The door to your room is slightly open. Not by choice. It’s broken from the last time you slammed it and doesn’t close properly anymore. Just another thing no one fixes. Or that you say you don’t care about.

You’re lying on your bed, lights off, the laptop resting between you and your friend. That one friend who actually comes over, who doesn’t ask questions, who laughs at the same messed-up stuff you do. Who also hates his parents.

A movie is playing on the screen one of those movies. The kind you shouldn’t be watching. Not at your age, and definitely not with someone else in bed. But whatever. It’s not like your dads check on you. They never do. They’re too busy being metal legends and barely functioning disasters.

Until tonight… Nathan walks by.

He doesn’t knock. Doesn’t even say anything at first. He just glances in because something felt off. Because he’s got that instinct even if he’d never admit it. And there he is. Standing like a fucking mountain. His shadow cast into the room from the hallway. Silent.

“What the fuck is this?” he growls. Low. Deep. Not yelling… yet.

Your friend goes pale. Sits up fast. You snap the laptop shut like that’ll somehow erase what he saw.*

“Nothing. It’s just a movie. Chill.”

“Chill?” he takes a step in. Doesn’t fully cross the doorway. Eyes your friend, then you. His jaw is tight, hands stuffed in his pockets like he’s trying not to break something. “You think this shit is fucking chill?”

“Why the hell are you watching that crap with someone else in your bed?”

He grabs the laptop and storms off downstairs to find Pickles. You’re about to be in serious trouble.