By The Window | YeonBin

sixteen

CW: This chapter contains scenes of domestic violence, verbal abuse, and emotional distress. Please read with care. Your mental wellbeing comes first.

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"YOU'RE GOOD FOR NOTHING!"

The shout pierced through the house, and Yeonjun could already sense where this was going. Another fight. Another blame game.

The glass bottle hit the floor with a loud crash, sending shards across the kitchen tile. Yeonjun's father, red-faced and drunk, stumbled forward, his anger fixed not on Yeonjun this time, but on his mother.

"This is all your fault," his father snarled, pointing a shaking finger at her. "You raised him, and look at him! Smoking, sneaking out—he's a useless brat, just like you."

His mother flinched at the accusation, but she didn't respond, as usual. Yeonjun watched from the doorway, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. The tension in the room coiled tighter and tighter.

"If you weren't so pathetic, maybe he wouldn't be a screw-up too," his father continued, his voice growing louder, his words more venomous. "You're worthless. Can't even raise a kid right."

And then it happened— his father raised his hand, an empty can of beer still in his grip, his arm cocked back as if he was going to strike his mother. Yeonjun's chest tightened, his heart pounding in his ears. Without thinking, he bolted forward, throwing himself between them.

"Stop!" Yeonjun's voice came out strained, but firm. "Don't you dare—"

He barely got the words out before the beer can came down, hitting him hard across the cheek. The metal crunched under the impact, the sharp edge slicing into his skin. Yeonjun staggered back, his face burning with pain, but he refused to let himself fall.

His father stared at him, momentarily thrown off by Yeonjun's intervention. But that didn't stop the drunken tirade.

"You think you're some kind of hero now, huh?" his father spat, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. "You're just as pathetic as her."

Yeonjun's jaw clenched as he pressed his hand to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his own blood trickling between his fingers. But he didn't move. His body was shaking with anger, with years of pent-up frustration, and this time he wasn't going to stay silent.

"At least she doesn't treat me like garbage," Yeonjun shot back, his voice low but steady. "Yeah, she's not perfect. She's barely around. But she never made me feel like I'm worthless. She still cares."

His father blinked, caught off guard by the defiance in Yeonjun's tone. The room fell into an uneasy silence as Yeonjun took a step forward, his eyes hard and unrelenting.

"She doesn't degrade me. She doesn't make me feel like I'm a disappointment every time I walk into the room. And that's more than I can say for you."

His father glared, lips curling in disgust, but before he could speak again, he stumbled backward, muttering under his breath. "You're both pathetic," he slurred, waving his hand dismissively as he made his way to the door.

"Yeah, well, you're the one running away now," Yeonjun muttered under his breath as the front door slammed shut behind his father.

The echo of the door reverberated through the house, leaving a thick, suffocating silence in its wake. Yeonjun's chest heaved as the adrenaline slowly drained from his body, leaving only the dull ache of his throbbing cheek and the sting of his father's words.

His mother stood frozen, her eyes wide as she finally registered what had happened. Her gaze drifted to the blood trickling down Yeonjun's face, and for the first time in a long while, she seemed shaken.

"Jun... your face," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He wiped at his cheek, wincing when his fingers brushed the cut. "It's fine," he muttered, even though it clearly wasn't.

His mother finally moved, snapping out of her daze. She rushed to grab the first aid kit from the kitchen, returning to him with shaky hands. They both sat down at the table in silence as she gently dabbed at the cut, her eyes avoiding his.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice hoarse. "I should've taken that hit."

Yeonjun stayed silent, staring at the table. He wasn't sure how to respond. Part of him wanted to tell her it didn't matter. That it was just another day in this house. Another fight. Another wound, physical or otherwise.

"I should've done more," she continued, her hands still working at cleaning his wound, though more carefully now. "I... I've never been good at protecting you, Yeonjun. I'm sorry for that. I've been... lost."

Yeonjun's eyes flicked up to meet hers, but she still wasn't looking directly at him. Her words felt distant, as if they were more for herself than for him.

"I didn't mean for things to end up like this," she continued, her voice soft, almost broken. "I... I never wanted this life, Jun. I was in love with someone else... and I thought I could forget, but I couldn't. And now... I don't know how to fix it."

Her words were vague, but they carried the weight of years of regret. Yeonjun didn't flinch or show any outward emotion, but inside, something loosened, just a bit.

He had always known there was a story beneath her distance, beneath her silence. But hearing it out loud didn't make it any easier.

There was a long, awkward pause. Yeonjun swallowed hard, trying to process her words, but all he felt was numb. It wasn't like this was news to him.

He had always known that his mother's heart had never fully been in this family, and his father... well, his father was just a force of destruction.

"It's okay, Mom," Yeonjun finally muttered, his voice low and tired. "Don't think about it too much."

She blinked, surprised by his response, but she didn't push. She finished dressing the wound and stood up, brushing her hands off on her jeans. "There. It's not too deep. You'll be fine."

Yeonjun stood too, rubbing at his sore cheek. He glanced at his mother once more, but whatever he wanted to say just stuck in his throat. Instead, he offered her a small nod, and without another word, he turned and made his way upstairs to his room.