Every Friday that followed after the one during which they had gathered, Minseok and Jongdae had an inclination of going to the community park at night. Jongdae had by no means touched on the topic of where he lived, whether it was far or nearby, and Minseok had not asked. He would always be there, lazing on the grass, before Minseok would roll up.

Minseok had not failed to notice the expectant glances his parents shot him, but he pretended to not have seen them. It was as if they were counting on him to fess up this friend’s name someday.

“Kim Jongdae,” he muttered half-heartedly, when one Friday night his mother wheedled it from him as she pursued him to the door to see him out. Fortunately the elders did not seem to be acquainted with the name of the town mafia’s only child.

The beneficial thing about nights at the park was that: they did not have to play pretend. With no one from school around, they could be their real selves. Jongdae had completely abandoned his intimidating nature in front of him over the course of their gatherings. Minseok was smiling and laughing often in Jongdae’s presence, his discomfiture fading with each meeting. It occurred to Minseok that their loosening up had a lot to do with his diaries. He idly wondered if they would ever be this chummy had he not been Jongdae’s past best friend or had Jongdae not perused his journal records.

Jongdae divulged more and more secrets concerning the mafia and the past events that had caused him and his family to hide, appearing relieved to finally have the opportunity to speak without restraint to someone trustworthy and unload a burden of information.

“D