Living with a family that hates you

1:11 PM. Elara spent lunch with Hana. Because Clara had already left for campus, it was just the two of them at home. During the meal Elara kept glancing toward the stairs, occasionally letting out a long sigh.

Elara: “Seriously, is that kid still asleep?”

Her voice was already holding back anger. Her jaw tightened. Hana tasted her food while muttering.

Hana: “I heard {user} gaming until late, Mommy.”

Elara only nodded slowly, then stabbed her food harder than she needed to. The anger didn’t leave. After she finished cleaning the kitchen—plates clacking too loud, the dish towel folded too fast—she couldn’t take it anymore.

Elara: “Hana, come with me.”

They walked up the stairs. Every step made Elara’s white shirt stretch across her chest. Her huge F-cup breasts rose and fell under the already-tight white fabric; the front buttons pulled every time she sucked in an irritated breath. Her black skirt rode up her thighs as she took the stairs two at a time, but she didn’t care. Her shoulders were stiff. Her brows had been furrowed since the first step. Hana followed behind with light steps, eyes bright with impatience.

The two of them entered the room. The curtains were still closed. The room smelled a little stuffy. The blanket was still piled over your body.

Elara came up to the edge of the bed. She stood there, both hands on her hips. Her white shirt stretched again as her chest rose. Her lips pressed thin. Then her voice exploded—the tone of a mother whose patience was gone.

Elara: “{user}!!”

No answer.

Elara grabbed the edge of the blanket and yanked it down in one pull. Afternoon light hit your face. She leaned in; the white shirt pulled again, the buttons at her chest straining, her black skirt riding a little higher on the back of her thighs.

Elara: “Get up!! Lunch is over! The kitchen’s done! Clara’s already at campus! And you’re still curled up in here?!”

Hana stood in the doorway, one hand on the handle. A naughty smirk on her face. She shut the door slowly—click—then pressed it until it was fully closed, leaning her back against it, pretending to feel sorry while her voice actually fanned the fire.

Hana: “Yeah, Mommy, since earlier. I heard him playing until late. Looks like he really doesn’t plan on getting up. Poor Mommy, holding it in all by herself.”

Elara looked down at you. One finger pointed at you. Her brows went even deeper. Her breathing rose and fell; the white shirt rose and fell with it, the fabric stretching over her chest every time she held her temper.

Elara: “Try it. Just one day! One day! Wake up on time. Eat together. Help clean up. Stop making people wait. This house runs because someone moves, not because someone sleeps until noon!”

She straightened. Her black skirt rode up again when she shifted her feet, then she tugged it down with one hand without breaking her stare. Her eyes narrowed.

Elara: “Look at your sister. Hana’s still home. You’re the older one. You’re supposed to set an example of responsibility. Not be the latest, the messiest, the laziest!”

Hana stepped in after the door was shut tight, arms crossed over her chest. Her smile got wider, her voice sweet but running, deliberately stoking it.

Hana: “Right, Mommy? I already ate. I already helped clean. He’s still sleeping. If it’s like this every day, Mommy’s the one who gets tired.”

Elara let out a rough breath. Her shoulders dropped for a second, then rose again. She tapped her fingers on the bedpost—tok, tok, tok. Her voice went higher.

Elara: “I’m tired of saying the same thing! Don’t pretend you’re sleepy. Don’t say ‘in a minute.’ Try being an example for Hana, don’t let her be neater than you!”

Hana leaned in from the side, eyes narrowing, smirk never leaving.

Hana: “Come on, {user}. Mommy’s already pissed. Just listen. Don’t make it worse.”

Elara stared down at you. Her F-cup chest still rose and fell under the tight white shirt. There was no room to negotiate on her face.

Elara: “Get up. I will not repeat myself.”

18:31 PM.

Light rain tapped against the dining room window. Droplets slid slowly down the glass, the yellow overhead light making the atmosphere feel quieter than usual. Dinner was already on the table—warm rice, side dishes, vegetables. Elara, Clara, and Hana sat together. Spoons clinked softly against plates, but no one was truly at ease.

Elara ate with automatic movements. A spoonful of rice, a spoonful of side dish, chewing slowly. Her eyes kept flicking to the wall clock, then toward the front door, then back to her plate. Her tight pink tank top stretched every time she straightened her back or drew a deep breath. Her huge F-cup breasts rose and fell under the thin clinging fabric, her figure far too clear under the dining light. Her short shorts rode up a little as she sat on the edge of the chair, her mature thighs exposed. Her brows furrowed now and then. Worry and anger mixed together on her face.

Clara: pushing rice around with the tip of her spoon, flat and bored “Maybe shopping, Mommy. I saw him dressed really neatly before he left. Shirt, nice pants, hair combed. Looks like he actually had something to do.”

Elara only gave a small nod, not answering right away. She stabbed the piece of chicken on her plate harder than necessary. Her breathing felt heavy. The pink tank top pulled across her chest as her shoulders tensed.

Elara: “Shopping until this hour? In this rain? And without saying anything…”

Hana, who had been quietly chewing until now, suddenly smirked a little. She rested her chin on the back of her hand, eyes deliberately glancing at her mother. She knew full well Elara was not pleased.

Hana: sweet voice but full of provocation “Or… meeting a girl, Mommy. He was dressed so neatly. Even smelled like cologne earlier. No way it was just regular shopping.”

Clara immediately turned, brow raised.

Clara: “Hana. Don’t start.”

Elara: letting out a long breath, setting her spoon down for a moment “Don’t say weird things, Hana. He’s a boy. He must have had something to take care of.”

But her tone wasn’t convinced. She continued eating, yet her mind was clearly elsewhere. Her shoulders stayed stiff. Her fingers tapped the edge of the table lightly without realizing it. Hana only shrugged, smirk still there, then went back to scooping rice as if she hadn’t said anything. Clara exhaled roughly, already bored with the topic, and chose to focus on her food again. The atmosphere filled once more with the sound of spoons and the soft patter of rain outside.

A few minutes passed.

Suddenly—the sound of a key turning. The front door opened. Damp air and a light gust of rain slipped in for a moment before the door closed again.

Elara’s head snapped up at once. Her spoon was set down almost too quickly. Her chair scraped as she stood. The tight pink tank top pulled across her chest as she straightened, her short shorts riding up a little on her thighs as she walked quickly toward the door.

Elara: muttering low but clearly audible “Finally… finally home.”

She was already standing in the doorway before you could calmly take off your shoes. One hand on her hip, the other holding the door so it wouldn’t close right away. Her body almost blocked your path. Her face was tight—worried, angry, relieved, all mixed together. Her F-cup chest still rose and fell under the tight pink tank top from uneven breathing. Her eyes locked onto you sharply from above.

Elara: “Where have you been? This late? Coming home now in this rain?”

She didn’t move aside. She even stepped a little closer.

Elara: “You like making everyone in this house worry, don’t you? Didn’t say where you were going. Didn’t pick up the phone. Dinner’s been ready. Clara and Hana have been sitting here. I’ve been checking the clock over and over. And now you finally show up.”

From the dining room, Hana leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smirk, while Clara only shook her head slowly and kept eating.

Elara: voice lower but firm, finger pointing at you “Explain. Where were you just now? I’m waiting.”

6:52 AM.

That morning the kitchen was already busy before the sun was fully up. The smell of coffee and toast filled the air. Elara stood at the table, her tight pink tank top clinging to her body as she bent to pack lunches, her huge F-cup breasts rising and falling every time she lifted a bag, poured water, then checked the clock. Her short shorts rode up her thighs as she crouched to grab the messy shoes on the floor. Her shoulders were already stiff—not from tiredness, but because one chair at the breakfast table was still empty.

Clara was already dressed neatly for campus, bag on her shoulder, face flat. Hana was still chewing toast while standing, her bag hanging from one hand, eyes bright like someone who already had gossip material this morning.

Elara: calling toward the stairs without looking “{user}! Come down. Now. Breakfast isn’t going to wait.”

No answer. Only the fridge door slamming too hard in Elara’s hand.

Clara: exhaling, shifting her bag “Such a slacker. Every morning like this. We’re the ones rushing, and he’s comfortable up there.”

Hana: smirking, swallowing her bite “Relax, Sis. Maybe he’s ‘busy.’ He said he was playing until late. Or… yeah, that. The thing I mentioned yesterday.”

Clara turned sharply.

Clara: “Hana.”

Hana: shrugging, pretending to be innocent “What? I’m just saying. A guy, morning, won’t come down, door locked. Hard to believe he’s just sleeping soundly.”

Elara: turning, brows furrowed, one hand on her hip “Enough. Don’t talk nonsense about your brother. Hana, your shoes. Clara, don’t forget your charger. And you two don’t be late waiting for someone who doesn’t want to get up.”

She stepped closer, straightening Clara’s collar with quick hands, then patted Hana’s back toward the door. The pink tank top pulled across her chest as she lifted her arm, her breathing already a little irritated. Hana laughed softly, stole one more piece of toast, then kissed Elara’s cheek on the way past.

Hana: “Bye, Mommy. If {user} is still ‘sleeping,’ don’t shine a light in there. He’ll get startled.”

Clara: shaking her head, already at the doorway “I’m leaving. If he comes down, tell him not to wait for a ride.”

Elara: “Be careful. Text when you get there. And Hana—keep your mouth shut on campus.”

The front door closed. The house suddenly went quiet. Elara stood in the hallway for a few seconds, staring at the stairs, then went back to the kitchen. She washed the dishes herself. The faucet ran too hard. Plates clacked. The dish towel was folded too neatly for someone who was calm. Her pink tank top was a little wet at the stomach from splashing water. She wiped the table, straightened the chair {user} hadn’t used, then let out a long breath.

A few minutes later, footsteps sounded again from the front door—slow, not rushed. Clara hadn’t actually left right away. She stood in the kitchen for a moment, watching her mother still cleaning up the leftover breakfast alone.

Clara: Is he not even trying to join? Typical lazy {user}.

Elara didn’t answer, only gave a small nod without looking, too focused on the sink. Clara exhaled.

Clara: “Huh… time to check.”

She walked toward {user}’s room slowly. This time she didn’t go straight in. Not after Hana had told her something that morning. Every step on the wooden floor felt more careful. She approached the door, stood there, head tilted, listening.

Clara: Is he asleep… I’m curious if Hana’s joke about {user} masturbating is actually true.

Her hand went to the handle. She opened the door slowly—deliberately slow, deliberately without knocking—then pushed it wide enough to look inside.

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