a trophy father's trophy son
the phone is pressed to the side of his face, though his sister on the other end of the line would have no trouble at all hearing kai if it were across the room instead. he’s obnoxiously loud, and it’s a miracle in itself that no one has told him off for it yet, but it is his dormitory, in which he believes he can scream at whatever inanimate objects he wants to.
it is a shame the room isn’t soundproof, though.
“yeah fucking right.” he swears into the receiver, his knuckles bone white as he grips the cellphone, a mixture of agony and aggravation spread across his features and knotting his eyebrows tightly together.
his face grows red and his voice is getting louder with each passing sentence, too loud that he doesn’t hear the thick iron door open right behind him. “they didn’t come to the funeral, so why the hell should i come to their anniversary.”
his sister is pleading with him, trying to stay calm even though kai clearly doesn't share the same priorities. he’s seconds away from throwing the phone at the wall, and his restraint is tested when he hears his sister utter the words ‘she’s dead, kai. move on’.
the phone’s screen cracks on it’s way down, the impact of the throw too strong for the glass to handle. “family,” he spits, the word laced in a malice that only years spent burdened by two negligent parents could harbour. “better off without them.”
he turns to walk out of the room, to leave the mess for some other time when he's sure he won't break something else. but he's not alone.
“how much of that did you hear?” his face hasn’t relaxed, his hands still balled in fists at his sides, but he hangs his head and apologises nonetheless.
“i mean— sorry. did you need something?"