Toy Boy | Chanlix

Problematic one

The streets of Seoul were awash in the warm glow of streetlights as Chan made his way home. The bustling energy of the city was still new to him, a stark contrast to the quieter, more laid-back vibe of Sydney. As he turned the corner onto his street, a familiar tension began to creep into his chest, tightening with each step that brought him closer to his new apartment.

The building loomed ahead, its tall, imposing structure a reminder of the life that now awaited him. Chan slowed his pace, the weight of the day pressing down on him. It wasn't just the unfamiliarity of school, or the icy reception from Felix—it was the knowledge of what was waiting for him inside that door.

With a deep breath, Chan stepped into the lobby, the muted hum of the elevator the only sound as he rode up to the fifth floor. His hand hesitated on the doorknob, but he knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The apartment was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the television coming from the living room. His father, Mr. Bang, sat slouched on the couch, a half-empty bottle of soju on the table in front of him. His eyes, bloodshot and heavy-lidded, flicked over to Chan as he entered.

"You're late," his father grunted, his voice rough and slurred. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I... I had to stay back at school," Chan replied cautiously, his gaze flicking to his younger sister's bedroom door, which was thankfully closed. "It was my first day, and I—"

"Excuses," his father spat, cutting him off. He pushed himself up from the couch, swaying slightly as he approached Chan. "You think just because we're in a new country, you can slack off? You're here to study, not to waste time with those useless kids."

"I wasn't—"

The sudden crack of his father's hand across his face silenced him, the sting of the blow radiating through Chan's cheek. He bit back the tears that threatened to spill, forcing himself to remain still, to not give his father the satisfaction of seeing him break.

"Don't you talk back to me," his father growled, his breath reeking of alcohol. "You think you're better than me? Huh?"

"No, sir," Chan murmured, lowering his head. He knew better than to argue.

"Damn right you're not," his father muttered, turning away and stumbling back to the couch. "Go to your room. I don't want to see your face."

Chan didn't need to be told twice. He quickly retreated to his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaning against it as he let out a shaky breath. His heart pounded in his chest, the fear and anger swirling inside him, but there was nothing he could do. This was how it had always been, ever since he was old enough to remember.

He crossed the small room and sat on his bed, the weight of the day pressing down on him. His thoughts drifted to his sister, Hanna. She was only fourteen, still so young, and Chan had made it his mission to shield her from their father's wrath as much as he could. He knew she heard things—there was no way to hide everything—but as long as she stayed out of his father's way, she was usually safe.

A soft knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts. "Chan?" Hanna's small voice called from the other side.

Chan quickly wiped at his face, trying to erase any trace of tears before opening the door. Hanna stood there, her eyes wide with concern, her dark hair falling in waves around her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, stepping into the room.

"I'm fine, Hanna," Chan replied, giving her a reassuring smile. "Did you do your homework?"

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. "Yeah... I heard Dad yelling. Did he..."

"It's nothing," Chan interrupted, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about it, okay? Just stay in your room, and don't come out if you hear anything. I'll take care of it."