I ended the phone call with a curse.

Maybe I’m dumber than Youngbae thinks, or just plain reckless, but I couldn’t care less.

She needed me.

And I, a budding masochist, dropped everything to answer her call.

Youngbae once told me that I’d get my heart stomped on if I won’t stop butting my nose in her life.

"There’s always an order of things: you’ll only get hurt if you push too much."

I was too nosy, too protective of her that I couldn’t help but put her on a pedestal surrounded by iron cages. He saw me watching Seung-hyun hyung laughing with her while feeding the blushing girl some egg rolls. She was with me the whole day when he called to tell her they had a date. She blushed and stammered a hasty goodbye, leaving me standing in the staircase.

Seung-hyun hyung played it safe when he gave her the huge bouquet on the last get-together we had. She was flattered with the attention that hyung gave her but she admitted to me in our ramen night that she liked dandelions.

A symbolism of purity and innocence, she said while swirling the soup in her bowl.

“Well, it’s not that surprising, is it Noona? You look young enough to pass off as grade-schooler.”

She laughed, her voice chiming as bells in the noisy area of Gangnam.

It was a miracle really that nobody recognized them. Her face would’ve been recognized by anyone, even if she was wearing a black mask. But for some reason, their fortune looked down on them with smiles on their faces.

They were on their second bowl when she looked up and turned her piercing eyes at me. “Hmm, Ji, it’s good to have time together once in a while, yeah?”

I remembered Youngbae’s uncharacteristic serious expression.

Jiyong, back away now before you get hurt. She’s not yours.   

 “Ne, noona. I promise that we’ll always have Friday nights as ramen nights!”

“Even if we’re tired and sore from practices and concerts?”

“We’ll sneak off to the rooftop and eat ramen there.”

“Even if we’re on different countries?”

“We’ll video-call each other and eat together.”

“And if we’re both on a plane?”

“I’ll book my flight earlier so we can eat together, even if it’s on video-call.”

“Even if the world’s crashing down and there are zombies eating everyone’s brains?”

Her twinkling eyes undone me.

Youngbae’s reminder vanished.

I met her gaze. “Nothing will tear us apart.”

Youngbae peered over my shoulder and glanced at the caller’s name. His eyes were cautioning me, reminding me of my place, telling me to stay where I am and let them deal with their problems.

“Jiyong.”

I looked at my phone. Her face was this week’s wallpaper. Well, her new photoshoot cover was my new wallpaper.

“Tell Seungri and Dae that my sister called me.”

“Don’t— “

I ran towards her.

Again.

I just realized that there’s a big difference between looking and seeing.

To look is to see nothing.

To see is to look and see everything.

She was leaning over the railings of the rooftop, shouting at the top of her lungs. Her voice was hoarse and shaky as she cursed her father over and over again. Her father was a sore topic for her, tabooed and must not be brought up. I made the mistake of asking and regretted the answer that I got.

“He’s the reason why I promised myself not fall for people like him. Or fall in love in general.”

“But, noona, what if you meet someone that you really love? Are you going to let him go because you fear that he’ll become like him?”

Her silence was what bothered me.

I never brought the topic of her father up again.

It was painful to see her screaming and crying, willfully abandoning any sense of composure and just letting the heavens know that you’re in pain. She was a happy person, albeit sensitive and emotional, but she’s the “vitamin” of YG Entertainment.

2ne1 and BigBang rarely have meetings and get-togethers without her, trainees shyly declare to their bemused hyungs and oppas that they wanted to be friends with her, idols from other companies expressed their adoration for her as soon as they saw their debut MV Fire. Even Sajangnim was not resistant to her charms—it did not escape my attention that the ahjussi in a fedora hat purposefully seeks her presence whenever YG CEO’s breaking down from the problems and stress.

Which is why I must make her happy.

For everyone who loves her.

For her.

“Dara noona, there’s a new ramen joint near Hongik Street…”

Her smile outshined the moonlight.

Hongik Street was alive at seven in the evening. Shops were bustling with people of all ages, the air filled with sounds of laughter and endless chatter.

She was leading me, hopping from one foot to another as she pointed at the low-priced beanie hats and necklaces. I kept a cautious air as I tried to catch any suspicious stares. She was dressed in a black shirt and denim jeans, an outfit that was as simple as possible but the only thing that kept her identity a secret was a flimsy black mask with a Hello Kitty design on it. I was not dressed to blend in as well, cursing myself for not changing the feathered coat and designer sunglasses that I was wearing into some sweatpants and shirt.

There were some strange glances but the night passed peacefully as most of the crowd ignored the weirdly dressed people for the delicious food and talented performers.

“Oh my, yeppeuda! Jiyong sunbae! Come see this necklace!”

The stall was manned by an old lady crocheting. Her attention was on the crochet pattern, her frail hand steady as she inserted the needle with expertise.

I released a breath of relief.

She was looking down at the rows of jewelry displayed. Butterfly necklaces were the most common motif, varying in size, shape, and color. Some of the rings were decorated with flowers, bright and twinkling under the streetlamp. Intricate hairpins were placed on a white cardboard, beside the headbands and bracelets.

Her hand was hovering on a particular necklace, hidden beneath the gaudy butterfly necklace.

“That necklace has a long story, beautiful lady.”

The old lady looked up from her crochet. She stood up from her rickety chair and pulled the necklace out.

It was a different necklace from the others—it was made from glass with small white dandelions in the glass orb. The orb was firmly placed as a pendant in a thin silver chain.

“Can you tell me, ahjumma? The story must be so beautiful and I love stories.”

The old lady smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t know the story.”

She pouted. “That’s bad luck. But how do you know that there is a story to the necklace?”

The old lady winked. “It’s a secret, beautiful lady. I’ll tell you someday.”

“But why not now, kind ahjumma?”

She fixed her frayed scarf around her neck. “When the time’s right. Now, better get going, kind miss. You are starving.”

As if on cue, her stomach grumbled.

“Aigoo, Aigoo, I need to feed this baby tummy of mine! Jiyong sunbae, let’s go to that ramen joint you’re telling me!”

She walked farther away, her hair softly flowing against the wind.

I was about to follow when a hand grabbed mine. I could only look as the old lady dropped the necklace and closed my hand to a fist.

“What makes the story beautiful is that only one can know. And it’s not me.”

The necklace weighed heavily in my pocket.

The night was just starting. Food kiosks popped out from the corners and delighted the tourists with authentic Korean delicacies. Street performers showcased their talents in singing and dancing, entertaining the audience. Most of the crowd went to the flash mob that was started by a group of boys dancing to 2ne1’s I Am the Best. She was laughing as she dragged me along to dance with her.

Soon, our feet were sore from the running and dancing. Walking side by side as we rounded the corner, talking lowly to avoid anyone from overhearing, we ended up listening to a soft lilting voice singing of love and pain.

We were the only audience that he had as he smiled at the entranced girl beside me.

Barabonda barabonda jeomjeom deo meoreojyeoganda
Aewonhaedo butjabado jeomjeom deo meoreojyeoganda

Halkwieojin sangcheodo algie amu maldo haji motan chae
Geujeo ganeun geudaereul barabonda

Her face was alight as she closed her eyes and listened to the quiet strum of the guitar.

Maybe it was the smile on her face or the tear that she won’t let go I wouldn’t know. But my hand held hers and I knew everything was alright.

She looked up at me and smiled. “Gomawo, Jiyong.”

“Anything for you, noona. You know that.”

Tto unda tto unda moksumgachi saranghan nae sarangi
Tto unda tto unda gaseum buyeojapgo chamabojiman
Sarangi tto unda

Her phone rang.

Her smile brightened as she put answered the call.

“Seung-hyun-yah. How are you with your taping?”

With an apologetic stare, she pulled her hand away.

“Jin jja? Daebak! I can’t believe that you got his autograph for me! Omo! Saranghaeyo, Hyun-ah!—“

Bonaenda bonaenda himeobsi tteonaganeun geudael bonaenda

She walked away, chatting rapidly on her phone.

My arm was outstretched, palms open.

Waiting for her to come back to me.
 

Bonaenda bonaenda babogachi miryeonhaetdeon sarangeul
Himeobsi bonaenda

Youngbae was right, as always.

There’s always an order of things: you’ll only get hurt if you push too much.

My hand slipped into my pocket.

a small dandelion necklace hidden in my pocket.