The evening air was crisp as Yang Jun stepped into his house, the familiar clutter wrapping around him like a quiet embrace. His shoulders loosened the moment the door shut behind him. At least Mr. Zhao hadn’t reported him to his parents. That alone felt like mercy. He dropped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes, releasing a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
The living room glowed softly, the television murmuring to itself in the background. No voices. No footsteps. His parents were probably out, most likely at a friend’s place for dinner, leaving the house suspended in rare, peaceful silence. Yang Jun wandered through the space slowly, fingers brushing the back of the couch, the quiet amplifying the thoughts he’d been trying not to think.
For all the trouble of
