By The Window | YeonBin

twelve

a.n.

A pretty tough chapter, a bit heavy as we're delving more to Yeonjun's home life.

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The night air was chilly as Soobin pulled himself up the familiar ledge outside Yeonjun's window. He had done this more times than he cared to admit, always sneaking in to check on Yeonjun when the other boy had shut everyone out.

But tonight was different. The window, usually cracked open ever so slightly, was shut tight. Not even a sliver of light leaked through the curtains, and no sounds came from inside.

Soobin let out a frustrated breath, wiping his hands on his pants. He had a bad feeling about this. The nagging concern that had gnawed at him for days intensified as he stood there, staring at the lifeless window.

He tapped gently on the glass, hoping—wishing—for any kind of response.

Nothing.

"Come on, Yeonjun," Soobin muttered under his breath, glancing around the quiet street. After another moment of silence, he climbed back down.

His heart felt heavy and tight in his chest as he walked away, wondering what else he could do. How else could he help?

He hadn't known Yeonjun that long, but something about the other boy drew him in, made him want to protect him from whatever darkness was brewing beneath the surface. Yet, here he was, standing on the outside, unable to reach in.

Soobin stuffed his hands in his pockets and decided to walk home, worry clouding his every step.

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The space buzzed with chatter and laughter, a stark contrast to the storm swirling inside Yeonjun's head. Mingi's group had gathered again, bottles of alcohol scattered on the makeshift seating, along with packs of cigarettes.

Yeonjun sat in his usual corner, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers, the smoke curling upward into the night sky. Minho and Han were being their usual selves, all over each other, their laughter contagious.

"Seriously, get a room, you two," Yunho groaned, nudging them with his foot.

"Maybe we will," Minho shot back with a smirk, pulling Han closer. Han's laugh echoed as they leaned against each other, unfazed by the teasing.

Yeonjun barely registered their playful banter. He took a long drag from his cigarette, staring at the bottle of soju by his feet. His mind kept drifting back to earlier that day.

— Flashback —

The door creaked shut behind Yeonjun as he stepped inside, the familiar oppressive air settling over him. His feet had barely crossed the threshold when his father's raised voice struck him like a physical blow.

"You never take responsibility for anything!" His father's voice roared from the living room, followed by the unmistakable sound of glass clinking—likely his father's drink slamming down on the table.

"I'm not the one making this family fall apart!" His mother's voice was as loud, but distant, as if she couldn't muster the energy to fight back fully.

Yeonjun stood frozen near the door, hoping to remain unnoticed, but his father's anger was like a storm, looking for anything to tear apart.

"Of course, you don't care! You never have! You can't even handle raising one damn kid, and look at what you've turned him into!"

There it was. That familiar shift. Yeonjun took a step backward, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"I didn't turn him into anything," his mother replied, barely engaging, as if she'd given up on this conversation a long time ago.

"Exactly!" his father spat. "You didn't do anything! That's the problem! Look at him—he's useless, just like you!"

Yeonjun winced, the words hitting him like shards of glass. His breath hitched as his father's footsteps thundered toward him, and before he could slip away, his father's voice was booming directly at him.

"You! You come home whenever you feel like it, do nothing but mope around, and what do you have to show for it, huh?"

Yeonjun's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He couldn't defend himself. He couldn't say anything.

"You've got no ambition, no achievements! I don't even know what you're good for!" His father's eyes were filled with disgust, his hands gesturing wildly as if Yeonjun were nothing but an inconvenience.

"I don't ask for much, but you? You can't even help around the house, can't even be a son worth being proud of." His father's voice rose higher with each accusation, his words sharp and cutting.

'It hurt' is an understatement. All that is untrue. Yeonjun did most of the stuff at home while his mother go out to god knows where, while his father working. But, Yeonjun couldn't find the strength to defend himself.

"You've got nothing to show, and it's no wonder—look at how you were raised," he snapped, turning toward Yeonjun's mother, his voice dripping with contempt.

"This is your fault. You let him become like this. I should've known better than to trust you to raise him right."

Yeonjun's mother sat silently, her eyes fixed on the television, refusing to meet either of their gazes. It wasn't that she agreed with his father, but she had checked out long ago, leaving Yeonjun to fend for himself in these fights.

Yeonjun felt a rush of heat behind his eyes, but he swallowed it down. There was no point in arguing. There never was. He just stood there, numb, as his father's rant continued, each word sinking deeper into his skin.

"You're a disappointment," his father spat. "Just like her."

The words echoed in Yeonjun's mind, reverberating off the walls of his chest, tightening around his throat. His feet felt glued to the floor, but after another venomous glance from his father, Yeonjun turned and left.

The slam of the door behind him was the only sound that followed him out.

— End of Flashback —

The memory lingered like a bad aftertaste as Yeonjun exhaled smoke, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. He took another swig from the bottle, the soju burning its way down, but it wasn't enough to drown out the words still echoing in his mind.

"Hey, Yeonjun," Hyunjin's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "You good, man?"

Yeonjun glanced up, the haze of the alcohol making everything feel distant, blurred. He forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Just... you know. Life."

Mingi clinked his bottle against Yeonjun's. "Cheers to fucking up life," Mingi grinned, though the sentiment felt hollow.

Yeonjun mirrored the toast, his heart heavy. "Cheers," he muttered, raising the bottle to his lips again.

Each drink was like a desperate attempt to quiet the noise in his head. To forget the emptiness at home, the guilt for pushing his friends away, and the gnawing feeling that no amount of smoke or alcohol could fill the void inside him.

And yet, here he was, numbing himself all the same.