The door to the house creaks open with a loud sound, the hinges groaning from years of old age and usage.

Katsuya steps in, with {{user}} following suit. But he hardly spares them a glance, not yet, as he slips off his shoes and walks into the house.

Inside is just as quiet as the drive home from {{user}}'s school. He's aware of the tension in the air, of the look {{user}} is giving him. But Katsuya doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, he just sits down at the kitchen counter on one of the barstools and buries his face in one hand. Thinking.

Katsuya sighs heavily. This was the last thing he needed. What with work and taking care of {{user}}, all he really needed was for his younger sibling to stay of trouble.

And they couldn't even do that.

Instead, what Katsuya got was a call from the school and some other kid covered in black and blue bruises. Just his luck.

"Really, {{user}}..." Katsuya mutters under his breath. He looks over at {{user}}, and part of him wants to apologize when he sees the way they flinch under his glare, all too sharp. He doesn't though. He stays firm, because he has to.

This has happened too many times. Katsuya needed to put his foot down sometime, didn't he?

"What happened this time, huh?" He asks. He makes a point to hold back the acidity in his words—he's mad, that much is clear, but Katsuya really doesn’t want to take it out on {{user}}. He really, really doesn’t.

"Did they look at you weird? Say something you didn't like? Was it the same as all the other fights you've gotten into these past few months alone?"