In Constant Stars
05 -- s a v e  o u r  s o u l s

My mother was home and she looked more tired than ever.

I supposed that she’d come back home late Friday night. I didn’t recall hearing her come in, anyway, and if she had come back before I went to sleep, she sure did so quietly and without calling me beforehand. I woke up early Saturday to find her making breakfast in the kitchen. Her only giveaway had been the sound of oil sizzling as she made us fried eggs, otherwise I would have been in for a heart attack to suddenly and randomly find my mother back at home again. When I took my seat at the kitchen table, she hadn’t looked back once and I hadn’t said anything, yet she still knew I was there.

“Sunny side up?”

“Yes please,” I croaked, my voice still a bit hoarse from sleeping. She sounded normal. I never knew what to expect when it came to my mother. The truth was, Zelo took after her and I took after my father. I found Zelo quite unpredictable as it was — I didn’t even try understanding what kinds of things went through my mother’s mind on a daily basis. She wasn’t around enough anymore for me to really know her properly.

“Here you go,” she said after turning around with a plate. She smiled and patted my right cheek before making something for herself. “Is your brother still asleep?”

“His bedroom door was still closed when I woke up, so I guess he is.”

“I suppose it is tiring to wake up early every day for practice. How about we let him sleep in for a little more?”

She wasn’t really one to talk about tiring waking hours. She hardly stayed at home because she was either A) asleep in her office or B) staying over at one of her old college friends’ places because they were closer to aforementioned office. The few times that she did sleep at home, she returned late and went out before Zelo and I woke up.

Through her seemingly upbeat and cheery attitude, I still noticed that she looked like she needed some more hours to sleep in as well. Reaching for the chopsticks on the table, I asked her: “Wouldn’t you want to sleep in some more yourself?”

“I would have loved to sleep a bit more, but my biorhythm doesn’t agree. Apparently my body is so used to waking up early that I can’t sleep until later than eight at max.”

Neither of us mentioned anything about how my morning routine habits hadn’t changed the least bit. I had always been an early riser. It was one of the many things that made me and my father very alike. I supposed my mother and I shared the same sentiments on this; my father, her husband, was just a topic not to be talked about. It would be a lie to say that his absence didn’t bother me, but it wasn’t a subject I wanted to think too long about.

“So, how is working at the snack bar going for you?” she asked chirpily.

“I’m fired.”

She had half lifted her chopsticks with her fried egg to , but stopped the moment I uttered these words. The way she melodramatically and slowly lowered them again almost made me roll my eyes. One would almost think that I’d just announced to her that I was three months pregnant with a baby.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, dear. What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumbled. If we’d been having this conversation a year ago, she would still have insisted on hearing all the details. But times changed and people did too. My mother let it slide with just a look of sympathy and two soft pats on my right hand. If only she knew.

“You don’t have to work, Nana,” she said. “I could–”

“Loan money? No, I don’t think so,” I dismissed coldly.

"Honey, I don't understand why you keep insisting on doing this to yourself. I don't want you to sacrifice your time for studying because you feel that you need to support this house. You're still a child."

"I'm not really a child anymore, now am I?" I asked her sardonically.

"You will always be in my eyes."

And, as was now becoming a habit between the two of us, another loaded silence settled in — one in which she wondered why even her children seemed to have lost their minds and in which I asked myself when everything had gone spiralling downwards like this so bad. The truth was that I would always be her child. But only in the most objective sense of the word. She was my mother; she gave birth to me a bit more than 18 years ago. Theoretically speaking, compared to her I was a child. But was I a child at mind? Not so much. Not since my father had left, at least.

"I'm going to start at Takeyama's next week. They needed someone to work in the evening during the weekends."

Takeyama's was a small Japanese restaurant two blocks away. Originally I'd wanted to work more than just two shifts a week, but this was really the most they could offer me. Ironically I was to be the only person to work there who was from a Japanese descent. The owner was Chinese. It all didn't make much sense.

"Oh, that's nice. I hope you'll like it there."

My mother sounded like she'd rather have me do drugs than start working again, so I decided not to tell her about the fact that, just the evening before, Jung Daehyun had mailed me some useful information about a vacancy at a café.

And that was just how things worked in this family. We were the living and breathing definition of dysfunctional, yet somehow we had managed to keep that relatively well hidden from the outside. It was just a matter of time before that would backfire on us.

"Nope. Not happening. Not today. Not ever. No."

"You're no fun. Not even one dance?"

Imagine this. At 16:12 you enter the ridiculously pretentious and spacious mansion that your best friend resides in, only to be subjected to the dreadful process that is picking the perfect dress. And by the perfect dress, said best friend actually means the perfect provocative dress that is short enough enough to make any heteroual male take at least a second glance at us, but not so revealing that her father's workers would have all the reasons to throw us out.

That was Heeyoung's mission. Angering her father, while still technically obeying him. She was ridiculous.

That wasn't the worst part though; I had yet to get to that. Apart from the fact that she couldn't help complaining all the time that the pieces the string quartet played from the moment we arrived at the venue ('Oh please, Nana, everyone knows Elgar's Salut d'Amour is like High School Musical. It's cute the first time around, but not so much after, say, a bazillion times of having it all in your face.'), at a certain point she just left me to grab a drink, which led us to the worst part, which was —

"You know you can't keep resisting me for the rest of this evening."

I sighed tiredly as I looked around once again in search of any signs of Heeyoung's royal blue dress amongst the crowd of the rich and classy. Despite my futile attempts to chase him away with my awkwardness, it seemed that Kim Himchan was all the more encouraged by my cold attitude. I shrugged off the arm he slung over my shoulders.

"What's wrong with you?" I nearly exclaimed, completely frustrated with his odd behaviour. I'd known Himchan for a while and I definitely had talked more to him than I ever had to Daehyun, but that didn't mean that we were so friendly that I'd like to dance with him. Next to that, he had never asked me to dance with him before, so why start now?

"Me?" He raised both his hands as if he were an innocent soul. "I'm just trying to be nice here, Nana. You hurt my feelings."

"You're so full of . Spit it out, what is it you want from me?"

His lips turned into a cocky smirk as his eyes twinkled in the light emitted by the fancy chandeliers. As he stood there, both hands now in his pockets, he caught the eyes of quite a few ladies in the room. Some of the women looked like they could be our age, others were obviously way older. Yet somehow he still had this charm that lured anyone who could be just the slightest bit interested in.

And that was exactly the tricky thing about Kim Himchan. Combined with his striking looks, the fact that he was such a smooth talker made it hard to look through his mind games and understand his true intentions. He dated girls the way Heeyoung dated guys; quick, effortless and superficially. Once I had asked him why he did that — just like I often asked Heeyoung — but his one answer was 'I like them, they like me, we date, everyone's happy' and never elaborated further than that.

"See, a little birdie told me about something very interesting that happened exactly three evenings ago. Something about a drunk friend of mine and some shoe-slapping?" Oh. I should have known. He ignored my groan and continued: "I'm very disappointed indeed that you didn't tell me, but I'll let it slide because you look dazzling in that dress. So, do tell, what exactly do you think of our Daehyunnie?"

"Uh. What? Are you trying to do what I think you're doing? Because, just so you know, I'm not interested."

He didn't bother trying to hide his surprise as his eyebrows quirked up instantly. "Really? Why not? I mean, certainly, if I were interested in males I certainly wouldn't choose him over myself, but Daehyunnie isn't all that bad either."

I knew he was joking. Even Kim Himchan couldn't be that in love with himself. But that didn't make the fact that he kept insisting on parading his arrogance any less unsettling. I rolled my eyes as I walked on into the well-clothed and socialising crowd, in search of that best friend of mine who tended to be MIA a lot. As I moved on, I felt several dirty looks shot at my outfit, all of which I ignored. "Get over yourself, Himchan. Your narcissism puts me off."

He merely chuckled.

"Who told you about that, anyway? I made Heeyoung promise that she wouldn't further spill. Daehyun wouldn't want to tell anyone — he made sure that I knew that..." I thought everything over again. Who could possibly have told Himchan...?

Himchan's grin grew even wider. "Think harder. It's not that difficult."

Another voice behind us spoke up: “I must admit that I'm guilty. Sorry, Nana."

Of course, Yoo Youngjae had told him.

“I’m not impressed with you,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

Youngjae softly tapped his index finger against the glass in his hands as he looked at Himchan with a reprimanding look.  His friend, however, just shrugged carelessly, his eyes still shimmering with a familiar mischievous energy. “I do apologise. I hoped that he would have more tact than this.”

“I might forgive you if you tell me where Heeyoung is. She said she was going to get a drink and she never returned.”

“Probably found another guy to mess with. You know how she is,” Himchan interjected before Youngjae could answer.

“I hate to say this, but he’s right, Nana. I can’t figure out why you keep accompanying the Princess to gatherings such as this when you know that she’ll find another way to distract herself anyway.”

He already knew why, though. All three of us were very much aware that he only said that out of courtesy, because we understood how tiring these kinds of business parties were. It was all about meeting the right people and selling yourself, be it in a fair or devious way, just to bring others down and help yourself up.

Formalities like these were tedious and I found it admirable that Heeyoung was able to keep up this draining form of lifestyle. At the fancy parties and luncheons she had often brought me to, I progressively learnt what it meant to be the child of well-respected folks. It included holding confidence whilst appearing demure, since no one liked vain children. It meant breaching the same topics over and over (college choices was, apparently, a popular topic to talk about) and only rarely did subjects get more interesting than that. It meant being kind to those who were not kind themselves, as it was an inexcusable offend to utter a single rude word.

It was because she didn't know any better than this, Heeyoung had once told me rather bitterly, that she never protested to attending these meetings. She had often sullenly let me know that she became most aware of her lack of meetings with freedom, when she was surrounded by the most pretentious and her parents conforming to them.

Though I knew enough ill-natured rumours concerning Heeyoung's parents, I did have respect for them. Not only had they always been kind to me, they also never mentioned the blatant gap of status between their and my family. I was aware this was partly because they had befriended my parents long before their differences in income and therefore rank had become obvious, but I was still very grateful they let me be Heeyoung's friend without any problems.

It was for this that Heeyoung found it necessary to have someone she could hold on to with her at such formalities. She claimed that not having an anchor with her would drive her mad through all the forced smiles and uncomfortable kisses on the cheeks. I usually considered her assertions to be exaggerated, but most evenings spent with her and her parents' business partners usually found me agreeing with her silently and tiredly.

That was why I didn’t have much choice in coming or not. This was one of the few ways for me to support Heeyoung. The thing with her was that she was too capable and independent to demand much from me. She was all too aware that my mind was all over the place and that, to be very honest, I couldn’t be of much help with things that concerned her parents or the fact that she was uncomfortable as a scrutinised heir. But I could be there for her. And if she said she needed me, I would still go, no matter how much I disliked these meetings and the stiffness of it all.

“Oh, I see her alright,” Himchan then muttered as he stared somewhere into the distance behind my back. I turned around to see Heeyoung doing the S.O.S. sign she and Himchan had thought up for each other. He took a last sip of his drink and then handed it over to me to hold. “If you’d excuse me. I have a damsel to rescue from a creep.”

“What?” Youngjae asked in confusion, but Himchan was already walking in the direction of Heeyoung, who was being more or less trapped by a smooth-looking boy in a fancy suit.

“Heeyoung and Himchan have these signs they made up so they can show each other that they’re in trouble, which in our language means that they’ve started flirting with someone potentially psychopathic or just a plain idiot,” I explained. “When Heeyoung sweeps all of her hair to her left shoulder, she needs for Himchan to play her boyfriend and when Himchan loosens his tie he expects for her to help him out.”

Youngjae chuckled as both of us watched Himchan wrap his arm around my friend’s waist and whisper in her ear in a manner that almost fooled me too.

“Kim Himchan dating Kang Heeyoung. Wouldn’t that be an amusing concept?”

“Only because neither of them is capable of settling down. Other than that they’re too similar to each other, meaning a relationship between the two of them could lead to world destruction,” I answered drily.

A silence settled as we watched Himchan chat in a friendly manner with the guy who had been hitting on Heeyoung. The guy didn’t seem the least bit pleased that Heeyoung wasn’t ‘single’ like he thought she was, but Himchan didn’t budge and kept talking like there was no tomorrow. Heeyoung just looked like she needed to get away as soon as possible.

“Can I offer you a drink? I think I still need to repay you for Wednesday evening, somehow,” Youngjae said, turning back to face me again.

He smirked when he saw me cringe, but I went along with him.

“How are you and Daehyun doing anyway? He hasn’t talked much about that night ever since,” Youngjae asked as we waited at the bar to be helped. By now he had finished his drink too, so he set the glass back on the counter. “I hope he’s properly apologised to you.”

“He did… in his own way, I suppose.”

 “Well, that doesn’t sound promising.”

I sighed as I recalled the way Daehyun had hidden things from me. “Let’s say that he wanted me to keep my mouth shut. And I wasn’t really planning on telling everyone about that evening because it’s hardly interesting news. But he didn’t tell me that he already had a girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Youngjae frowned. We were interrupted by the barman asking us what we wanted to drink. After we both named our drinks — a Scotch for Youngjae, an iced tea for me — he repeated: “Oh.”

“Yeah. That was what I thought too. I guess it’s not really any of my business how he handles the situation with Jinae, but I wish he wouldn’t just get me entangled in this mess either. Essentially it’s my fault too, but I don’t want to worsen this by keeping it a secret from her. I just don’t feel comfortable that way.”

“So… what did you tell him?”

“I told him to just spill everything to her. I mean, it’ll eventually get out anyway, in which case it’s best if she hears it from him personally.”

I looked up at Youngjae to see him caught up in his own thoughts, his expression revealing that he was somehow conflicted by hearing me tell him this. I wasn’t very sure why he was so deep in thought with my story, but then I was reminded by Daehyun’s cryptic behaviour too when he told me that things were hard and that I didn’t understand. It made me question what exactly it was that was pulling him back. Surely even Daehyun would be aware that hiding things like this from his girlfriend just couldn’t be a smart move?

“You’re right,” Youngjae eventually said as he handed me over my drink. I didn’t really take him to be the type to drink alcohol whilst being surrounded by various older people who were, admittedly, far more influential than I could ever be. Youngjae had a bright future ahead, seeing he shared the same passion for bettering technology with his father. He would make a good successor to his father’s company. Somehow that didn’t seem to hold him back on occasionally showing his ‘loose’ side and risking being frowned upon for seemingly reckless behaviour.

“Why do I have the feeling that that isn’t all you want to say to me?”

“Well…” Youngjae took another opportunity at a silence to sort out what he wanted to say. “It’s not that easy for him. You have to understand that, Nana. It really is more difficult than it seems. Especially because it’s Jinae he will have to come clean to.”

I was about to ask him why that was, but I felt an arm being slung around my shoulders before I got the chance to. The easy smile rece again to Youngjae’s lips as his eyes twinkled in amusement at Heeyoung, who looked anything but happy.

“He started talking about his mother’s porcelain doll collection. God, what a weirdo. I need a drink to remove myself from that traumatic experience,” Heeyoung muttered. As she leaned towards the counter between Youngjae and me, she shot me a meaningful look that I couldn’t quite decipher. I observed the way her hands clenched and unclenched themselves and the way her eyes couldn’t seem to be able to focus on one spot for too long. She was nervous. What was it? Had the guy she’d been hitting on earlier really been that bad?

“I found it amusing,” Himchan said lazily. He stole my drink and took a sip of it. By then I was too tired to reprimand him for that and I just settled for shaking off his arm.

“When have you not found it amusing when the Princess is in trouble? You just love playing the role as her knight, don’t you?” Youngjae teased. Thankfully, Himchan just went along with the joke good-naturedly, though he seemed just as aware as I was that he could never work out well as a pair with Heeyoung.

“I do think she looks cute when she looks around in search for me helplessly every time. It doesn’t help that her dress makes her look ravishing tonight.”

My best friend groaned. Turning around with a frustrated look, she said: “Kim Himchan, if you don’t stop being an utterly disgusting pig right now, I swear I will use my stilettos as a weapon to pierce your eyes out. And don’t ever call me ‘Princess’ again!”

“Fine. If that’s how you’re going to be after I helped you. Nana looks better tonight anyway.”

I wanted to tell him to leave me out of it, as Youngjae pulled a face that showed how he thought his best friend was an idiot just like I did. However, I felt Heeyoung pinch my side through the silk of the dress I’d borrowed from her. Before I got the chance to ask her why she was acting so weird, I heard a voice that immediately made me freeze.

“Though both of you ladies are eye-catchers today, I do agree with that,” an oh-so familiar figure standing behind Youngjae said. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen him there. He nodded in a friendly way to Himchan and Youngjae as he neared me. “And hello, Heeyoung. Your parents have always thrown the best business parties out of the bunch. My compliments.”

Heeyoung scoffed. Himchan elaborated her disdain: “She doesn’t agree. She spent the entire evening complaining about the poor repertoire choice of the string quartet.”

“Sounds like something our Princess would do,” the reply sounded. He stopped in front of me and looked down at me with an unreadable expression. There was a hint of a smile, but in the past few months I’d learnt that he and I had become so estranged that I didn’t know what he was thinking anymore. “Nana. Long time no see.”

I bit my lip. Well, this at least explained why Heeyoung had been acting so sketchy before. Feeling the curious glances that our company shot at our odd interaction, I softly said: “Hi Minhyuk. Nice to see you again.”