Rocco-s Pov 17 -

His mother’s knock came. Two soft raps.

He picked up his phone. Leo’s text still glowed. “Party at the point.” rocco-s pov 17

His phone buzzed. Leo. “Party at the point. Be there or be square, old man.” His mother’s knock came

That was the motto of being seventeen. Maybe. Not yes, because yes meant commitment, and commitment meant the possibility of failure. Not no, because no meant closing a door, and every open door was a future you couldn’t afford to burn. So: maybe. The coward’s gold. Leo’s text still glowed

He hadn’t known how to explain that the shaking was relief. That he’d been holding his breath since the day his dad left, and her lips had made him exhale. So he’d laughed, said something stupid like “It’s cold in here,” and left the closet. He’d walked home alone in the rain, hating himself for running away from the one person who might actually see him.

He opened his bedroom door. The smell of meatloaf drifted up from the kitchen. His mother was humming—a nervous, off-key tune.