I stepped out of the taxi, retrieving my bags from the trunk and paying the driver with a nice tip. After all, he had been very kind to me and gotten me to my destination pretty quick.
With a sad sense of resolve, I look at the familiar house that stood before me. Even though it was late, I could sttill picture, so vividly, every memory I had associated with this place; My first kiss, my best friend's parties, the first time I had alcohol, and the list goes on. This was my home for so long.
A tremble went over my body when I remembered who awaited me inside. Was he awake? It was barely past nine, so I assumed he'd still be up.
Resolve that I didn't know existed in me took over, and I marched proudly up to the steps. As I said, this was my home, and I had every right to come in.
Even though I hadn't been there for almost five years.
I hadn't seen my best friend in over five years. I've missed five years of his life; five birthdays, five new years, five Christmas'.
Would he remember me at all?
My hand knocked against the wooden door, and I panicked internally when I heard footsteps padding slowly towards the door. With a click, a turn of the knob, and the soft creak of the door, I saw Hoseok for the first time in five years.
"Hey, bestie," I giggled awkwardly. "Mind if I crash here for a while?"
His jaw dropped, and I could have sworn he had tears in his eyes. Before I could ask what was up, he crushed me in a hug and began to cry.
"You're here, like, really here!" he said gleefully. "I missed you so much, I'm so glad you're back!"
"No need for tears," I scolded playfully, pulling back from the hug to face him head-on. "Bestie's here, now, and she'll make everything better, just like old times!"
"Just like old times," Hoseok repeated, grinning while the tears slowed down. "Here, let me take the bags."
Without giving me room to protest, he snatched the bags out of my hands, carrying them in and temporarily placing them next to the small, familiar hallway that would take me to three bedrooms, one office, and a lavish bathroom.
"It hasn't changed a bit," I noticed, looking around me. Everything was the same; the same posters over the walls, the same TV ahead of the couch, the same tiles and wood on the floor. Nothing was new to me.
"Yeah, I never had much interior design motivation," he reminded me. "If I recall, it was always you who wanted to change everything."
I smiled, reminiscing. "That does ring a few bells," I admitted. "Ah, I remember wanting auburn-stains on the kitchen floor! And a new ceiling in the bathroom! The light fixture in the office always looked so poorly made; something by Tiffany would absolutely work better."
"Antiques," he sighed. "I tried buying one about six years ago, but they're really expensive."
I nodded. "Tiffany is super pricy, especially when you look at stained glass or metal-work. Usually, clay and the like aren't so bad."
We went on for hours. The whole time, we didn't even bother trying to catch up - we were living in the now. Somehow, we wound up on the couch, reawakening our old dreams, how I wished to fix the house into a luxury home, and how he always wanted me to help break some walls and turn the office and extra bedrooms into a big dance studio.
"I might know someone who could help," I shrugged. "A couple property-building companies owe me some favors, so I'm sure I can get somebody on that."
"You didn't come all the way home just to change everything, did you?" he asked, suddenly really serious.
The light was gone from his eyes, almost like he believed that was the reason.
"No, I came back to see you," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. "I was told that...you and Yoongi broke up a while back."
His face dropped, and my heart sank with him. It almost looked like he might start crying again, so I put my arms around his neck in a tender hug.
"I know how bad you wanted that relationship to work," I tried, "and I know it hurts. So, I was hoping that...seeing an old friend may make you happier."
He was definitely crying again, and his arms gripped my waist, burying his face into my neck and soaking me with tears. By the end, my entire left side was drenched, but I didn't care.
"Crying kind of helps, huh?" I asked. He nodded a little, pulling himself away from me.
"A bit," he agreed, voice still raw from crying.
"Aish, let's get you something to drink," I said. "You'll end up sounding like an old lady if you don't take care of your voice."
As I shuffled into the kitchen, he followed behind. Very softly, almost unheard, there was a whisper of "just like old times".
