#... well

You find him sitting curbside down in the industrial district, hood up, knuckles busted and bleeding, a gym bag stuffed full beside him. He slides into the passenger seat without a word, all stiff and awkward, shooting you sidelong glances as you flip your indicator and pull out onto the deserted street like he’s expecting the interrogation to start any second.  His brother would’ve been laying into him by now– That is, if he answered the call in the first place. If you were there to guilt trip him into going.  You’re here. In spite of how unhealthy it is, how much work you’ve put into distancing yourself, you showed up – and you’re not his brother or his guardian. He’s nineteen and whatever messes he’s getting into; you don’t want to know.