𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒔 : 𝒘𝒐𝒘𝒌𝒘𝒂𝒏

sanctuary

For whatever reason, caused by whatever being above, nothing stays good forever.

a never-ending battle of good and evil, a price to pay for good fun and health?

Byeongkwan didn't know why he didn't expect it sooner, why he ignored and pushed back the inevitable backlash he'd receive.

His time spent running around with someone labeled trash in the town's eyes came to an end all too fast.

but the fall was hard, and left him with bruises on his soul and a weakened state of mind.

His house was still so cold, the December chill held nothing to the Antarctic seas that flooded that house.

All pristine condition and clay modelled picket fences. The ever glowing eyes of his family.

Byeongkwan knew something wasn't right the moment he'd stepped into the buildings threshold. the muffled voices coming from the living room, the sudden hush, and the snapping heads in his direction. everything rang danger and sent his heart racing.

his mother's styled hair, higher class clothes and her burning brown eyes. his father's furrowed brows, cold glare and crossed arms. the absence of warmth.
"Byeongkwan, have a seat."

He forgets how hard their couch is, how unlived the whole house was.
He forgot the sting those eyes caused, the bass of his father's voice or the shrill screech of his mother's. How they sounded like demons, gnarled hands resting on his shoulders in nothing but faux love.

His back is straight, hands at his sides, nails biting into his palms. His chest is tight, air not flowing as he waits with impatient and anxiety at the presence of his parents.
His father shifts.

"Where have you been?"

"I told Mom I was staying at Yu-"

"I called Yuchans mother, you weren't answering your phone and I got worried. Imagine my surprise when I was informed that my son hadn't talked to her in a good month and a half. So, Byeongkwan, where have you been."

fuck

Byeongkwan bites his cheek, fingernails breaking his skin.

"I..."

his father stands up
"You know son, you've been sneaking out, your grades have been dropping, and you won't believe the rumors I heard the other day."

no...

"...ark told me that he thought he saw you with that Kim boy. But hat couldn't be correct right?"

His chest burns.

"Because no son of mine would ever be around someone like that right? He would never be sneaking out to go to that run down gas station on the other side of town to hang around a bunch of freaks and delinquents, right?"

His father steps closer.
"No son of mine would befriend two druggies and a pretty boy, right?!"

Byeongkwan's pulled up from his seat, hands gripping at the ones holding onto his jacket collar, the fabric closing around his throat as that bass voice yells.

"RIGHT?!"

bile rises into his throat, but he chokes it down and he paws at his father's hands. fight or flight kicking in and reminding Byeongkwan that he wants to live.

he breaks away, his father stumbling a bit as Byeongkwan kicks out in panic.

Dashing away, legs aching at the sudden bolt. His heart is pounding, banging against his ribs and thumping like a heavy bass in his ears. He trips over the coffee table, landing hand on his knees and smacking his face the couches arm, the copper taste coats his tongue and his lips sting from where his teeth had punctured the skin.

He shouldn't be panicking, but the ringing in his ears doesn't cover the shrill shriek of his mother's yells or the vibration under his hands as his father walked towards him again.

He has only one thought clear in his mind, run.

but why is he running, what has he done. how can he be so scared of the people who brought him life, the ones who sheltered him and fed him since birth. how can he been so scared of his own family.

in the back of his head he knows that he's right, that the slaps and the punches deserve jail time. The depression he's felt and the lackluster acknowledgement we're nothing but abuse, sugar coated to look like strict parenting.

inky black hands and needle toothed grins

His body is on autopilot, scrambling up and bolting for the door

run. run. run. run.

the door slams behind him, but his parents shouts fall to dead ears.

his sanctuary is the smell of Marlboro cigarettes, freshly dyed black hair, and thin hoodies.

Sehyoon just holds him in a tight embrace, while everything slowly syncs in.

Byeongkwan becomes just another statistic, but he doesn't mind that much...