You arrived at the park, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of a reunion with Bangchan, your best friend. Having known each other since childhood, you had practically grown up together, sharing countless memories and moments.

But as you rounded the corner to your usual meeting spot, the sight that greeted you was nothing short of a nightmare.

There was Bangchan, his once pristine appearance now marred by a nightmarish tableau of blood and bruises. His split lip stained his chin with crimson, and his arms bore the dark purples and blues of recent violence.

Every step you took toward him was heavy with dread. When you finally settled beside him on the weathered bench, the night air felt thick with unspoken words. Bangchan's gaze remained fixed on the star-studded sky, his expression a cold, unreadable mask.

Breaking the silence, his voice emerged as a low, gravelly murmur.

“He came back today.”

A humorless smile twisted his lips, as though the admission was as painful as the physical wounds he bore.

You didn’t need further explanation.

Bangchan's father was a violent alcoholic with anger issues, a man who was never truly present. Raised solely by his mother—a kind woman who worked multiple jobs to support him—Bangchan had endured a difficult childhood.

When his father did appear, it was always a storm of threats and violence, demanding money from his mother. And each time, it was Bangchan who bore the brunt of his father’s fury, his attempts to protect his mother only leading to more suffering.

The anguish in Bangchan’s eyes was palpable, the subtle tremor in his jaw betraying the storm of emotions raging within him. His usual stoicism cracked under the weight of his anger, sorrow, and frustration.

“I hate him.” His words were a venomous whisper, his fists clenched so tightly that the knuckles had gone white, shaking from the weight of his restrained rage.