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January 1, 2014 JIN
[10:46 PM, Sojihye Hotel]
The faint bangs of fireworks were what woke Jin up, puffy eyes opened and were greeted with a cold darkness that filled the cheap hotel room he was checked in—even when the heater was on.
Hello, darkness, my old friend, he sang in his befuddled mind.
He reached out for his phone which he had carelessly tossed around on the bed before crying himself to sleep, his hand feeling for it under the pillows, remembering that he turned it off since last night out of spite.
That's alright.
Nobody would notice him gone anyway.
He finally got a hold of his phone, just above his head, and he was torn if he should switch it back on or not.
Why would he?
There would be no reply from his brother waiting for him, and he couldn't blame Namjoon. He was a shitty hyung to him, or so Jin would like to believe himself.
_
Namjoon was only ten when their parents died in an accident, and in order for the two of them to thrive after their demise, he had no choice but to leave his little brother alone and in the care of an old lady who was living next door as he juggled between different part-time jobs. Namjoon grew up without the care and guidance of his only family, and that was, to Jin, entirely his fault.
But what could he do?
Jin's innocence and happiness lost their fragrance; replaced by the putrid smell of poverty, the pain of abandonment and knowing death at such a young age, the heavy responsibility of being a parent to his little brother at the age of fourteen that life had so unfairly thrust upon his hands.
His hands, which only knew warm palms that were meant to assure him that he's safe and not alone, were harshly introduced to the numbness of seasons gone by: selling newspapers just to earn a day's work in order to keep his little Joonie's stomach warm and full.
One night, laying on the cold, matted floor where he and his brother usually slept, he wept silently into the wind. It was not because he did not eat dinner that time, no. He was beginning to get accustomed to the sensation of hunger back then that he gave his rumbling stomach no mind.
Joonie was so sick at the hospital.
He had dengue.
Jin was in tears because he finally learnt that no one would really care to hold and help the filthy, dirty, calloused hands of a poor lad striving to live for two.
And so, he taught himself to never reach out his hands for help ever again.
Jin worked harder. He hustled day and night to provide for himself and Namjoon, even sending him to a good school until he finished high school. He paid the rent and bills on time, no angry landladies and collectors knocking on their door.
