Chapter Text
Ever since he was adopted as a kid, all Sunoo ever wanted was to die. Even more so now in his senior year of high school.
The shouting started before Sunoo even opened the front door.
“…You said you’d pay it back this week!
“I said I would handle it!
“That’s what you said last week!”
Sunoo paused in the doorway of the apartment. The lights were on. The television blared some variety show that nobody was watching. Papers and receipts covered the table like fallen leaves.
His father stood in the middle of the room with a phone pressed to his ear, pacing in tight circles.
“Just give me two more days,” the man snapped. “Two days!”
A long pause.
Then the man exploded.
“You think threatening me is going to help?!”
The call ended with a sharp jab of his thumb. Silence followed.
Sunoo slipped off his shoes quietly.
His father noticed anyway.
The man’s eyes snapped toward him.
“Where have you been?”
“School.”
“School,” his father repeated flatly.
Sunoo set his bag down beside the wall.
“You know,” the man continued, voice rising again, “normal children come home earlier.”
Sunoo glanced at the clock. It was six in the evening.
“Club activities ran late.”
His father laughed bitterly.
“Club activities,” he said. “Must be nice.”
Sunoo said nothing. Experience had taught him that silence was usually the safest response.
Unfortunately, silence sometimes made things worse.
The man pointed at the table.
“You see that?” he demanded. “Bills. Debt collectors. Do you know why that’s happening?”
Sunoo followed the gesture calmly.
Observation first.
Bank notices. Loan statements. Several envelopes already opened.
He looked back at his father.
“I can guess.”
“Oh, you can guess?” The man stepped closer. “Then say it.”
“Lost another round of poker, have you?”
The room went very still.
For a moment Sunoo wondered if honesty had been a tactical error.
His father’s lips curled.
“Careful how you speak to me,” he said softly.
Sunoo tilted his head.
“Would you prefer I lie?”
That was apparently the wrong answer.
The man grabbed the nearest object from the table and threw it.
The remote control struck the wall beside Sunoo’s head and shattered.
“Don’t get smart with me!” his father shouted.
Sunoo watched the broken plastic fall to the floor.
Anger level rising rapidly..
Leave the room.
He picked up his bag again.
“I’ll be in my room.”
“Stop.”
Sunoo paused.
His father’s voice had changed. Lower. Sharper.
“You think you’re better than me, don’t you?”
Sunoo turned slightly.
“No.”
“Then why do you look at me like that?”
Sunoo considered the question.
“That’s just my face.”
The silence that followed was dangerous.
His father laughed once, a short ugly sound.
“Your mother said the same thing,” he muttered.
"I have no mother, as far as I know," he replied, not acknowledging the dead.
Mentioning his adoptive mother rarely improved anyone’s mood.
“You ruined my life,” his father said. The man took a step forward. “Everything went wrong after you showed up.”
Sunoo frowned slightly. “That’s not how this works.”
For a moment, his father didn’t answer. The man simply stared at him.
Then he chuckled.
A slow, wet sound that smelled faintly of alcohol. “Smart mouth,” he muttered.
His hand slid into the kitchen drawer. Metal scraped against wood.
Sunoo saw the knife.
And ran.
The chair behind him crashed to the floor as he bolted for the hallway.
For a split second there was only silence behind him. Then came the sound of slow footsteps.
Not running.
Walking.
“Hah,” his father breathed from the kitchen. “Think you can run from me, you little orphanmotherfucker?”
Sunoo reached his bedroom door and shoved it open. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
Think. Think.
Behind him the footsteps continued down the hallway.
Unhurried. Predatory.
“Where you goin, kid?”
The voice was low. Amused.
Sunoo grabbed the door and slammed it shut.
The knife punched through the wood half a second later.
The blade stuck there, vibrating.
Sunoo stared at it, frozen. Then the door handle twisted.
He backed away.
The door creaked open slowly.
His father stepped inside.
The knife was already in his hand again.
“Thought you were clever,” the man said quietly.
"Fuck!" Sunoo darted past him out the door.
The man grabbed for his collar. They collided in the hallway.
Sunoo shoved hard and broke free, sprinting toward the living room.
The television still played loudly.
A studio audience laughed at something on screen.
Behind him came the sound of breathing.
Closer now.
“Stop running.”
Sunoo didn’t.
His father caught the back of his shirt and yanked.
Sunoo twisted free, but the knife slashed across his arm.
Pain burned instantly. "Ah!"
He stumbled over the coffee table and nearly fell.
“Hold still,” the man muttered, irritated. “Just hold still.”
The knife came down.
Sunoo grabbed his father’s wrist with both hands. "Father, please!"
The blade hovered inches from his chest.
His father leaned closer.
Up close, Sunoo could smell the alcohol.
“See?” the man murmured. “Always causing trouble.”
Sunoo’s grip slipped.
The knife drove down.
For a moment he didn’t feel anything.
Then heat spread through his chest.
The man pulled the knife out again.
Sunoo collapsed onto the floor.
Across the room the television audience erupted into applause.
His father stood over him, breathing slowly.
“…stupid kid.”
Sunoo stared at the ceiling. The light above him flickered.
Strange.
He had expected dying to feel dramatic.
Instead everything was becoming quiet.
Very quiet.
The room darkened. His father’s figure blurred. Sunoo’s last thought arrived calmly.
So this is how it ends.
Darkness swallowed the room.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Sunoo opened his eyes.
Cold stone pressed against his back.
He blinked slowly.
The ceiling above him was high and arched, carved from pale stone instead of plaster.
Sunlight streamed through a tall window he had never seen before.
Sunoo lay there for several seconds.
Processing.
Different room.
Different air.
Different world.
“…Well,” he murmured. “That’s inconvenient.”