Our first Love - Yoonjin

2. Let it be

Leaving classes was always a relief for the neighbors on the sidewalk whose fifth pedestrian light was always broken.

Feeling the air hitting their faces after six miserable hours of unnecessary study to either finally going to sleep or to finish the most difficult levels on their Mario Bros console, were the best feelings for Yoongi and Jin respectively. The joy of that youth always had a tinge of honey yellow, in the smell of fresh kimchi that permeated the kitchen of the tallest of the two, who was never missing on weekday afternoons.

Yoongi, ever since he had spoken to Jin for the first time, was part of that. He liked staying at the eldest's house: the cozy decoration, the cleanliness due to Mrs. Kim's exhausting neatness, and the kind atmosphere of cordiality imparted by Mr. Kim to his son in an impeccable manner. Seokjin was the person he was thanks to his father, who by extension became a role model for the complicated young man that Yoongi was as well.

But it wasn't always like that: at first, he had just observed the way the Kim family got along, with surprise. They seemed genuine to him, so much so that it terrified him to know that that was what normal families did. Eating together, going out, talking, making jokes, passing plates, and jokingly hitting each other; It seemed like a warm utopia compared to how dull the reality of the Min's was: a family that, by decision, was collapsed into being broken.

One afternoon, however, when the others were still playing scrabble, Yoongi decided to go out and smoke a cigarette. Mr. Kim, who had analyzed him in search of something that matched his delinquent appearance in recent months living with his only son, accompanied him without saying much. He stood next to him and watched him smoke. It was something strange, very in fact.

The teenager that Yoongi was, just beginning to be fourteen, didn't know how to react to an adult being so permissive. Normally, if someone saw him smoking, the first thing they did was look at him with hatred, perhaps pity, and then yell something at him or scold him at calm or violent levels, the latter usually perpetuated by his father.

"You know, I'm not stupid, that bruise looks really bad." It was the first thing Mr. Kim said, once after three puffs of the cigarette.

That day, he had a small bruise on his cheek. He had said, however, that it was all the fault of some idiot at school that he had reached out too close.

Yoongi grumbled, hating everything about himself, but especially how white his skin was. It was a fucking canvas on which you could see everything that was going on in his mind, in his life. He always tended to turn red when he was angry or uncomfortable, or both.

Without saying anything, the teenager he was simply smiled.

"There'll be no use if no say something." The clarification was depressing, to say the least.

"Is that all he does?" The insistent question hurt him. It was incredible that a stranger, the father of his best and only friend, had asked a question that no one in his house had bothered to ask. Nobody said anything. Yoongi scanned the man with his gaze. He knew that Mr. Kim had an important job, always in a suit, with that nice house and two cars.

He saw it and wanted to vomit.

"No, he also forgets my birthdays." Yoongi couldn't help but joke because if he didn't, he was able to put out the cigarette directly in the palm of his hand as punishment for getting in trouble. It was a preparation for what could happen if his father found out about the conversation.

"It's okay, you can't do much for someone who doesn't want help." He seemed to talk to himself, that man who seemed to have nothing to lose. "I just want to know if my son is in danger, that's all."

"At least you're honest." Yoongi stopped again. Mr. Kim smirked.

"It's not really my problem if you smoke, Yoongi-ah, or if you don't eat, or if you get beaten or even killed." He sounded so harsh that it seemed like he was building a cement wall between them, Yoongi felt like a balloon bursting, an illusion getting out of hand. "You'll have your reasons, as long as you're not around Jin."