Maybe, probably | Hwang Hyunjin

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Instinctively I tried to close the door right in front of their faces, but my father' foot stopped them. "No need to be rude now." he said, letting themselves in without a proper invitation, and proceeded to the inner part of the house, not even taking their shoes off.

"Well, isn't this a nice small apartment you're staying at." my mother commented, looking around, while the gazes of my friends fell on them. Leaving the door open, out of shock, I walked behind them.

"Lovely, indeed," she added. "Too bad you'll have to leave it."

I furrowed my brows in confusion as they turned towards me, completely ignoring the 9 other people present. Their smiling faces, soon turning into glares and scoffs.

"Pack your shits, you're coming home with us." my father demanded, in his stern voice which gave me the creeps.

"NOW!" he yelled, making me flinch.

"With all due respect, Mr. Y/l/n, but that is no way to treat your daughter." San spoke, taking a protecting stance in front of me. "Young man, if I gave any kind of interest in your opinion I would've asked you."

"Now, move out of the way." he told him, but San wouldn't even budge.

"She is your daughter for God's sake! She is supposed to be your little girl, your princess, not some object you can play with and toss around!" he snapped at my father.

"This is a family matter, San." my mother said. "Step away from her." she ordered. "I'm sorry," I muttered.

"Just, don't fight." stepping out from behind San and grabbing the suitcase that was placed in the corner of the room.

I am forgetting how to say the simple things to my parents. The words that linger in my periphery. The words, a rear view mirror dangling from the wires. I am only fluent in apologies.

"You cannot stay quiet and expect people to show up the way you need them to. Your words are the gateway to your needs being met." Chan whispered, as he walked up to me, while the rest of them all had their guard up ready to do something if I just wished for it.

"Leave the fucking suitcase, you're not going anywhere." Minho said, standing up as well. "As for your dusty old asses, ya'll can go straight to hell." he talked to my parents.

"Excuse me?" my mother gasped. "You're excused, now get the hell out."

"Boy, sit down before I sit you down myself." my father said. I knew he wasn't kidding, and that he would probably do something bad.

"What kind of parents do you think you are, huh? You barge in here like you own the place, in your muddy shoes, acting all high and mighty when you're nothing but a pair of toxic parents treating their daughter like shit."

With that, my father' fist collided with Minho' face, making him stumble back and his eyes watering from the hit.

Blood dripped from his nose, making everyone stand up from their seats, but mostly making me move from the place I was frozen in.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I said, standing in front of him, Minho right behind me.

"Are you happy now? Huh? DOES THIS MAKE YOU HAPPY?" I pointed at my wounded friend, yelling at him, while those awfully hot tears crept in the corners of my eyes.

There is dry and wet anger in life. And I hated experiencing the wet anger. Those tears only made me look like I cared too much. While the dry anger only showed those cold eyes and giving off the feeling like you don't care, that you're done.