The cool sensation of the mango ice cream wrapper pressed against my back pocket, hidden from view as I approached the familiar door that marked 282. Just before my knuckles met the wood, a thunderous shout echoed down the hallway, arresting my attention.

Emerging from an adjacent apartment, a burly man clad in a white rank top and trousers stormed out, a woman hot on his tail behind. Her fiery demeanor matched the intensity of her voice as she berated him without regard for onlookers.

"You better come back with that damn money, Ricky!" she bellowed, her finger jabbing accusatorily at him as her disheveled bun bounced with each step. "Anthony needs diapers!"

"Why don't you shut your trap!" the man retorted, his own voice booming in defiance, the friction between them could light a match.

The man moved as if wading through thick mud, stumbling over invisible obstacles before vanishing around the corner. His departure left only the back of the woman's head in my line of sight; her gaze still fixated on the vacant space he had occupied moments before. With a resigned gesture, she shook her head, a silent lament for the choices that led them here.

As her weary eyes scanned the surroundings, they met mine, revealing a depth of exhaustion that seemed to weigh heavily upon her. Dark embedded circles beneath her eyes spoke of sleepless nights and burdens carried for too long. Despite her youthful appearance, there was a weariness etched into her features, as if life had aged her beyond her years.

A soft whimper drifted through the air, originating from the direction of her suite. With a resigned sigh, she retreated back inside, the door closing quietly behind her. In these cramped towery quarters, privacy was a luxury we didn't have. The thin walls served as a little more than flimsy barriers to shield what privacy we could get.

Before I could even raise my hand to knock, Monica's door swung open, revealing a loud gasp and her slender form silhouetted against the dim light within. My eyes flicked downward as I caught sight of the baseball bat clutched tightly in her grip. The sight had my brows pinched in the middle.

"You scared the crap out of me," she admitted tentatively, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"I could say the same thing," I chuckled nervously, my gaze flitting back to the baseball bat before settling back on her.

Stepping into the dimly lit hallway, she cast a glance towards the source to where the short-lived heated argument was. Even in the subdued light, her dark complexion glowed with an inner radiance, her braided hair now gathered in a high ponytail. She carried herself with the grace of someone half her age, like a timeless work of art.

"I heard them going at it again," she remarked, setting the baseball bat aside and crossing her arms in a gesture of resolute determination. "It was way worse a few nights ago."

My forehead crinkled in concern as I observed her stance. "What do you plan to do with that bat? That guy's twice your size, Monica," I interjected, my worry evident in my voice.

"I keep telling that girl to leave him," she expelled a weary breath, shaking her head as her gaze drifted towards the neighboring apartment where the commotion emanated. "But she won't listen."

I couldn't fathom ever being trapped in such a tumultuous relationship. To be entwined with someone who failed to comprehend the mutual needs and desires of both partners, especially when a child is involved. I viewed never to tether myself to someone who couldn't prioritize family above all else.

"That's why I'm single," she teased, her words dancing like lively butterflies. "A few casual encounters here and there, no emotional entanglements; it saves me the headaches." Her brow bounced in a playful gesture bringing a silent invitation to share in here carefree philosophy.

My cheeks flushed crimson at her candid admission, the notion of her rendezvous with passing strangers causing a flutter of discomfort within me. "You mean like a bootie call?" I queried, the archaic term, a relic from her era.

"Yes," she replied with a knowing wink. "And there's this app called Tinder I just downloaded; you wouldn't believe..."

I interjected, halting her before she could regale me with tales that would make my ears bleed. "Let's save your late-night escapades for my mother," I chuckled nervously, hoping to divert the conversation away from territories too unsettling for my comfort.

Monica laughed, her amusement mingling with my unease like the gentle caress of a breeze on a sweltering day.

The sound of rapid footsteps echoed through the hallway, a symphony of salvation. I turned towards the open door, relief flooding through me as I beheld Santiago's beaming face. His small frame collided with mine in a tight embrace, nearly dislodging the hidden mango ice cream in my back pocket.

Monica's lips curled into a soft smile as she observed the endearing scene before her. Standing beside her, her son Isaac shifted restlessly, "They had some candy earlier, so they're a bit wired," she remarked.

"Looks like I've got a hyper Tio on my hands today," I teased playfully, my fingers dancing lightly over his belly. Concealed in my back pocket, the mango ice cream remained a secret, ready to add to his sugar rush.

"Yep! I'm all jacked up on Mountain Dew!" Tio exclaimed excitedly, mimicking a line from a movie we had watched together the previous night. "Shake and bake, baby," he added, a fist-bumping his friend with infectious enthusiasm.

Monica and I shared a small puff of amusement as it escaped past our lips.

"Can I bring that movie with me tomorrow?" Tio pleaded with his big brown doe eyes. "Isaac hasn't seen it yet."

As I glanced up at Monica, a flicker of confusion clouded my expression on how my little brother knew he would be coming back over in the morning. "Your mom called and told him she would be staying overnight at the hospital," she revealed, her words weaving through the fabric of my questioning thoughts.

Santiago seemed unfazed by the constant shuffle between our babysitter's place and our mother's absence for most of the week. He has always been the quiet type though, bottling up any concerns he might have. I understood his demeanor all too well, grappled with similar feelings since our father's incarceration in the beginning. The long hours of separation from our mother weighed heavily on me during those turbulent times, a necessity to provide for our family. However, with both my jobs, I was now able to contribute and allow our mother more time at home, a change Tio particularly cherished.

Shifting back at the question at hand. "If its okay with Monica," I replied, seeking her approval.

She nodded in agreement, a silent affirmation that filled both boys with gleeful anticipation as they both exchanged high-fives.

"Thank you again for watching him tomorrow," I expressed my gratitude sincerely, meeting Monica's gaze with appreciation.

"Any time love," she replied warmly. "We'll see you guys tomorrow."

After Tio dashed back to retrieve his backpack, I grabbed the heavy thing, freeing him of what felt like bricks inside as I hoisted it on my back. Walking down the hall to the elevators I couldn't contain the surprise any longer. I revealed the mango ice cream, hoping it hadn't fully melted, and placed it in front of him. His eyes lit up with delight, evoking a nostalgic memory of my own childhood excitement over a special treat our dad would get me when I was just about his age.

Joy surged within me as I watched him eagerly tear into the wrapper, his enthusiasm practically radiating as he indulged in the already melting ice cream.

"Do you want some?" he offered, pushing up the partially bitten treat towards me.

My mouth watered at the sight of the orange confection, but I demurred with a smile. "No, its for you." I insisted.

My little brother, ever perceptive, persisted in tempting me. "Oh, come on, you know you want some."

Unable to resist, I relented and took a small bite, savoring the sweetness as it melted on my tongue. In response to his kind gesture, I planted a warm wet kiss on his cheek.

He happily received it for only just a moment as he then wiped the sister cooties off with his hand playfully.

Approaching the elevators, I sensed Santiagos reluctance. Despite his small stature, his unease was evident as he halted his consumption of the delicious treat. I knew he wouldn't voice his discomfort, silently enduring the confines of the metal box as the doors creaked open.

The jarring sound of the metal doors only heightened his apprehension, his creasing brows betraying his inner turmoil as he clung to my shirt. Sometimes he was okay with taking the elevator, and other days like this, his anxiety overwhelmed him. Despite my own fatigue, I couldn't bear to subject him to its confines, especially recalling the traumatic experience of being stuck in one when he was just five years old.

"Hey, lets take the stairs, okay?" I suggested, mustering a cheerful tone. "My legs could use the stretch."

His eyes lit up with relief. "Are you sure?" he inquired.

He exuded a kindness that seemed woven into his very being, a rare trait in our rough-and-tumble surroundings. While our upbringing often molded us to be tough and fiercely self-reliant, Santiago stood apart, his outlook on life unfailingly optimistic as his actions always beamed selflessly geared towards others.

"Yeah, I could use the exercise," I quipped, patting my flat stomach lightly. Yet, beneath the jest, a deeper concern lingered. My lungs, worn down by the years already spent of heavy smoking, whispered ominous warnings of regret with this descent.

Approaching the imposing door labeled "Exit" in bold dark cherry red letters, I pulled it open, the heavy clang echoing behind us like a somber reverberation in the cavernous stairwell.

The stairway stretched upward and downward before us, a narrow shaft of concrete and steel winding its way through the heart of the building. Its cold and somber passage had dim illumination casting long shadows that danced along the walls, revealing a chaotic tapestry of scribbled graffiti markings sprawled throughout.

By the time we reached the tenth level, exhaustion had already settled in, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as Santiago pressed on ahead. "Hold up, Tio," I called out, my words rebounding back to me.

He turned back his patience a silent anchor in the midst of my struggle. Slumped against the railing, I struggled to regain my composure, my legs burning with exertion.

Small clattering steps head back my way. "Maybe you should stop smoking cigarettes, Camila," Santiago remarked, his voice tinged with genuine concern. With one final bite of his ice cream he took the stick and wrapper, throwing it in a nearby trash can.

I playfully stuck out my tongue in response, a light-hearted gesture amidst the weight of the backpack pressing down on my shoulders. How Santiago managed to carry this load to school every day was beyond me.

With a mental chorus of hallelujah bells ringing in my mind, we finally reached our destination: the fainted number seven displayed on the door. A small bead of sweat grazed down the side of my cheek, and I quickly wiped the nuisance away, hiding any evidence of the struggle I had endured.

Walking down our hall, my attention was momentarily stolen by our door-to-door neighbor. His towering figure commanded attention as it exuded a perfect balance of strength and grace, neither overly muscular nor lacking in definition.

Remembering his green eyes, they held a magnetic quality, drawing you in with their warmth and depth. My eyes pined to his dark brown hair sleeked back in a stylish manner, accentuated by his chiseled features and angular jawline. Each strand seemed to fall into place effortlessly, adding to his allure without appearing overly groomed.

As we got closer, my gaze continued to gravitate toward him, and I discerned that he was accompanied by someone.  In that fleeting moment, our eyes met, sending a subtle shiver down my spine, igniting a flutter of anticipation in my stomach.

As my eyes drifted downward, I observed a clandestine exchange of currency between Dominic and the stranger, their transaction veiled in secrecy. Dominic's visage flushed crimson, a feeble attempt to conceal the nature of his dealings. With a surreptitious handoff completed, the enigmatic figure departed, leaving behind a lingering olfactory trail of pungency.

Dominic's presence had become a familiar fixture within these apartments since his arrival about a year prior with whispers of his role as a purveyor of marijuana disseminating throughout the neighborhood like wildfire. Yet, beyond this dubious reputation, little else was known of him. His age remained a mystery though his countenance suggested youthfulness entrenched in his twenties. Maintaining a solitary demeanor, Dominic seldom ventured beyond the confines of his abode, exchanging only intermittent glances with me. Curiously, however, he exhibited a tenderness towards my brother, offering high-fives and engaging in brief dialogues during their chance encounters.

"Hey, Dominic!" my little brother exclaimed, breaking the silence with an air oof excitement.

Bending down to Tio's level, Dominic reciprocated the greeting, his demeanor softening in the presence of youthful exuberance. "What's up, little man?" How was school?"

There was an inexplicable allure about Dominic that captivated my brother's interest. "It was okay. Are you going to play Fortnite today? Can we team up online?" Tio's voice brimmed with anticipation.

"Not until after your homework, Santiago," I interjected, gently severing the burgeoning rapport between them.

Dominic's countenance sparked with a sudden recollection, his eyes aglow with a distant memory. "Speaking of that," he interjected, the anticipation evident in his voice as he goes inside his apartment, leaving his door open.

Ever the curious onlooker, I subtly angled my head to catch a peek, my curiosity piqued by the prospect of a rare glimpse into Dominic's world. Despite my expectations of chaos and disorder like my brother's side of the room is, the interior revealed itself to be surprisingly tidy. A sleek black loveseat occupied a corner of the room, while a gamer's headset rested artfully on its arm.

Returning from within, Dominic approached with an object in hand, his gesture extending an offering to Tio. I straightened my posture, attempting to conceal my inadvertent curiosity, although it likely remained transparent. "I know you've been wanting that new outfit in the game," he declared, presenting a small plastic card adorned with the label "vbucks."  To the right of the small card, also displayed a fifty-dollar price tag.

My brother's jubilant reaction reverberating through the air. "Really?!" he exclaimed; his eyes fixated on the card like a moth to a flame.

I regarded Dominic with a furrowed brow, grappling with the ethical implications of accepting such a gift. Despite his generosity, I couldn't shake the unease that accompanied the knowledge of his illicit activities. Memories of my father's downfall loomed large in my mind, a stark reminder of the dangers associated with such dealings. In that moment, I resolved that neither I nor my brother would be beholden to the tainted fruits of Dominic's trade.

With a measured gesture, I retrieved the gift card from my brother's grasp, the weight of my decision heavy upon my conscience. "Thanks, but no thanks," I murmured, my voice firm yet tinged with a sense of unease.

"But, Camila?" my brother queried, confusion evident in his tone as I returned the card to our neighbor's outstretched hand.

"Look, we appreciate the gesture, but we can't take that," I asserted, meeting Dominic's gaze with unwavering resolve.

As I guided my brother away to our door I glanced back and caught sight of Dominic still standing there, the gift card held limply in his hand as he grappled with the unexpected rejection. My heart clenched with a pang of guilt, the image of his crestfallen expression searing itself into my mind like an indelible mark. I turned away, the echo of our encounter lingering in the recesses of my thoughts like a persistent specter.

Separating from the awkward tableau that had unfolded, I shut our door behind us with a click of the bolt door lock.

Tio casually dropped his backpack onto the dining table chair, the weight of it echoing the unspoken tension between us. Regret gnawed at me, a nagging reminder of the decision I had made, and the inability to undo it now.

"He was just trying to be nice," Santiago muttered, his voice a hesitant attempt to break the silence that enveloped us.

I offered a weak smile in response, my mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. "I know he was, but we don't need it." I replied, my tone tinged with uncertainty as I sought to reassure him.

His response was a stony silence as he busied himself with his homework at the table. Outside, the fading light of dusk cast long shadows across the room, the encroaching darkness a stark contrast to the feeble rays of sunlight that filtered through the window by the table.

I deposited my bags on the worn couch that sat across the television, the weight of them a physical manifestation of the burden I carried. Crossing the room, I placed a comforting hand on Tio's shoulder, planting a soft kiss on his forehead in an attempt to bridge the growing divide between us.

"Hey, once you finished your homework, maybe we can play some Xbox together?" My fingers twirl a stray tendril of his curls, a playful gesture reminiscent of children dancing through fields of tall grass. His response is immediate, a gentle swat at my hand. His fingers lingering to soothe the spot where my touch had intruded, before returning dutifully to his work.

"Yeah, sure," he replies, his voice a steady rhythm against the backdrop of scratching pencil on paper. "You say that at first, but then we don't." His eyes remain fixed on the task at hand, his focus unyielding.

He's not wrong. Games never held quite the same allure for me, the siren call of Stranger Things or the suspense of Friday the 13th tempting me like forbidden fruit. Settling into the chair opposite him, a streak of the sun's rays now paint a golden blur across my vison, its warmth casting a halo around me. "I promise, after homework and pizza, well carve out some gaming time," I offer, the words a soft melody in symphony of our conversation.

Finally, he looks up, his nose tipped skyward, brow arched in playful skepticism. "You swear?" he questions, cinnamon eyes meeting mine with a mix of curiosity and doubt.

"I swear," I reply, the weight of my promise heavy in the air between us. His scrutiny intensifies, his gaze drifting down to the delicate pendant nestled against my chest. "Swear on your cross?" he asks, a challenge disguised as a request.

My brother's keen insight led him to employ a simple yet effective strategy. Aware of our shared faith, he sought assurance through the symbol of our beliefs. I offer my oath with a smile, hoping to ease any lingering doubts. "I swear on my cross," I assure him, sincerity woven into each syllable.

His smile blossoms like a flower in the morning light, dimples carving valleys in his cheeks. In that moment, happiness radiates from him like the sunlight streaming though parted clouds, and I can't help but mirror his joy.

Content with our agreement, I move towards the television, intending to savor a few moments of relaxation before our gaming session. But as I reached for the remote and tuned it on, the news casted.

Through the glow of the television screen, the news anchor's voice reached us, her words carrying the weight of uncertainty. "Confirmed reports of NASA scientists stand at one of the many sites where the comet broke into pieces and scattered across our globe." Her tone conveying both gravity and intrigue.

As her words painted a vivid picture, the screen flickered to life with images of the blue streak, captured in all its fleeting majesty.  The scene unfolding like a silent movie in each frame, a testament to the magnitude of the event floating in the sky.

Yet, amidst the awe-inspiring visuals, the anchors next statement gave a shadow of doubt. "Still," she continued, her voice tinged with a hint of apprehension, "we have not heard from our scientist regarding the enigmatic origins of this ancient comet."