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4

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Yeonjun's teacher led him by the forearm to the principal's office and, with no further words, signalled him to wait and sit down on the chair next to the closed door. From that moment on, his legs didn't stop fidgeting, scared of the moments he knew he would end up facing. 

You're so reckless, asshole.

For God's sake, who the f.ck carries a bag of heroin inside a pocket?

Stupid.

You can't manage to do one thing right, can you?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"Are you okay?" 

Yeonjun hadn't noticed there was a boy sitting on the chair opposite to his. Was that chair even there before? Whatever the right answer was, that boy observed him with a huge percentage of his attention, and that was tremendously annoying. 

Raising his gaze just enough to glare at the boy, Yeonjun turned his hands into fists, landing them on his knees. He already had enough problems, there was no need for a random guy to add up more.

"I can see you're not." Despite the rudeness he had received as a reply, the boy continued, leaning in to approach his face to Yeonjun's. "And I bet you don't wanna talk about it either." He smiled, waiting five seconds for a possible reaction from the other side, which wasn't close to even happening. "You don't need to, buddy." The male chuckled, breathing calmly. "I can see what you're going through right now, and believe me: I know how much it sucks."

That stole a faded smile from Yeonjun, and the one on the boy's face grew wider.

They all say the same.

"I'm Choi Beomgyu, your friend."

"I don't even know you."  Despite the low tone, Beomgyu heard him.

"You don't know me, but I know you." Yeonjun couldn't understand how he could keep an affable smile for so long. "And I also know I can help you, Yeonjun."

Beomgyu's round shapes and calm voice managed to tranquillize his restless legs and, somehow, his heart had come back to the inside of his ribcage - he couldn't understand such a response from his body. How did he do it? 

There was something about that light-brown-haired boy that Yeonjun couldn't yet specify, but there was definitely something.

"You know nothing about me."

"Oh, I do," Beomgyu whispered, glancing around before meeting the core of Yeonjun's eyes once again. "I know you're the result of a mistake between two teenagers on a hot summer night, as well as I know your mother abandoned your father with a crying newborn in his arms." The gleaming tears forming in Yeonjun's eyes weren't a reason for him to stop, so he didn't. "I know he's busy dating someone new every month while you stay home, locked in your room, drowning your body in alcohol and drugs. You believe it's her fault that your life's so senselessly empty, so you've lived your days blaming her, yet, for some reason, you still wait for her call-" 

"That's not true," Yeonjun said, clenching his jaw as a tear fell down his red cheek, and it wasn't because a complete stranger knew so much about him - he didn't even think straight about it yet - but because a complete stranger dared to talk like that about his mother. In his head, Yeonjun was the only one who could do such a thing, nobody else had the right - or the knowledge - to do so.

"Isn't it?" Beomgyu's eyebrows furrowed, showing his worry. "I also know you stole money from your father last Thursday. Oh, and, before you do, don't try cigarettes, and leave alone the idea of smoking weed."

"Who are you?" Yeonjun gulped and frowned, leaning against the chair.

"I'm your friend, and I can help you."

"I don't want your help!" A tear, followed by three, fell down his hot right eye, as his frustration was now palpable and too explosive to be ignored: that was when Beomgyu understood it was enough for the day, standing up and leaving a light blue card on Yeonjun's armchair.

"I wished you didn't, Yeonjun." Those were the last words he said before disappearing from the other's radar.

That caused Yeonjun to chuckle while drying the wetness on his face.

Simple as that: after setting fire to Yeonjun's head while anaesthetizing his muscles, Beomgyu left him with no more explanation. How could he know so much about him? And his parents? That guy knew more than Yeonjun had ever opened his mouth to say.

"And he calls himself my friend," Yeonjun commented under his breath, looking away as he dried the tears on the corners of his eyes with both his hands.

Why would he spy on me, though?

Against his will, his gaze fell to the card over the right armchair, inevitably reading the big letters. 

'Friends help friends.'

If Beomgyu thought he could take any money from him, he was tremendously mistaken: he could barely buy a toast. Besides, Yeonjun didn't need anybody's help, and a blue fancy card wouldn't change his mind that easily-

"Choi Yeonjun." The principal's secretary called, looking around the empty corridor before focusing her attention on him. "Accompany me, please."

For a few minutes, Yeonjun had already forgotten the reasons for him to be sitting on that damn chair. Remembering them turned on the alarm inside his mind, causing it to echo through all his arteries and veins. 

Storing the card in his pocket, Yeonjun followed the lady silently into the principal's office, sitting on the chair in front of his heavy wooden desk as she signalled him to. 

"Choi Yeonjun, right?" The man asked, not even looking at him as he wrote something on a paper. 

The boy nodded once his secretary got past a door different from the one they had just passed by.

"I was told you had drugs in your pocket. Is that true?"

"Ahm..." Yeonjun gulped and the principal glanced at him, still busy writing. "Y-Yes, but it wasn't mine." 

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Why did you have it, then?"

"I don't know."

The principal chuckled and, in two seconds, stood up as he threw his pen onto the desk, finally looking at Yeonjun's sweaty young features.

"I won't even explain to you the situation you are currently in. I know you're well aware of it." With both hands behind his back, the forty-year-old man walked slowly toward the teenager, landing a hand on the back of the chair as he leaned to approach Yeonjun's face. "But let's say it's really not yours." He raised his eyebrows, adjusting his position. "Your teacher and two of your classmates confirmed they saw a bag of white powder fall from your pocket the moment you were about to leave the classroom. How did it get there?"

"I'm not sure." Yeonjun's throat was so dry, it was probably the fourth time he had gulped in the last two minutes.

"Think about it."

"It was probably the boys from the other class-"

"They framed you?"

"I b-believe that-"

The principal sighed, and Yeonjun stopped: they both knew it was pointless.

"You're eighteen, Yeonjun. Don't you seriously have funnier ways of wasting your time?" The question made Yeonjun bite the inside of his cheek and glare at the opposite side, his jittery legs coming back to action. "I bet listening to the principal isn't one of them anyway." Straightening up, the male walked back to his seat to make a call. "Believe me: I hate this as much as you do."

"W-Who are you calling, Sir?" Yeonjun's words faded out as his body tensed up, his hands gripping the cloth of his pants. 

"Seunghee, it's me. Call Choi Yeonjun's father, please." The principal didn't need to answer him: the words he said on the phone were enough. "Tell him I'll be waiting." 

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