YOON | Prequel to THE8

ONE

| CHAPTER ONE |

Jeonghan was 7 the first time he saw his Father hit his Mother.

It was a shock, yet, his Father had no regret, merely scowling at his own son while cursing out and ignoring his sobbing wife, swiping his keys from the hook and slamming the front door shut behind him.

Jeonghan was frozen in place, holding his teddy bear closer to his chest, his Mother's cries ringing in his ears.

The beatings don't stop. They last for years. That is, until finally, his Father walks out on the morning of Jeonghan's 12th birthday and never returns, leaving what could've been a big happy family.

It wasn't the best birthday present.

Jeonghan was 14 when his Mother brought another man home.

He wasn't expecting it, and practically choked on the sloppy supper he'd made all by himself as soon as they stumbled through the door, all over each other like leeches, practically tripping over to coffee table trying to make it over to the couch.

His Mother paid her son no mind, diving into doing the deed with this stranger and Jeonghan barely had time to run away before their clothes were hitting the floor.

He locked himself in his room that night, sliding his favorite pair of headphones on, turning the volume up high enough to where he gets a warning.

Jeonghan spends his 16th birthday alone.

He didn't have a cake, didn't even have the ingredients to try and make one.... just had a honey bun and a candle. That night, he lit it pathetically, singling to himself quietly while his Mother drags another man down the hallway to her bedroom.

He blows out the candle as soon as the door slams.

Jeonghan's 17 when he gets kicked out of school for his overflowing absences.

His Mother was called into the office that very day, Jeonghan having sunk even deeper into his seat as both the principal and his Mother ripped him a new one, yelling at him to the verge of tears.

He had just calmed down until his Mother hit him as soon as they pulled into the driveway, shouting at him some more.

Jeonghan just sat there in shock, shaky palm held to his puffy cheek. And now, finally now, he's able to feel like what he witnessed all those years ago.

Jeonghan leaves home when he turns 18.

He packs a bag. Some clothes, half a loaf of bread, and his favorite jacket. It's black with a gold zipper. He's loved it ever since he was little and the sleeves touched the floor when he put it on for the first time.

He doesn't write a note, leaving his phone and laptop on his bed as a somewhat different goodbye.

Jeonghan didn't have a car, so he walked.

He walked and walked and walked until he's wheezing, already halfway downtown, body chilled, the cold nipping at his skin. He merely stuffs his pink palms in his pockets and keeps moving.

He walks until the sun sets. He's tired, exhausted from the trip, and it finally sinks in that he's homeless as soon as he slides down the brick of a back alley, staring at the littered concrete in a daze.