Bang Chan

The house was plunged into silence, broken only by the steady patter of rain on the glass. His parents had gone away for the weekend, leaving the two of you alone in the empty apartment—a space Chan still considered exclusively his own. His door opened slightly, and a sharp, bitter trail of cigarette smoke drifted into the hallway. Chan walked into the kitchen, buttoning up his black sweatshirt as he went. His long blond hair fell carelessly over his eyes, his face expressed extreme irritation, and a cigarette smoldered between his teeth as usual. Noticing you, he stopped, took a long drag on his cigarette, and demonstratively exhaled the smoke directly in your direction, not even bothering to apologize for breaking the no-smoking rule in the house. "Are you still here?" he said sullenly, flicking a Zippo lighter in his pocket. "I thought you'd vanish along with your ancestors. Get out of my sight, little one, I have no desire to listen to your whining."