Train Tracks | p.s

Eight

Throughout the night, Jongho was asking questions here and there, but he was so frightened that nothing much came out of it. About an hour passed, and Seonghwa still had no idea what to do. Both of them were frozen in place, trying to wrap their heads around the situation at hand.

Here Mars was, locked in a room with a boy he doesn't know who was just getting chased for shoplifting. Jongho was stuck in a room with some intimidating, hard ass looking tattoo artist and he's not sure if he can trust the man.

They're digging for reasons to escape the awkward tension.

"Mars?"

Seonghwa was sitting at his desk, his feet propped up on the top, picking at his nails. "Hmm?"

"A...Are you going to turn me in?"

Seonghwa shook his head, glancing at the kid. "Nah."

"W-Why not? I-I'm a criminal, I-"

"For some reason I don't think you are. Don't seem like the type to me." Seonghwa said, his lips twitching slightly. He forced himself not to smirk.

Jongho frowned. "What do you mean? You don't even know me-"

"Kid, with all due respect... I know people when I see them. Read you like a book."

The boy swung his legs off the edge of the bench, tapping his foot nervously on the tile floor. "This was a one time thing. But I was doing it for a good reason."

"Stealing food for other people isn't that cool."

"If I had a choice I would take them to that kitchen, but I can't."

Seonghwa was perplexed. "Why not? It's about five minutes from here. Can't you just get a ride there for them?"

"No." Jongho snapped. "How can I find a ride for 5 other kids and myself to a soup kitchen without our foster parents knowing? It's literally impossible..."

That's what he was looking for. An answer that cleared up everything for him. His body language told him that he wasn't lying. No tell tale signs of lying showed during their conversation, and that was convincing him more and more that this kid wasn't all that bad.

"They count on me for everything. I can't just... let them suffer and do nothing about it, okay?" Jongho's voice quivered. The boy began to sob, and Seonghwa quickly removed himself from his chair, approaching the kid's side. "Three of them are in elementary school, and two are moving through middle school. I'm the oldest. I'm not even through high school, and I'm doing everything I can..." He balled his hands into fists, his knuckles turning white in his lap.

"Okay. It's okay. It's alright." Seonghwa murmured, hesitantly hovering his fingers over the boy's wrist. He gently glided his hands over the boy's arms, rubbing slightly in an attempt to comfort him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that was the case."

He snatched his hand away from Seonghwa's grasp, slipping off the bench and began pacing across the room. "I don't need you telling me that it wasn't right. I know that. I know it wasn't smart but when left to my own fucking devices, without any help from our useless foster parents... you tend to get desperate."

"I wasn't going to tell you anything other than I kind of understand what you're going through." Seonghwa said, observing the kid as the soles of his shoes squeaked on the concrete flooring.

"Kind of?"

Seonghwa's lips twitched. "I had a friend in middle school who did anything to take care of his sister. They were both living in a broken home where their mom was always out drinking, and their dad wasn't anywhere to be found." The tattoo artist wandered back over to his desk, where he sat back into his chair, pulling out a sketchbook from his drawer. He began to doodle as he spoke, attempting to deal with the nerves he was needing to get rid of. "Long story short, he got in with some bad people solely to earn money to raise her right. I can't judge people for doing things like that; they're just dealing with what they were handed in life and they're rolling with it."