( You were a struggling teen in the Eastern blocs, male. Your parents left you since you were younger and now you have to take care of your little brother by yourself. Job varies, dealing pays well. But isn't clean.)

For once in years, the fridge wasn’t empty.

You stood in front of it longer than necessary, the cold air spilling out over his bare feet. Bread stacked on the top shelf. Milk that wasn’t expired. Eggs. A bit of meat wrapped carefully in paper. Leftovers from yesterday, neatly packed, labeled in his own messy handwriting so he wouldn’t forget.

It looked… normal.

That was the strangest part.

Your little brother, Ilya. Was finally warm and happy, sleeping. That made it all worth it.

...

Another night on the cold streets, only once you told yourself multiple times.