The door creaked open softly, and Kim emerged from the house, the fresh morning air touching his face. His eyes immediately found the familiar figure of Jack, casually resting on the second step of the exit stairs, as if he were a natural part of the surrounding urban landscape.
Kim observed his friend with a smile growing on his lips. Jack exuded an aura of carefree confidence, his approximately 5'7" frame relaxed against the railing. What caught the most attention were his dreads sculpted into a vibrant green mohawk, which contrasted magnificently with his skin tone, deeper than Kim's. The intertwined strands captured the morning light, creating emerald reflections that danced with each subtle movement of his head.
A military green jacket hugged his broad shoulders, open over a white t-shirt sporting an urban logo on its chest. The fabric molded naturally to his athletic torso, suggesting the strength that resided beneath the cotton. His dark jeans, worn in all the right places, completed a look that transitioned perfectly between rebellious and elegant—an aesthetic that, like Kim's, echoed the 90s despite them being in the year 20XX.
The afternoon sun poured over the cracked sidewalk as Jack's eyes lifted, meeting Kim's with the naturalness of someone recognizing a brother. A genuine smile bloomed on his angular features, illuminating a face marked by the weariness of another ordinary day. Between them, familiarity hung in the air like a familiar melody—woven by years of friendship that required no explanations and transcended the limitations of words.
— Jack: Hey, man? Rough morning, huh? Pass me a cigarette?
Kim instinctively looked away, plunging his hand into the pocket of his faded jacket. In that moment of calculated distraction, Jack seized the opening with the dexterity of an experienced thief, stretching out his arm and snatching the can of warm beer from his unsuspecting friend's hands. The cold metal contrasted with the heat emanating from the liquid when Jack opened the tab with a dry snap, brought it to his lips, and took a generous swig. Immediately, his features contorted in a grimace of pure disgust.
— Jack: (making a disgusted face) What the hell is this? This is warm!
Kim's laughter echoed victoriously through the block, a deep and satisfied sound that betrayed the pleasure of finally having played a trick on his inconvenient friend.
— Kim: (laughing) That was the can the old lady tried to throw at me before I left the house. Must've been out of the fridge all night. Serves you right, smartass, for this stupid habit of always stealing my beer.
Jack shot him a sideways glance, a mixture of irritation and resignation painting his features while he still felt the bitter taste of warm beer burning his throat.
— Jack: (muttering) It's just that yours is always closer.
Kim fished a cigarette from the crumpled pack, placed it between his lips, and lit the lighter with a fluid motion. The small flame danced for an instant before embracing the tobacco, and he took a deep drag, letting the smoke escape slowly while changing the subject with the naturalness of someone who knows all the shortcuts of a conversation.
— Kim: (lighting the cigarette) Ready to hear the same old things?
— Jack: (laughing) Before anything else... band practice today?
Kim's expression transformed instantly. The previous relaxation evaporated, giving way to a serious and incredulous expression that made his eyes narrow dangerously.
— Kim: (Serious look, incredulous face) Band? What the hell kind of band is this that you insist we have, man? Even if I admitted we have something together, which we don't, we'd be closer to a sad country duo than a band.
Jack noticed that Kim had paused and took the opportunity to position himself, raising his index finger like an eager student asking for permission to speak. His lips parted, ready for the verbal counterattack already fermenting in his mind.
— Jack: ...
But before any sound could escape his throat, Kim resumed his assault with redoubled force. Jack's finger remained suspended in the air, completely ignored, while his friend's voice gained volume and intensity. The irritation grew in visible waves, tingeing his cheeks red and making his hands gesticulate with increasing violence.
— Kim: (Starting to get angry) And to make it clear one more time, the last time, JUST BECAUSE YOU SAID I'M IN YOUR BAND DOESN'T MEAN WE HAVE A BAND, DAMMIT!!!
Jack nodded slowly and deliberately, assuming a solemn expression that suggested he was taking every word seriously. Calmly, he brought the warm beer to his lips once more, swallowed the unpleasant liquid without showing disgust, and kept his finger raised with the persistence of someone who doesn't give up easily.
— Jack: Can I speak?
Kim gestured reluctantly, his chest still rising and falling at the accelerated rhythm of someone who had just poured out all their frustration. His expression remained loaded with discontent.
— Kim: (sighing) Speak, you bastard.
Jack began walking toward the bus stop with calm and calculated steps, each movement laden with subtle provocation. Without turning back, he threw the words over his shoulder like someone tossing a bomb and walking away to watch the explosion.
— Jack: Practice tonight in your garage—don't miss it or you'll be kicked out of the band!
Kim's blood instantly rushed to his head. His face reddened even more, his fists closed involuntarily, and he took off after his friend with long, determined strides. The argument resumed in full force as it echoed through the neighborhood streets, perpetuating a fight that would probably repeat itself the next day, and the day after, and every day to come.