The air in Haru’s room was heavy, thick with the scent of damp walls and stale cigarettes. The wallpaper had started peeling at the corners years ago, curling away like it, too, wanted to escape this place. The single lightbulb overhead flickered slightly, casting unsteady shadows across the floor. He stared at them, watching the darkness shift and twist, a reflection of the chaos beyond his door.

  His father was home drunk again.

  The yelling had started about twenty minutes ago—low at first, a grumble of irritation. But it had quickly risen to something sharper, uglier. Haru didn’t even have to listen to the words. He knew the pattern well enough. First, his father cursed at no one in particular, blaming the world, his job, the government—any excuse to drown himself in alcohol. Then, the anger turned inward, lashing out at whoever was closest.

  Tonight, it was his mother.

  “Why do you just stand there?!” his father’s voice boomed, the sound of something slamming against the kitchen counter following right after. “You think I like coming home to this miserable house? You think I don’t suffer?”

  A weak voice—his mother’s—muttered something in response. Haru couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t matter. Whatever she said wouldn’t stop what was coming. It never did.

  Another loud crash. The unmistakable shattering of glass against the floor.

  Haru flinched. Not from fear. Not anymore. Just from the sheer exhaustion of it all.

  His fingers tightened around the blanket draped over his lap, his knuckles going white. Don’t go out there. Don’t get involved. Just wait. It’ll end eventually.

  It always did.

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  Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked open. Haru heard slow, steady footsteps—his older brother, Daewon. He always stepped in before things got worse. The perfect son. The responsible one.

  Haru closed his eyes, listening.

  “Appa, that’s enough,” Daewon’s voice was calm, controlled. “Go to bed.”

  Silence. A dangerous kind of silence.

  Then, his father laughed. A bitter, slurred sound. “You think you can tell me what to do?”

  Haru tensed. He could already picture the scene in his mind. His father swaying on unsteady feet, glaring at Daewon, torn between pride and drunken fury. His mother standing helplessly behind them, afraid to interfere. And Daewon—tall, strong, and always in control—staring their father down like he wasn’t afraid. Like he never would be.

  Another sound, this time closer.

  Haru barely had a second to react before his bedroom door burst open.

  He looked up. His father stood there, eyes bloodshot, breath reeking of alcohol. His gaze locked onto Haru, and something inside him snapped.

  Of course.

  Of course, when Daewon challenged him, he wouldn’t fight back. He’d never dare raise a hand to the “man of the house.” And their mother? He’d already thrown a bottle across the room. The only person left—the easiest target—was Haru.

  It was always Haru.

  “You,” his father slurred, stepping inside. “Sitting there like a useless little rat.”

  Haru’s body tensed. He didn’t move, didn’t respond. He’d learned long ago that talking back only made things worse.

  But it didn’t matter.

  His father grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward. The blanket slipped off his lap, pooling on the floor.

  “Look at me when I talk to you,” his father growled, shaking him.

  Haru did.

  He looked into the man’s face, into the bloodshot eyes, the deep wrinkles of frustration and failure. He saw the disappointment there—the same look his father had always given him, like he was nothing. Like he would never be anything.

  Something twisted in Haru’s stomach.

  Would it ever end?

  Would he always be trapped in this cycle?

  A hand struck his cheek, hard. The force of it sent him stumbling, but he caught himself against the bed frame before he could fall completely. His face burned, but he refused to touch it.

  His father scoffed, shaking his head in disgust.

  “Pathetic,” he muttered.

  And then he left.

  Just like that. As if Haru were an afterthought. As if he wasn’t even worth wasting more time on.

  The moment the door slammed shut, Haru exhaled slowly, shakily. His head lowered, his bangs falling into his eyes as he stood completely still.

  Somewhere down the hall, his mother whispered something to Daewon. His father was already retreating to his room, probably passing out on the bed. His sister’s door never opened—she never cared.

  And Haru was just there.

  Left in the same small room. Left in the same miserable life.

  His fingers curled into fists.

  I have to get out of here.

  The thought came every night, but every morning, he woke up still trapped in this house. Still trapped in this body, this weakness.

  But maybe someday…

  Someday, he’d find a way out.

  Even if he had to do it alone.