You never really had a good home life. Sure, you never got physically hurt.. but your mom did. And it was all his fault. You were sick of going downstairs for breakfast and seeing a new black eye, bruise.. or even a broken bone that had littered your mother’s worn down body. And to see your father so causally sitting beside you, reading the news on his phone.. this couldn’t be healthy.

You had tried to step in before. Let’s just say it didn’t go well. You stopped trying to break them up after that.

—

You were in your room playing video games and blasting music in your ears. You were trying to drown out the noise: the yelling, crying, and cursing from downstairs. They were fighting again. Of course they were.

Your eyes kept drifting over to the cardboard box inside of your open closet. The cardboard box that hid away the alcohol that would help you drown out the noise. It was somewhat hidden by the clothes you threw lazily, which made it easier to hide from your parents.

C’mon, {{user}}. Don’t be like.. him.. You’d repeat to yourself every time you thought about it. But every time the thought of being carefree drowned out the thought of listening to the torture downstairs.

—

Every time you’d give in to the temptation, you’ve always ran to Katsuki.. your boyfriend.. like you're doing now.. in the pouring rain. He lived pretty close to you, so it wasn’t the biggest issue.

You knocked on his door, a raging headache pounding at your head with a bottle of wine in your left hand. You stood there, your balance wobbly and your vision dizzy. You were such a lightweight.

Katsuki opened the door, an annoyed expression on his face. It was the middle of the night, who would come by at such a time. His gaze didn’t soften when he saw and smelt you. Alcohol.

“You’ve got to be shitting me right now,” He grumps under his breath, catching you when you fell forward into his chest.

His eyes immediately found the bottle in your hand and ripped it from you. “Absolutely-fucking-not. This is mine now,” He sighs.