another night, another cigarette.
even after everyone went home, jibeom refused to. he thought the air under the open sky was better than under a roof. his parents' roof, at least.
and when all he breathed was smoke, that was saying a lot.
whilst others' nights were clouded with thoughts and tears and stories, his were clouded with smoke. he was killing himself, he knew, and maybe that was okay with him.
he had no reasons to live rather than for the inhale, inhale of poison that made him feel a little more human.
pain was what made living things living things. it was how we knew we were alive.
jibeom trapped the burning cigarette between his lips, started walking to nowhere. not home, not yet.
not when all there was are crushed packs and emptied bottles.
"hey."
he stopped at the voice, his head hung low. he stared at the familiar pair of worn-out sneakers under the dim street lamp.
he smiled. "hey," he said, looking up, meeting eyes with joochan. "you didn't go home?"
"neither did you," joochan replied, a smile forming on his own lips. soft gaze, soft voice. "i don't want to go home."
jibeom nodded. "you and me both."
they walked in silence, entered the convenience store, bought two colas with the last of their allowance.
"how are your parents?"
jibeom scoffed, discarded the cigarette. "they're not even trying. probably wasting the night away as we speak. yours?"
"probably wasting their voices away as we speak." a faint smile, a long moment, before he spoke again, "but it'll be okay, won't it?"
jibeom swallowed a long slurp, nodded. "it'll be okay. you'll be okay."
"i'll... i'll be okay?"
he nodded again. "you'll be okay, joochan. we'll all be okay."