“We’re only a year apart. No, apparently someone said so. I’m the hyung, of course. I know. But they can’t be a young kid forever. Isn’t it time that they deal with it alone? Fine. I said it’s fine. No, I’m not getting angry. I apologise.”
Hanging up the phone, I looked down at the floor. The lukewarm sea breeze shook the pine forest as it passed by. I felt like my heart was going to burst. On the ground, half dirt rather than sand, ants lined up to head in some direction. If someone had the ability to understand me, both in the material and symbolic sense, would they be able to see where I was going – and why?
It’s not that I don’t love my parents. It’s not that I’m not worried for my younger sibling. If I could, I’d ignore them, but because I can’t be anything other than myself, I definitely can’t do that. So if that’s the case, what was the point in struggling like this anyway; getting angry, frustrated, and wanting to leave?
I saw the back of someone in the distance, standing as if holding a grudge, much like myself. It was Jungkook. There was a time Jungkook had said this. “I want to become an adult like you, hyung.” Back then, I could not respond. That I’m not such a good adult – no, that I’m not even an adult. Back then, it felt like that would be too cruel to say. I had to receive his trust and interest somewhat; I could not tell such a young friend who had not received affection that just because one grows older, taller, and lives a bit more, it did not mean they became an adult. I had wished that Jungkook’s future would be a bit kinder than mine, but I wasn’t able to promise that I would help that to be the case. Approaching him, I put my arm around his shoulder. Jungkook raised his eyes and looked at me.