We finally have TikTok back!" he exclaimed, a rush of excitement coursing through him. After the app had been banned, he felt adrift, like a ship without a sail. YouTube Shorts simply didn't hold the same allure, and Facebook felt like a barren wasteland of boredom.
But with the president lifting the ban, he could finally lose himself in an endless scroll, indulging in cat videos, Japanese dance clips, cave diving memes, and random live streams. that made the hours slip away unnoticed. & he missed the drops of serotonin tiktok brainrot brings.

As he sank deeper into the digital world, a sudden, tantalizing scent began to intrude upon his reverie. It slithered in through the small gap beneath his closed door, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. It was rich and savory, the kind of aroma that made his mouth water and his stomach growl with longing.
The unmistakable scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the sharp, inviting notes of melting cheese, punctuated by the sweet, smoky undertone of sizzling bacon.
He shifted, his focus momentarily breaking from the screen as he inhaled deeply, letting the mouthwatering fragrance fill his senses. It was as if the smell itself was calling him, promising a feast just beyond that barrier.
He could almost hear the faint crackle of food cooking, the rhythmic hum of the stove, and the muffled laughter of those enjoying the meal. It made him acutely aware of his own solitude, cocooned in his room with the door firmly shut, separated from the world-and the deliciousness-on the other side.
A sense of yearning washed over him as he wished he could join in, sharing the warmth and camaraderie hinted at by the enticing aroma. Instead, he remained cocooned in his digital sanctuary, the door standing as a silent guardian, shielding him from the tempting feast just beyond reach. "I'll make me a plate once everyone finishes eating," he thought to himself.
"EBBY, DINNER'S READY!" his mother called out, and he muttered under his breath, "I hate it when she calls me that."
"Okay! I'll be there in a minute!" he responded.
"Hurry, or it'll get cold!" she shot back.
"I SAID I'LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE!" he snapped.
The laughter that had once filled the air faded into silence for a moment, but soon enough, soft murmurs resurfaced, gradually evolving back into lively conversation and laughter.
After a while, the soft sound of approaching footsteps on the creaky floorboards could be heard, then a gentle knock at his bedroom door. *Knock knock.* "Come in."
"Hey, honey, I brought you a plate," she said, stepping inside with a small dish of food.
He glanced at it, and before he could voice his complaint, she anticipated his thoughts. "I know it's smaller than usual, but you're doing so well with your diet and portion control, Evan. You can always go back for seconds," she added, her eyes filled with kindness and concern.
"Okay, thanks, Mom," he replied, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.
"You're welcome, sweetheart. I hope you enjoy it. And don't forget to say hi to your brother before he leaves; it's been ages since you've seen each other."
"Yeah, okay," he muttered, his irritation evident.
"Enjoy your meal," she said softly as she turned to leave.
"Please close the door behind you," he replied.
As she gently shut the door, he settled back into bed, thinking, "Time to find something to watch."
After a bit of searching, he found a promising YouTube video and began to eat. "Wow, she really outdid herself. The potatoes are perfect-glad she left the skin on. And the bread! Crunchy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. The parsley and garlic butter? Amazing."
Before he even made it halfway through the video, his plate was empty. Surprised at how full he felt, he thought, "Maybe my stomach is starting to shrink." He chuckled to himself, "Well, there's always room for dessert," as he got up and headed for the door.
Pausing at the top of the stairs, he listened for any signs of life. Nope, the coast was clear. He made his way downstairs, but as he turned the corner, he nearly collided with his little nephew.
"Tío EVAN! HIIII!" the boy exclaimed, rushing forward to give him a hug, his head resting against Evan's belly.
"Hey, little man! How's it going?"
"Good! I haven't seen you in forever! I missed you! You're a little less fat now!"
"Kids are too honest for their own good," Evan thought, stifling a laugh. "Yeah, it's been a while. I've been changing my eating habits," he replied, trying to mask his slight annoyance.
"Yay! Maybe now you can get a girlfriend!"
"You little shi-"
"ESSIYA! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT TALKING ABOUT HOW PEOPLE LOOK?!" his brother's voice boomed as he rounded the corner, thankfully interrupting you about to curse out a small child.
With a playful grip on the back of his son's neck, his older brother gave him a noogie and chuckled. "What's up, Evan? Though he could've said it nicer, you have slimmed down. Looking good, bro!"
"Thanks, man. It's definitely a struggle. The toughest part for me is chocolate. Giving up soda, other sugary drinks, and sticking to portion control isn't too hard-I actually enjoy my new workout routine-but chocolate? That's a real challenge," Evan admits candidly.
Chuckling, his brother replies, "Oh, I remember how much you love your reese's cups, haha! But hey, no pain, no gain!"
"That's right," Essiya chimes in with a mischievous grin. "Girls don't like man boobs!"
"ESSIYA, THAT'S ENOUGH!" your brother warns, tightening his grip on the back of his neck.
"It's all good, Donovan," you say, genuinely amused by your nephew's comment. "Actually, I've been talking to someone."
"Oh really?" Donovan leans in, excitement lighting up his face. "What's her name? How did you meet?"
"Her name is Kyra. We met on a dating app."
Donovans expression shifts to one of concern. "Be careful with those apps. You never know who you're talking to. Remember what happened last time you got catfished?"
"Catfished?" Evan replies, puzzled.
"Yeah, that girl-Sabrina or Sandra? Something like that."
"You mean Savanna?"
Donovan snaps his fingers in recognition. "Yes, her! That dirty bitch."
Evan shakes his head. "She didn't catfish me, man. I actually knew her from middle school. We reconnected on Facebook, hung out once, and she ended up robbing me."
"Oh YEAH! That's right! She was on drugs and stole your weed and money while you were in the shower after your trip to Disney World. See? Even someone you used to know can turn on you. Just because you trust someone doesn't mean they're trustworthy. You've got to be careful about who you engage with."
Evab exhaled slowly. "Yeah, I know. It was a tough lesson. I've grown a lot since then. I've learned to read people better, to see their true intentions behind their words. But this time is different. Kyra is a good girl. She has her past, but she's learned from it and evolved, just like I have."
"I trust your judgment, little bro," Donovan says as he steps in to give you a hug.
"Tío Evan, you got any games on your phone?" Essiya asks eagerly.
"No time for that, Essiya. We're about to leave," Donovan replies, scooping him up. "It was good seeing you, man. Stay in touch-I know we've grown apart over the years..."
"I WANT TO SEE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!" Essiya suddenly interrupts.
Evan chuckles as he scroll through his phone, looking for a good picture, while Donovan quietly scolds Essiya for interrupting-again. Once he finds a good one, he turns the screen toward both of them..

"Wow, she's gorgeous, man. Good job, little bro," Donovan says with a proud smile.
"Daaaaamn, Tío Evan! You got you a baddie for real, for real! She got a little sister?" Essiya asks with a sly grin.
"BOY, WATCH YOUR DAMN MOUTH!" Donovan exclaims. "Go to the car and wait for me before I give you a wedgie, weirdo."
Essiya takes off running, screaming, "Not another wedgie!!!"
They both laugh.
"Man, kids. They're something else," Evan says, shaking his head with a chuckle.
"Yeah, tell me about it," Donovan replies, smirking. "He's only ten, but sometimes he talks like he's sixteen. We're careful-no cursing around him, we watch what he watches, no phone yet, and we monitor him like a hawk when he's on the computer. I mean, I don't want to sound like we're helicopter parents, but these days, you have to stay on top of things."
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "And yet, somehow, he's out here saying stuff like, 'Damn, bruh,' 'No cap,' and 'Skibidi rizz.'" He shakes his head in mock frustration. "It has to be the kids at school. I guess no matter how careful you are, there's only so much you can control."
Evan nods thoughtfully. "Maybe he picks up some of that from his friends, but he doesn't strike me as a follower. He's got his own mind, his own direction. Maybe he'll wander into a few backrooms for the fun of it, but he'll always find his way. You and Morgan have done an incredible job with him."
Donovan's expression softens. "Thanks, man. That means a lot." He hesitates, then sighs. "Listen, there's something I've been meaning to say. I know over the years, we've grown apart. A lot of that was on me-joining that gang when you were younger, keeping my distance. But I want you to know, it was never personal. I stayed away to protect you and Mom. That life... it wasn't something I wanted you anywhere near. And after we moved, after I got out, I guess the distance just stuck. Maybe I didn't try hard enough to fix it. I don't know." He looks up, meeting your eyes. "But what I do know is that I love you, man. And no matter what, I'll always be here for you.
Evan hesitates before replying, his throat tightening. Donovan isn't usually this open, and for a moment, he isn't sure how to respond.
"I... It's all good, man," he stammers, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat. "No hard feelings."
He forces a small smile, but his chest feels heavier with every word. "I didn't know you were trying to protect me. I just assumed it was the age gap. I-I really appreciate that. I know we've grown apart, but we're still brothers. Always will be. Nothing will change that. No matter how far we separate, we'll always be blood. I love you, man."
Evan pulls Donovan into a hug-not just for the sentimental moment, but to hide the tears burning in his eyes.
"I love you too, bro," Donovan says, his voice thick with emotion.
A choked sob cuts through their embrace.
"Oh, my boys. I dreamed of this day..."
They turn to see their mother standing in the doorway, her hands clasped over her mouth, her eyes glistening with tears.
"Moooom," Evan groans, rolling his eyes with a smirk.
"Family hug!" she exclaims, rushing forward and wrapping them both in a tight embrace.
For a fleeting moment, everything feels perfect. Warmth, love, and unspoken forgiveness fill the air as they hold onto each other.
But then-
CRASH!
The sharp sound of glass shattering rips through the house, jolting everyone out of their blissful moment.
They all freeze.
Another crash. Then another. Objects clatter to the floor. The framed photos on the walls tremble. Evan's pulse quickens.
"Are they... shaking?" he murmurs, rubbing his eyes as if he's seeing things.
Their mother starts toward the kitchen, where the sound of breaking dishes grows louder-but she barely makes it halfway before the ground beneath them jolts violently.
She stumbles.
"Mom!" Both brothers yell in unison, lunging forward as she crumples to the ground, crying out in pain.
The tremors intensify. A dull, rumbling vibration turns into a full-blown quake. The floor shudders beneath their feet.
"A-are we having a fucking earthquake? In Florida?!" Evan stammers, heart hammering against his ribs.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Donovan sprint toward the front door.
Oh shit. Essiya.
"Come on, Mom! We need to get to the bathroom!" Evan shouts, helping her up while trying to keep his balance.
They stagger toward safety as the house groans and shifts around them.
The shaking feels endless. But eventually, just as suddenly as it began, the violent tremors fade into softer vibrations... then stillness.
Silence.
A thick, eerie silence.
Evan exhales shakily, his ears ringing. He and his mother slowly pull themselves up, still reeling from what just happened.
He stumbles to the bathroom door, gripping the frame for support. Then, cautiously, he steps into the hallway.
His stomach sinks.
The kitchen is a war zone. Broken dishes, shattered glass, scattered food-it's everywhere. Anything that wasn't nailed down is either on the floor or damaged beyond repair.
Evan steps forward carefully, glass crunching beneath his shoes. As he starts shifting through the mess, his mother walk past him
"Im going to check on your brother" she says"
"Okay, good," Evan states as he continues picking up plates, checking for salvageable pieces-
Then he hears it.
A scream.
Not just any scream. A gut-wrenching, soul-shattering cry that freezes his blood in his veins.
"OH MY GOOD LORD!"
His mother.
Terror grips his chest. He bolts toward the sound, nearly slipping on the debris-strewn floor. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he rounds the corner-
And then-
His breath catches in his throat.
His mother is on her knees, sobbing, hands trembling as she clutches her chest.
"Oh, Lord, no," she wails. "Please, God, my baby, my Bubby-please help him."
Evan follows her gaze.
And the sight nearly knocks the air from his lungs.
Donovan lies face-down in a growing pool of blood.
And cradled in his arms-his son, motionless, a smaller puddle of crimson pooling beneath his head.
Evan stumbles back, his legs weak.
"W-what the fuck..."
His heel catches on a fallen brick, and he nearly topples over. Stones and debris from the house litter the ground. A gaping hole in the structure hints at where they might have fallen from.
"HELP THEM, EVAN!" his mother screams, her voice raw with agony.
Snapping out of his shock, he turns and sprints back inside. "I-I'm calling 911!"
He races up the stairs, only to be met with resistance as he tries to shove his bedroom door open.
Shit.
Something must've fallen, blocking the entrance.
Gritting his teeth, he throws his weight against the door. It barely budges. His mother's sobs echo through the house, fueling his desperation. He slams his shoulder against it again. And again. The wood groans, splinters-then, finally, cracks.
A sharp pain shoots through his shoulder, but adrenaline dulls it.
One more.
With a final, forceful blow, the door crashes off its hinges, sending him tumbling into the chaos of his wrecked room.
Heart hammering, he frantically searches through the debris. Books, blankets, a fallen TV-where the fuck is his phone?!
"FUCK! WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?!"
Then, finally-
Under the broken TV screen-there!
Snatching it up, he fumbles to turn it on. The screen is cracked, but still functional. Shaking hands struggle to unlock it. After three failed attempts, he finally gets through.
The line rings.
Then-
"Due to a high volume of calls, your wait time may be longer than usual. Please remain on the line-"
"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!" he roars.
He bolts back downstairs, nearly missing a step, but manages to catch himself.
"I'm on the phone with them, but no one's answering!" he tells his mother, breathless.
She doesn't respond-just rocks back and forth, crying, hands pressed to Donovan's chest.
Minutes feel like hours.
Finally-
"Due to a high number of calls, it may take longer than usual for your call to be answered. Please wait patiently, and one of our operators will be with you as soon as possible."
"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!?!" Evan yells, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He paces back and forth, heart hammering in his chest as he glances at his mother, still sobbing over Donovan and Essiya. The sound of her cries makes his stomach churn.
After what feels like an eternity, a voice finally comes through the receiver.
"911, what is your emergency?"
Evan takes a deep breath, struggling to steady his voice. "We-there was something-it felt like an earthquake-my brother, he's on the ground outside-he's bleeding a lot, and my nephew-he's unconscious. I need an ambulance now!"
The operator's response makes his blood run cold.
"Due to widespread emergencies, it may take up to forty minutes for an ambulance to reach you."
"You're SHITTING me!"
His mother looks up, eyes wide. "What did they say?"
"Forty minutes!"
"We can't wait that long!" she shrieks.
Evan clenches his jaw. "We'll have to take them ourselves."
The operator starts giving instructions
"Sir, I need you to slow down. Can you confirm if they are breathing?"
Evan turns to his mom. "Mom, are they breathing?"
She lets out a shaky gasp, pressing her hand to Donovan's back. Then she leans close to Essiya, her face stricken with terror. After a few seconds, she nods frantically. "Y-Yes! I think so!"
"Okay," the operator says. "I need you to check for a pulse-place two fingers on the side of the adult male's neck and the child's wrist."
"Mom, check their pulse!" Evan instructs, voice trembling.
His mother fumbles with her hands, hesitating before pressing her fingers against Donovan's neck, then Essiya's wrist. Her face scrunches up in concentration before she nods through her tears. "I feel it! It's faint, but it's there!"
"Alright," the operator replies. "Can you tell me where the injuries are?"
Evan swallows hard, crouching closer to examine his brother. He grimaces at the sight of all the blood, but forces himself to focus. "It's the back of his head... and the back of his neck. There's a big gash. A lot of blood." He hesitates, then looks at his nephew. His long hair makes it difficult to see the wound, but there's blood pooling around the top of his head. "The kid-my nephew-I think the top of his head, but I can't tell for sure."
There's a brief pause before the operator speaks again.
"Alright, listen carefully. Because there's trauma to the head and neck, you have to be extremely careful when moving the adult male. It could be a spinal injury. Normally, we would tell you not to move him, but if you're going to transport him yourself, you'll need to stabilize his neck as much as possible."
Evan's stomach drops. "Okay... how do I do that?"
"When you roll him over, make sure his head, neck, and spine move together as one unit. Do not twist his neck in any way. You and your mother need to do this slowly and carefully. Once he's on his back, lightly wrap a clean cloth or gauze around the wound to slow the bleeding, but do not apply direct pressure to his neck."
Evan nods, even though the operator can't see him. "Okay, got it."
"For the child," the operator continues, "if you don't suspect a skull fracture, you can apply firm pressure to his wound to slow the bleeding. But be careful-if you notice any soft spots or deformities on his skull, do not apply pressure there."
"O-Okay," Evan stammers, running a hand over his face. He looks at his mother. "We have to turn him over carefully. Keep his head straight with his body."
She nods quickly, wiping her tears. Together, they move as gently as possible, rolling Donovan onto his back while keeping his head aligned with his spine. Evan winces at the sight of more blood seeping from his wounds, but forces himself to stay focused.
He rushes inside, grabbing clean kitchen towels from the drawer, then runs back outside and kneels beside his brother, wrapping the fabric gently around his head and neck. His mother does the same for Essiya.
"Okay," Evan breathes, bringing the phone back to his ear. "We have them wrapped up. What now?"
"If you can't wait for the ambulance," the operator says, "transport them yourself. But you need to drive as smoothly as possible. No sudden stops or sharp turns. If the adult male's head moves too much, it could make things worse."
Evan exhales shakily. "Right. I'll be careful."
"Would you like me to stay on the line?"
"No, I think we got it. Thank you."
"Alright. Drive safe, and best of luck to your family."
The call ends, and Evan shoves the phone in his pocket before helping his mother carry Donovan to the truck. He moves cautiously, his mother supporting Donovan's head as they lift him. They place him in the truck bed, laying him flat with the towel beneath his head.
Then Evan scoops up Essiya, placing him beside his father.
As Evan jumps into the driver's seat and backs out of the driveway, he glances in the rearview mirror-just in time to see an ambulance pulling up to the house.
"Are you shitting me?" he mutters under his breath.
"W-what?" his mother asks, voice still thick with tears.
Evan clenches his jaw, debating for a split second whether to stop-but no. Moving them again isn't worth the risk. They're already in the truck. The hospital isn't far.
"Nothing. Just low on gas," he lies, not wanting to add to his mother's distress.
As he carefully maneuvers through the debris-covered streets, his mind reels. Less than an hour ago, they were having a heartfelt moment-one of the best in years. And now, in an instant, everything has changed.
He grips the wheel tighter, heart pounding as the hospital comes into view.
"Please, God, let them be okay."