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"Good morning Yongbok- no... Hey, Yongbok- no... Maybe I should say Felix?" Chan sighed in between his mumbles, tone wavering and lips quivering with anxiety. His sweaty palms fought to maintain grip on the white headband that he had managed to locate in his wardrobe, and his weak, shaky knees begged for a break as they fought to keep his frame upwards in front of the body-length mirror near his nightstand. "Maybe he might be uncomfortable... maybe I should say- hey, Felix? Or, Hello there? What about-"

"Christopher?" The feminine, detested voice sounded from the slight crack that revealed the inside of the boy's room to the hallway. "Why are you dressed like this?" The sound only grew louder, and the tall, black-headed figure appearing as a reflection in the glass that the male was already struggling to keep a focus on was all it took to send those tired knees sideways, seating the worried teen on the edge of his bed. "Do you plan on leaving the house?"

Eyes darting to all corners of the undecorated room, and lips trapped painfully in between his teeth, Chan sighed at the headache that started making its way to the back of his head, eyes glossing themselves but lids too fearful of the possible inquiries to blink and let them flow. "I- I was just about coming out to ask you and father if I could go out today. I- I did all of my chores, as well as homework and extra research. I've completed the reports that you and father gave me, and I've also proofread everything. I've studied, and-"

"Christopher, I asked you one question. Why are you dressed like this?" The woman audibly growled with her words, eyebrows knitted together and lips pursed in question. "Your outfit is very... sporty. Why? And who or what made you think that you can request permission the same day that you plan on going?"

"I- I planned on going to ten-tennis today. It's because I have taken an interest in the sport from research, and so I wanted to try it today. I didn't know that I had to ask you days in advance, so for that I am sor-"

"You are not going."

Heart dropping and eyelids finally closing to let a single drop slide down the cheeks that hid those beautiful dimples, Chan furrowed his brows questioningly, lips parted and releasing a low cough before two one-worded questions, "What? Why?"

"Excuse me? Are you questioning my decision right now?" The leggy female scoffed with her words, eyebrows raising and face mimicking an expression of disbelief under her too-heavy makeup. "You see, Christopher, this is why you did not have these privileges in the first place. You never know how to adhere to rules, and you always emerge with these arrogant attitudes." She face-palmed before continuing, a glare piercing her son's forehead as her veiny hand dropped from her face. "Now get that clothes off and bring it to your father and I's bedroom. After that, you are ordered to go study for your upcoming exams. Those ones are going to be even more challenging because it's set by neither of us, but by the college that we applied for you to attend-"

"No," Chan muttered lowly, and regret didn't hesitate to increase the strength of the headache that had started not too long before, his lips only reclaiming their tight place in between his teeth in preparation for the annoyingly hurtful words that would expectedly leave his mother's throat as a response.

"What did you just say?"

The boy sighed before parting his lips to reiterate his decline, but no line could leave before his mind could get the chance to go over all possible outcomes based on the autocratic personality of his parents observed over the years. No word could sound before his mind could weigh the cost of rebelling and easing his years' worth of bottled up frustration, and the rows of punishment that his own parents would obviously organize, including the loss of his new privileges.

His bit his lip again, eyes closing and headache strengthening, but then the prices being weighed in his head came to the final conclusion that only he mattered in that moment. Only his sanity and mental health that had been mercilessly abused for most of his life were to be prioritized in that very moment.

The longed-for feeling of those slim arms embracing his torso and mimicking the action of a hug that he had read about so many times, but never received- those slim arms that he had only seen on photos yet so wholeheartedly adored, was what was important in that moment, not the droplets of saliva that'd spray out of his mothers mouth when she'd rant another selfish speech in the ignorant company of her husband.

Not even the risk of losing a stable roof over his head seemed important right then and there, honestly. As essential as it appeared to be, and as high as his IQ had proven itself to become, with no emotional and mental stability, Chan knew that he was going nowhere.

He knew that sooner or later, as difficult and profitless as it seemed to stand up for himself, he had to admit could get nowhere without developed social skills.

So sighing once more and releasing the plump piece of flesh from its bony confinement, Chan opened up his eyes to lock gazes with the taller; his own no where near the calm, submissive state it was before, but equally dark and challenging as his mother's.

"Mother," he started, tone low and fists clenched against the bed sheets. "I said no. I'm not going to remove my outfit and place it in your room. No, I am not going to stay home today and do a bunch of work when I worked my a- my ass- when I worked my ass off all week," he flinched internally at the struggle to verbalize the swear word that he had only familiarized himself with over text for a few weeks.

Voice deepening to an unrealistic extent for a woman like herself, and eyes darkening further and even more intimidating than before, the woman sighed with her lips parted, tongue poking at the inside of her cheek in unmitigated disbelief. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me right, mother. I'm fu- I'm fucking- I'm fucking tired of being treated like a child. I'm eighteen, mother. I've been cooped up in this fucking house all my life, and the one time I want to leave, to get some fresh air, you want to restrict me? No. I won't take it." More tears ran down his face as he spoke, yet his voice remained unshaken and assertive— because those tears weren't from sadness. No.

They weren't from pity or fear or to touch the hard woman's heart, but they stemmed from hurt. Hurt and realization of the true, abusive state at which he was raised. They stemmed from frustration and bottled up emotions that were just too jam packed to have the tongue as their only outlet. So Chan cried, and cried, some tears even staining the thin colar of his white T-shirt, but the salty water could in no way halt his rant. "I'm going to tennis today. I'm going to interact with other people- real people today. And I don't care if you kick me out, or scold me, or even kill me. I don't care, but I won't take no for an answer."

Nodding and widening her eyes for a few seconds to properly comprehend the blatant rebellion against her authority, the woman simply hummed softly before making her way out of the bedroom, leaving the boy with the expectation of her unhesitant return with either his father, his passport, or a belt.

But neither happened. Chan assumed that after ten minutes of waiting, there was no way that she had any plans of coming back to seek any more trouble. So sighing and standing from his uncomfortable seat on the mattress, he quickly packed a backpack with a roll of toilet paper, as well as a few coins he had managed to collect now and then whenever he'd sight them at different corners of the house, before running down to the kitchen to fill and pack a bottle of water.

"I hope I don't die when I get back," was all he muttered before opening up the "Maps" app on his phone, closing the door gently behind him and sighing at the open space beyond the veranda. "You're okay, Chris. Just breathe, walk. Breathe, walk. Breathe, walk. Breathe..."

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