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"So."
I eyed Jimin suspiciously.
"So," he mimicked me, folding his arms grubbily, "Are we going to go or what?"
"Well, yes sure let's get it, but my dude, are you sure?" I waved a hand in the general direction we were going to be heading towards, "We'll going into school together, Park. Is this not against your Seoul Soccers' rule book or something? No befriending or talking to the Royals? Or something? Entering school on a bike together makes us sound awfully like friends, Captain. More than friends even."
For a fleeting second, the boy looked horrified, as if he had just realized that he left his home without switching off his stove.
"Oh yeah! Fuck!" he yelled, running a hand through his hair, "On God, i hate Sicheng. I repeat, I hate Sicheng. This is not a drill."
I almost laughed at the misery written all over the boy's face.
"It's fine. I'll get a ride from Mark," i told him dismissively, making a shooing motion as he continued wailing in despair.
"If you haven't noticed," Jimin said dryly, pausing his dramatics for the tiniest second, "It's 7.35. He left fifteen minutes ago."
My jaw dropped. I swear i left my house at exactly 7.15.
"Damn, did we really spend 20 minutes talking about how stupid Dong got hospitalised?" I looped the straps of Jimin's helmet onto my chin, hoping onto his bike without another protest. "He better be dying or something."
The pink-haired boy tensed sharply, "Oh trust me, he is."
"And it's my fault," he murmured so quietly i nearly missed it.
"No, it isn't," i gave him a puzzled look, "You didn't ask for him to go crashing down his stairs in the middle of the night, nor did you ask the chandelier in his dining room to go crashing on him, why would it be your fault?"
He was quiet for a second, "I don't know, it just feels like my fault."
Without another word, he sped off into the horizon at full speed, as if on a quest to run the sun down.
"Where is he hospitalized at?" i finally asked him before we parted ways, just an alley away from school.
Jimin tilted his head at me in confusion, "There is only one place of healing for those who do not wish to pay unreasonably exorbitant prices for treatment, Kim."
"Sounds shady," i commented wryly, bemused by his choice of words.
The bright haired boy's face contorted in steady disbelief, "What are you-"
He halted instantly, shaking his head, "The Healing House of Kim. You should know how to get there."
A trembling brown-eyed boy. A short stained knife. Long jagged slash wounds. Blood. Blood everywhere. My toes curled and my hands went cold.
