only human // skz

7 [ welcome home ]

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MAY 14

   Finishing college was a relief, just as it had been last year, mostly due to the promise of not having to see any more sunrises just to make time to study for finals. But this year, Chan was almost dreading going home, and he felt horrible about it.

It's just that at college... I... I don't feel like there's quite so much responsibility balanced on my shoulders, dragging me down. I work slightly less, too—  at least, I think. It doesn't feel quite so much like people are counting on me there, when I'm just with my friends, hanging out. (Whenever I'm actually able to hang out with them, that is.)

I can still help my family from there, but it feels like I'm removed from the chaos, the burden of expectation; of being relied on.

It's so selfish of me to want to stay so badly.

I should be a better son and a better brother.

   Chan sighed heavily once he parked his car, and he ran his clammy hands through his hair once he shut it off. Exhausted almost to the point of tears, he let himself sink down against the wheel and lay his forehead on it, though he knew he couldn't stay there. He needed to get inside; say hello to his family, to hug them all tight and tell them he was sorry he'd been gone so long, that he'd gotten home so late, like he'd always done.

   ...He needed to make sure they were all okay.

   Well, there hadn't really been any texts, lately, so that must mean that things weren't so bad that he had to rush that much— come to think of it, there hadn't been a single text in weeks. And, hopefully, that meant Dad had been leaving them alone. So Chan could take his time the tiniest bit, admiring the familiar trees and run-down, small houses that lined his street, lit up by the orangey-yellow streetlights. It never changed, besides the fact that the buildings crumbled more each year and there was always new junk piled up in the yards and new litter kicked around the sidewalks. Maybe admiring was a strong word. It wasn't exactly a beautiful place and neither did it spark many pleasant memories. There were some of those— memories of happier days before he'd gone and grown up— but they were drowned out by the stronger, fresher memories of stresses and anxieties.

   Slowly tearing himself from the peace and solitude of his car, stiff and shaky, Chan decided he'd get his luggage tomorrow. 

   The gravel driveway was short and uneven and weeds weaved through it. Chan kicked a piece of asphalt and watched it tumble away and split into pieces, silencing nearby crickets that had been adding to summer ambiance. He dragged himself up the three concrete steps, zombie-like, lips lazily twitching up at the thought of the three faces he'd finally see once he opened the door— they were motivation enough to finish the job of coming back home, or at least, they should've been. Right now, no matter how much he'd missed them, coming face-to-face with anyone sounded like way, way too much work for his tired body and frazzled mind. He wasn't sure he'd even have enough energy to force himself to smile brightly, say 'hi', give warm, satisfying hugs— he worried he'd come off cold and irritated when he walked inside, unable to cover up his fatigue.

   While he was caught up in taking his time to enter the house, panic struck through his chest as he heard shouting inside. He forgot all about procrastination and his overwhelming exhaustion as he tried the knob immediately— it was unlocked, of course— and burst in. This was not the 'welcome home' he was expecting.

   For the first time in nearly a year, maybe, he saw his father, quite clearly heavily intoxicated as he swayed and slurred with a half-empty beer bottle in hand. Demanding more money, of course. 

   Chan had never seen him like this. He'd seen him drunk plenty, had seen him hungover, and had definitely seen him out trying to get hold of all his struggling family's money, but Chan had never seen him so tactless and incomposed. He was always manipulating and guilt-tripping when he slyly wormed the money out of Chan's mother's hands, but here he was now, reaching bluntly for it, threatening her for it, loudly.

   Chan had gone unnoticed by his parents as they were too caught up in the altercation. Chan saw it in his mother's eyes— she was terrified that his father was going to get violent and that why she started to hand over the money— but thankfully, Hannah was also watching her mother's wavering hand and swooped in to snatch it away before the drunkard could grab at it.

   Holding it protectively to her chest, she was too focused on making pleading eyes at Chan to notice her father lunging at her. In a blind rage, Chan rushed in to shove him away from her. And he wasn't caught off guard by the clumsy punch the drunkard was so obviously winding up to throw right after— he expected it and curved around it to throw one of his own. (He remembered the bloody lip and bruised nose he'd gotten a few years back, and since then he'd never trusted that his father wouldn't raise his fist against him.)

   ...That man... his father... he almost hit Hannah. He would be leaving very soon, Chan would make sure of it, but he wouldn't be leaving unscathed, or for that matter, without handcuffs.

  While that same man was reeling from the solid hit Chan delivered to his jaw, Chan spat, "That's it. Hannah, call 911."

   So much for 'welcome home'.

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let's all give a warm welcome to chan who took twice as long to get into the story as almost everyone else haha... he's gonna need it