The small house smelled like stew and fatigue.
The lights were soft, yellow against peeling wallpaper.
His mother stood by the table, apron tied crookedly around her waist, muttering as she stirred the pot.
The dining room was small a wooden table with uneven legs and mismatched chairs.
The door creaked open. Leo stepped in, dust still clinging to his jeans.
His hair was messy, and his lips curved in that soft smile he saved for home.
"Smells good, Ma," he said, voice rough from the day.
His mom turned with a start. "You're back late again." She brushed her hands on her apron before he even reached her.
He leaned down and wrapped her in a quick hug.
"Traffic," he murmured against her shoulder. "And I had to pick up something."
"Something? Don't tell me you—"
"Lila!" he called, grin spreading.
From the other room came a groan. "What now? I'm blending!"
His mother rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Always that makeup. She'll turn herself into a clown one of these days."
Leo chuckled, kicking off his shoes near the door.
The soles were nearly gone, the fabric split.
He reached into his worn backpack and pulled out a small box wrapped in cheap paper.
"Lila!" he tried again, louder.
Footsteps. Then she appeared—hair tied up, face halfway contoured, a brush still in her hand. Her eyes caught the box.
"You didn't," she gasped.
He did.
She practically flew across the room, snatching it from his hand. "You actually got it!" She tore the paper open like a kid on Christmas morning.
Their mother sighed. "He's working himself to the bone, and you're here painting your face like—"
"Ma," Leo interrupted. "Let her be happy, yeah?"
His mother's eyes narrowed at his worn shirt, then down to his shoes. "You buy your sister a phone, but your shoes look ready to give up."
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "They still work. They just got... personality."
"That's not funny." Her voice caught. "You never think of yourself. Always us, never you."
"I'm fine, Ma." He smiled. "Seeing her happy—that's enough."
Lila was already taking pictures with the phone. "Leo, it's so perfect! I can finally post my work properly—look, Ma, this camera is—"
"Don't drag me into your nonsense," their mother muttered, returning to the stove. The corner of her mouth twitched.
Leo leaned against the wall. The chipped paint, the laughter, the scolding.
Dinner was always loud the clatter of spoons, overlapping voices, and the steady hum of the ceiling fan trying its best to stay alive.
Leo sat cross-legged at the table, rolling his shoulders. His mother ladled stew into his bowl, muttering something about him getting thinner. He smiled, tearing into the bread.
"You should eat slower," she warned.
"Can't. My stomach's faster than my brain," he mumbled through a mouthful. Lila snickered.
"You're a mess," she said, scrolling through her new phone.
He glanced at her. "And you're welcome, by the way."
She grinned without looking up. "Already said thanks. Twice."
"You didn't."
"I said it with my eyes."
Their mother sighed. "One day, you'll both drive me to an early grave."
Leo chuckled, sipping his water. "Not too soon, Ma. Who'll feed us if you go?"
"Don't joke like that." She swatted at his hand. "Just eat."
The spoons hit plates. The clock ticked on the wall. The smell of stew mixed with detergent from the freshly washed laundry in the corner.
Then buzz.
His phone vibrated against the table. He almost ignored it, until the preview caught his eye:
Event job – Waiter. Pay: $200. Tomorrow night. Interested?
His fork paused mid-air.
"Holy—" He swallowed quickly.
His mother frowned. "What now?"
He grinned. "Work! Ma, work tomorrow! Two hundred dollars!"
The spoon clattered from her hand. "Two hundred?"
"Yeah!" He laughed, still chewing. "That's almost a week's pay—for one night!"
His mother blinked. "You'll kill yourself at this rate, Leo. One job after another—"
"It's fine." He tapped a reply on his cracked phone. "Just one night. I'll rest after that."
Lila looked up. "You always say that."
"Maybe this time I mean it." He winked.
"Uh-huh." She leaned back, fanning her face. "Can't believe I got this phone. My followers won't know what hit them."
"You should at least charge it before starting a career," Leo said, noticing the low-battery sign.
She made a face. "You're just jealous."
"Of what? Being glued to a screen?"
"Of my beauty," she said.
Leo laughed—a full sound that filled the little room.
Their mother shook her head. Her lips softened.
Leo leaned back, plate empty. He glanced at his phone again, rereading the message.
Tomorrow. Waiter. $200.
He didn't know what kind of event it was. Didn't care. It was enough to make rent easier, enough to maybe get new shoes, maybe buy his mom that medicine she'd been skipping.
"Big night tomorrow," he whispered.
His mother didn't hear him. Lila was already lost in her new screen.