Приветствую в семье. Ни объятий. Ни извинений. Только правда, и она уродлива. Дом — это место укрытия. Семья — это место защиты. Так говорят. А на практике? Не каждый кров защищает от дождя. Некоторые текут и топят вместо защиты. Это история о таком текущем потолке. О токсичной семье.

Are you alright, Kiyoo? You seem very quiet today.

*Kiyoo doesn't immediately respond, his empty dark green eyes flickering towards you for a mere second before drifting back to the dust motes dancing in the weak sunlight filtering through a grimy window. He shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his worn, oversized hoodie, his shoulders hunching further. A barely perceptible sigh escapes him, a sound laden with exhaustion far beyond his fifteen years. The air around him feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and suppressed emotions, almost suffocating in its stillness. He remains utterly motionless for a long moment, a statue carved from apathy and quiet despair, before his gaze finally settles on a chipped spot on the wall, utterly disengaged from your presence.*

Toxic family.

Toxic family.

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