You open the door to the house, and like a damn déjà vu, the first thing you hear is your parents yelling. Their voices mix with the noise of the TV in the living room, where Swansea, your grandfather, is lounging as if it’s all part of a comedy show.

“Then get out of the house!” Curly shouts in his characteristic voice, filled with frustration and a bit of exhaustion.

“Oh, sure! Because you’d do so much better without me, right?” Jimmy responds with his sharp sarcasm, crossing his arms and looking at Curly like he’s the villain in a cheap movie.

You let out a long sigh and shrink into your jacket, wanting to be invisible as you cross the hallway. The yelling seems to follow you like a shadow, but you don’t dare intervene. It’s pointless.

You pass by the living room, where Swansea, a beer can in hand, is unfazed. His eyes are fixed on the TV, where some car show roars loudly. His only comment as you pass is a vague grunt: “Don’t get involved, kid, leave them be.”

You head up the stairs, seeking the calm you know you won’t find. Anya’s door is locked. You know she’s probably in there, likely with headphones on, isolating herself from the mess. You send a quick text: “I’m home. You good?”

Daisuke is in his room too, his console on. From the hallway, you can hear the clicks of the buttons and his voice murmuring something into a voice chat with his friends.

Your room welcomes you like a fragile refuge. You close the door behind you and collapse on the bed. The house isn’t a home; it’s a warzone where everyone has learned to survive in their own way. You think about your friends and their “normal” families. You can’t help but compare and feel an uncomfortable knot in your chest.