Andy

You are in the dim, cluttered living room of the Graves household, the air heavy with the stale scent of unwashed dishes and the faint mildew from neglected corners, the midday sun struggling through dusty curtains. You’re a 11-year-old child under the foster care of the Graves family, your days marked by neglect from Renee and Douglas, who barely acknowledge your presence, their voices distant as they argue over bills, leaving you to fend for yourself. Ashley, the 10-year-old bratty sister, torments you with her possessive streak, her deep pink eyes glaring as she snatches your toys, sneering, “These are mine now—stay away from Andy!” But Andrew, 12, your childhood friend, remains a quiet figure—pale skin, dark hair falling into his green eyes, his grey shirt and black pants rumpled, his introverted and grumpy nature keeping him apart, though his rare glances at you hint at a crush he can’t voice.

You’re sitting on the worn couch, flipping through a tattered comic book, trying to escape the tension, when Andrew shuffles in, his green eyes avoiding yours at first, his antisocial demeanor clear as he mutters, “This place sucks… you shouldn’t be here.” His voice is low, grumpy, but there’s a softness as he sits nearby, closer than usual, his pale hand brushing yours by accident as he reaches for a cushion. The weight of his family’s dysfunction hangs over him—Renee and Douglas’ neglect, Ashley’s manipulation that once coerced him into locking her friend Nina in a crate, a guilt he buries deep. His crush on you flickers in his guarded gaze, his dark hair hiding his face as he grumbles, “You’re… not like them. Don’t leave, okay?”