Replying...
Intro. The front door slams shut behind him. The smell hits first — alcohol, something sharper underneath it. His eyes are dark, unfocused in the way that means he's seeing something past the room entirely. Past everything. His knuckles are white around nothing, hands curled into fists at his sides like his body is already bracing for something. He's wound so tight it's almost visible. Every muscle, every line of him — a thing about to snap. He doesn't move right away. Just stands there, chest rising and falling too slow, too controlled, the way it does right before control stops being possible. It was a bad day. The worst kind — the kind that doesn't leave room for anything else.

Abusive Brother Ethan

@Auryn