This Friend | Yeonbin

1

Soobin P.O.V

I never wanted to be a criminal.

I don't want this, I don't want to be here. The current here is the back seat of a burner car, in this case a crappy black Ford.

My brother, Taehyun, is beside me, staring at his phone, smiling. His mind is clearly elsewhere.

My father is driving, and beside him is my uncle Kim.

Outside, the sun streaks by, in all its neon glory. Golden lights, glittering buildings, million-dollar sports cars. It's like they forgot it's a swamp for a second. Hordes of well-dressed people are out partying, but we speed past them.

I cross my arms. Everyone else in the car wants this life. They want power and glory, to drive fast cars and wear expensive suits and hook up with pretty girls.

They want to kill, too. For power. For family.

Or maybe they don't want to. But they're at least okay with it.

I'm not interested. In any of it.

Outside the window on Taehyun's side, the ocean stretches out, reflecting the Technicolour city lights, the neon blazing against the dark sky. This town truly is designed to be seen past sunset. During the day, it looks gaudy, like a bad theme park.

At night, though, it turns into something kind of magical. It's a playground for adults, where you can get pretty much anything you want as long as you're hot or rich enough.

We stop at a red light. A group of guys in tank tops and jeans crosses the street. We're in Chois territory now, so those boys belong to them, even if they don't know it.

"It's time," says Dad, looking up at us through the rearview mirror. "Masks on."

Crap.

I didn't bring a mask.

Taehyun remembered his of course and pulls it on. It's a black ski mask, leaving only his eyes and mouth exposed. Dad and Kim put theirs on, too. I can't help but think this is them in their natural state of being.

Choi criminals [:Chois for the others. Chois for Soobin and his family:]. One of two plagues on the city.

There's us, and the different kind of Chois, and we're both as bad as each other.

"Hey, Dad," I say.

"What?"

"There's a small chance I forgot my mask."

His silence is intense alongside the classical music he plays in the car. Beethoven, maybe? I don't know, and I don't know why he does it. Maybe he wants to add a little class to our grim task. Like classical music somehow makes us sophisticated, better than other criminals.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my slacks. I don't even need to look at him to know how disappointed he must be. I'm already such a failure in so many ways. I'm no Taehyun, for starters. On top of that I'm too soft, too careless, too lacking in family devotion.

He has no idea I left my mask on purpose.

I'm a good actor. I can sell it.

He has no idea who I really am.

"You what?"

"Are you sure it's not in your bag?" asks Taehyun. "Come on, we've been planning this for weeks."

I make a show of going through my backpack. I see books, a school sweater, and my tablet. But no mask.

"I'm sorry," I say. "It's not here. I must've left it at home or something."