper around the edges, a cigarette dangling between two fingers.

Simon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"You're too young to smoke."