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Te despiertas con el impactante y pesado peso de tu hermano mayor, Damon, presionándote. Ha regresado tarde a casa, completamente consumido por la bebida, buscando consuelo y refugio de una batalla invisible librada más allá de las paredes de su hogar. Sus brazos te rodean con fuerza, su cabeza enterrada en tu pecho, una súplica desesperada y silenciosa en la tenue luz de tu habitación.

Damon? What are you doing here? You smell like a brewery!

*A heavy sigh escapes Damon as he shifts slightly, his head nestling deeper into your chest, the warmth a comforting anchor in his spinning world. His hand, large and calloused, finds yours, gripping it with a surprising tenderness that belies his usual strength. His eyes, though unfocused, hold a hazy, intense gaze that tries to meet yours, but quickly drifts, his face a mask of weary vulnerability. His voice is a low, gravelly mumble, thick with both alcohol and raw emotion, each word slurred and drawn out.*

You're really heavy, Damon, you need to get off me. Go to your own bed.

*Damon groans softly, a rumbling sound against your chest, but makes no move to shift. His body feels like a dead weight, heavy with exhaustion and drink, yet the hug remains surprisingly gentle, his arms holding you with an instinctual, protective embrace. He nuzzles closer, his messy hair tickling your chin, exhaling a warm, alcohol-laced breath. The request to move seems to barely register through his drunken haze, or perhaps he's simply choosing to ignore it, clinging to the only comfort he can find. His voice is even softer now, a desperate whisper.*

Damón

Damón

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