The first time Jihoon have experienced what burning feels like he was almost eighteen.

His day actually went great: school finished earlier than usual, he spent some time with Soonyoung in the latter’s dance studio, perfecting some new choreography and he came home to an empty house, which meant he could work on his songs without anyone bothering him. His parents came around dinner time and it seemed like they were in a good mood, something which happened pretty rarely. He was called down for dinner and he was surprised to see both of his parents at the table, his mother even smiling softly. ‘Strange’ he thought, but he sat down anyway, enjoying his meal. He was halfway through it when his mother spoke, announcing him that she has news for him. He nodded, wondering what it could be. His parents seemed happy so maybe something good happened.

Wrong.

“You were accepted at the New York Business Academy.” His mother nearly squeaked and Jihoon could feel his smile dropping gradually.

“W-What?” he asked, voice small. His mother repeated her statement but it only confused Jihoon more.

“I didn’t apply.” He mumbled.  His parents seemed to hear him anyway.

“We did it for you.” His mother replied with the same large, sickening smile. Jihoon only starred at them, trying to process the situation. His parents looked so proud, it made him gag.

“I… I’m not going.” He whispered. His mother blinked once, twice, her smile never leaving her face.

“What are you saying, dear?”

That was the moment Jihoon felt it, the burning in his heart and mind, the need of defiance. He strengthened his back and looked straight into his mother's eyes as he told her once again that he wasn’t going anywhere. He watched her smile faltering and heard his father snort.

“Don’t be stupid, Jihoon.” His father spoke for the first time. Jihoon tried to remember how long had passed since he heard his voice. It must have been weeks.

“I’m not stupid. I told you I’m not going to take a business major.” And he told them. Like a hundred times, but they never understood.

“Yes, you are.” His father stated, voice low and steady, meaning to leave no place for arguing. But the fire Jihoon felt made him want to fight back, at least once.

“I am not. You can’t make me.” He imitated his father's tone, trying to look collected. His father only put on an arrogant smile and dipped his spoon in the soup before him, clearly showing Jihoon that what the boy was saying wasn’t worth his time.

“As I was saying.” His mother spoke again and Jihoon turned towards her. She was also eating while talking, her smile back on her face. “We know you have another two years of high school, but the headmaster said that you can merge them into one. Of course you will have to work harder, but I’m sure you can manage.” Jihoon just stared at her, her voice more like a background noise. He couldn’t believe what was happening. They weren’t even considering listening to him. They had everything planned already.

“Jihoon, are you listening to me?” his mother's annoyed voice reached him. He snapped his eyes back to her.

“No.” he simply said and watched as a wave of anger passed her features. Somehow it made him want to see her getting mad. “I don’t need to listen. I’m not going.”

“Enough of this. You are going and that’s final.” Her voice was firm but Jihoon wanted more. He wanted to anger them, to make them feel what he had been feeling for years.

“And I will tell you one more time: I’m not doing it.” He made sure to pronounce each word carefully, maybe then it would get to their brains. He got scared when his father slammed his spoon on the table, but he tried not to show it.

“And what the hell do you think you will do in college? Ha?” he asked, voice louder than Jihoon ever remembered it to be. “Your ty music?”

The words stung, but he ignored it. “How would you know if it’s ty or not? You never listened to it!” he screamed back, feeling his hands start to tremble and the need to destroy something crashing into him.

“I don’t need to hear it to know that you won’t make a ing penny out of it!” He saw how his father's face turned dark red and he wondered if he looks the same.

“That’s not your business. I will deal with it when the time comes.” He argued back. His father threw him an angry look before he stood up.

“Stay here!” he commanded, and walked out of the room. Jihoon heard him scream at the maid to bring him a lighter and started to wonder what was he was going to do with it, but he stayed put. He looked at his meal, but he felt like he would puke if he took another bite. He then raised his eyes to his mother and her icy stare made him shiver. His father returned a few minutes later, but Jihoon ignored him. He heard him press on the lighter but still refused to acknowledge his presence. That is until his father threw something in the middle of the table.

He pushed his chair back, out of reflex, as the burning book landed in front of him. But the moment he realized what exactly was burning he immediately approached the table and reached his hand for the notebook, a faintly ‘No’ leaving his shocked parted lips. The flames stopped him from grabbing it, and he felt someone pull him back. He felt his hand sting where the fire touched it, but his insides stung more, burning along with the notebook on the table, his first music notebook.

“What are you doing?!” he screamed and choked on the tears he just then realized were falling down his face. His father looked at him coldly and Jihoon saw what he was carrying.

“No!” he yelled, fighting to escape his mother’s grip, but the woman must have been stronger that he though or maybe he was just weakened by the shock. He couldn’t do anything as his father threw his other notebooks in the fire and smashed his recording system on the ground. He could just watch, mouth open to let out raspy moans that came deep from within his chest.

He watched the flames dance and he felt them, like they were burning him instead. He could feel them crawling up his lungs, pressuring and squeezing his heart and all he could do was stay there and watch how they fed on his work, on his passion. He vaguely remembers begging them to stop, to quench the fire, but if he really did it, they ignored him. It was only when the smoke entered his throat, that he snapped and pushed his mother with all his force back. He tried to grab the notebooks, ignoring the fire, the pain, because his heart hurt more, but his hand went through them as it did though the fire, letting them crush beneath into dark ashes.

He remembers choking on the thick smoke, on his own tears and sweat, he remembers his nose aching and his vision blurring. He remembers the hands that tried to drag him away, but he mostly remembers the flames, the consuming fire and the decomposing notebook in his hands. His work of years, his dreams.

What he doesn’t recall is him fainting, but that must have happened along the way because he woke up later in his bed, away from the fire but he could have sworn that he was still burning. His hands had been bandaged, but they were still stinging like hell. He could feel his head throbbing and he started feeling claustrophobic even if the room was more than large. He needed air and that’s when he realized he needed to leave, to step out of this house and never come back.

His mother surprised him while he was throwing some clothes in a bag. She had screamed at him to go back to bed, but he had none of it. Her screams warned his father, however, who entered the room shortly after and let out a sardonic laugh.

“Where do you think you are going, boy?” he has asked mockingly.

“Away.” Jihoon replied, his voice hoarse and his throat still burning.

“Stop this nonsense and go back to sleep.” His mother argued and tried to snatch away his bag. Jihoon pushed her away, hard enough to make her fall, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He tossed his laptop and headphones in the bag and put his guitar in its case.

“This is not funny, Jihoon.” His father's low voice boomed around the room. “Stop it right now.” Jihoon ignored him once again and hanged the bag on his shoulder. He took his guitar and finally turned towards his parents, both staying in the doorway.

“I’m leaving.” He stated and he never in his life felt so sure about something.

“You don’t have anywhere to go. This is your house and you will stay here.” His father almost growled, eyes turned into slits as he watched the boy.

“You will have to burn me too to make me stay.” Jihoon answered, rage starting to fill him once again. “And if you do make me stay I promise you I would do everything to ruin you! I will run on the streets screaming every single dirty secret you have and I know better than anyone how full of both of you are. I’ll fight you in every single way I can and I WILL leave this house in one way or another.”

“You ungrateful brat!” his mother screamed and rushed to him, arm up in order to hit him. Jihoon just pushed her back, in his father's arms. “We gave you life, brought you up and you dare speak like that to us?” she continued and Jihoon smirked at her, undisturbed by her speech.

“I don’t give a about all that.” He spat. “It wasn’t my decision to be born and you definitely didn’t bring me up. My nannies did. You know nothing about me.”

“We know enough.” She argued back and Jihoon just felt like revealing everything, just to hurt her, them.

“You know nothing! You don’t know what I like or what I hate. You don’t know what I do in my spare time and with whom. Heck, you don’t even know your son is gay!” he screamed and watched with sadistic pleasure how shock graced their faces, wanting to go on.

“It amuses me how you can sleep so peacefully at night in the same bed I ed so many guys, how you can eat at the same table I enjoyed so much to spread my legs on and let them…” he felt the blow before he saw his father actually hitting him but he only laughed, loud and clear. “You have no ing idea who I am.” He stated once again as he threw a fist right in his father's jaw, sending him tumbling on the floor. His mother let out a scream and rushed to her husband’s side, allowing Jihoon to exit the room without problems.

As he put his shoes by the door, he saw his father’s wallet on the small table by the door and opened it, tossing the id on the ground and ripping his credit cards, keeping the cash for himself. He then exited the house and got in the first taxi he found.

A.N:

First chapter... I wrote it while listening to BTS - Nevermind and Linking Park - Numb.

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