Hiraeth ⚕ Seungjin

⒑Seungmin

Tw: alot of swearing. Child abuse. Might trigger parent trauma. Drinking/drunk individuals. Self harm (I'm so sorry)

Don't make a sound.

Open the door quietly. Don't slam it shut.

Don't step on the third staircase, it creaks.

Don't-

"Seungmin? You're back?" The slurred words echoed behind him, and 13-year old Seungmin turned. Pasting the most unprovocative and obedient smile he had.

"Y-yeah. I was just heading back up to my room.. gotta study.. and stuff," The boy gulped under his mother's eyes, which had a certain haze to them that signaled she was drunk. Again.

His mother leaned against the kitchen counter, the acid green bottles of beers toppling behind her, nearly all of them empty. "Come here."

Please.

Don't.

Seungmin stepped towards his mom, his mouth drying. Maybe she'll let him off. Dad's not here, she shouldn't be angry.

His mother's hand curled gently, lovingly, around his neck, her fingers soft against his nape.

Breathe.

She gets angry when you're scared.

"You know. I'm your mother. Shouldn't you look at me when I talk to you?" As soon as the words left her lips, Seungmin's eyes darted up, hiding his shaking hands behind his back.

"I'm sorry," Seungmin muttered quietly. His mother smiled, a small, lopsided smile.

Before tangling her fingers into his hair and throwing him to the floor. His head smashed into the floor, dull pain echoing as he scrambled to get up.

Get up.

Don't stay on the floor.

She'll-

A dry sob escaped Seungmin as her foot caught his stomache, sending him sprawling into a drawer, the cold metal biting uncomfortably into his back.

His leg shook as he leaned heavily against the drawer, pulling himself to his feet and clutching his aching stomache.

"Come here baby. I'm sorry," his mother whispered, a sweet simper on her lips as she wobbled a bit. The boy shook his head, letting go of his stomache as his mind splintered to a million thoughts.

Stay back.

Just go away.

Please.

It hurts.

"No?" The mother's face crumpled, an ugly, ragged scowl replacing her smile. She took a step to Seungmin. Another. Another. His hands grasped at anything, anything to defend himself.

Please.

Anything.

Something metal. Seungmin quickly glanced as it. A knife. Maybe he wasn't thinking straight, maybe this was wrong, but he held it infront of him, pointing it at his mother.

"Stay back," Seungmin's voice broke, his grasp on the knife sweaty. The knife was slipping. Why was he sweating.

Stop sweating.