☆ Twenty-Sixth Star

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1 year later

Sunggyu was preparing breakfast when I walked into the kitchen. He was wearing the cute hamster apron that we had bought him last Christmas over his black T-shirt, which was what he did when he was hung over. This goes back to the time we had forced him into wearing it whilst filming him dancing to Britney Spears. Never would he admit how much he liked the apron. Or how much he secretly loved dancing to Britney. Or that he had terrible hangovers.

“Morning,” I sang happily, looking at the clock. It was only 6am. He was up early. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Sunggyu retorted with a grumpy sound. He one-handedly cracked an egg and poured it into the frying pan. The oil hissed in reaction.

“You should still be in bed,” I said, knowing it would annoy him because a) he was hung over and grumpy, and b) it was way too early. I sat down at the counter, and watched him. “You and your egg frying skills should still be asleep.”

“I can’t sleep when I’m hungry,” he murmured, shaking the pan a little.

“You don’t have work today. At least you can go back to sleep after your breakfast.”

He looked me dead in the eyes. “Whose idea was it to drink last night?”

“Probably Mijoo’s.”

“Only bad ideas ever come out of .”

“She would kill you if she heard that. And if they were so bad, you wouldn’t have agreed to join.”

Sunggyu rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Standing up, I walked to the fridge and grabbed my salad and Japanese curry that I had prepared yesterday. Then I took my bottle from the drying rack and filled it with water. Sunggyu appeared behind me to reach for the spatula. I jokingly slapped his hand away. He grunted in response. When I left the kitchen, he called after me, “Are you not gonna have breakfast?”

“Ain’t have time. Gotta leave in ten.”

“You can have my fried egg with some toast.”

“Okay,” I shouted back, already in my room. 

And that was why Grumpy Hung Over Sunggyu in his hamster apron was the best kind of Sunggyu.

☆

I greeted Hyori - a lady in her late thirties - at the counter. She just recently got married to a musician, and was now showing off her ring to me. It was a very pretty ring, to be honest. Modest and very Hyori-like. Her lips stretched into a big smirk as I told her about how I had gotten free breakfast from my housemate this morning. She just wiggled her eyebrows at me, so I took it she wasn’t really listening.

“Why are you giving me that look?” I asked.

“That housemate of yours,” she began, and judging from the way she started her sentence I knew where it was going, “didn’t you say you once fancied him?”

“I never said that,” I replied.

“And that he was quite charming?”

“I never said that either,” I lied. Even though I did. When I had one of too many drinks.

“He is also single, isn’t he?”

“He isn’t. He is currently seeing someone.”

Hyori’s eyes widened as she put a hand over her agape mouth. “Oh, no.”

Sunggyu was seeing someone. Although if he had heard me say it - all serious and stuff - he would have denied everything. For some reason, he wouldn’t admit how he liked her more than just for her face and body. He said it was a casual thing at the beginning, but I didn’t think so anymore. She stayed over enough times to make it a serious business. And she was cool as well. She was chill to hang out with. They were kind of perfect for each other.

“Well, you’re still young, Anjell. You still have some time left before you settle down,” said Hyori, twirling her wedding ring.

I nodded, and waved at her as I left for my cubicle. Ever since I moved to Seoul, I took up the most random jobs you could ever think of. Mattress tester. Fast food mascot. Hand model. And common jobs such as waitressing and working at a call center. Just last year I was lucky enough to start my traineeship at Forlorn & Found - a translation and publishing company for English literature and journalism. Here was where I met Hyori - the receptionist - and Mark - my cubicle neighbor.

“Did Hyori show you her wedding ring also?”

Mark is Taiwanese American, and was born in Los Angeles, then moved to Seoul when he was 14. He had a long face and a long nose. His facial features were very soft and proportional, without any hard edges. In general, he was the adorkable type. Like our first encounter, which was very much awkward and weird. Hyori showed me my cubicle when Mark (back then, wearing his cute glasses) stumbled into the neighboring cubicle, and almost dropped his coffee over my shoes. He apologized and sat down, nearly falling off the chair because it slid away. He was so awkward and clumsy that day. The following weeks chastened his almost eccentric behavior as he became more and more comfortable with me, occasionally letting his guard down to show me his raw self, a side that I was starting to adore. Then, three weeks into it, he mentioned his girlfriend out of nowhere, so I stopped fancying him. It was easy. Because he didn’t give my brain enough time to develop a full-on crush. Today he was only a coworker/friend to me. Even after his girlfriend wasn’t in the picture anymore.

“She did. It’s very pretty.”

Mark smiled with one corner of his lips. He sipped his coffee, and opened his hand. There was a tic tac sitting on his palm. With a grin, I took it, popped it into my mouth, and thanked him.

“I love the way you always subtly tell me how my breath stinks,” I said, chuckling.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought—“

“Yeah, I know. I’m just pulling your leg.”

He shook his head. “You’re so evil.”

“Thanks, I put a lot of effort after all.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket, so I pulled it out to check my message. It was my mom telling me that she had sent me a letter two days ago and asking whether I had received it yet. I thought it was weird for her to send me letters when she could have saved the money by using messaging apps. Shrugging, I decided not to dwell on a trivial thing.

“How was yesterday night by the way?” asked Mark.

“We drank way too much,” I said, recalling Sunggyu in his hangover apron. “Mijoo had barely anything on. She was literally in her birthday suit. And then her friends came, and they carried her around. It was crazy.”

“You should’ve invited me.”

“I’m sure I did. But you went on a date instead.”

Mark blushed. “It wasn’t a date.”

“Sure, just convince yourself that.” I started poking his ribs. “She totally thought it was a date.”

“Can we just,” he began, grabbing my hand, “move on from that topic and direct the attention to something else?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. We always have something to talk about.”

My gaze wandered across his face. “I’m sure I’m only your friend because I’m interested in your dating history.”

“Wow, that’s just mean.”

“Don’t worry I’ll treat you to lunch for this.”

He smiled with one corner of his lips. “I’ll keep your word for it.”

☆

I finished work before Mark. Our superior gave him two more translations to do because she knew how eager he was with his tasks. He didn’t mind though. He never did. Calm and patient, Mark did what he was told. It was as if he was born to please people and make life easier for us. I used to believe it was one of his annoying traits because I didn’t like how everyone called him the errand boy behind his back. Nowadays, it was kind of endearing. Mark was who he was because of all the things he did and did not do.

An hour ago Mijoo sent me a text and asked whether I could buy eggs because Sunggyu had used them all up for breakfast, and she was craving leek pancake - her hangover breakfast. So I went to the local supermarket near Forlorn & Found. My phone then started vibrating - it was JB!

“Hey Jelly Butter, what’s up?”

“Nothing much, Angel,” he said, laughing. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Stop lying. You never call just for that.”

JB (real name: Jaebum, but really Jelly Butter is okay too) was the fourth housemate, and a very successful one as well. At the age of eighteen, when he was still in high school, he already had his own online boutique, which sold quite well for something a teenager had created. Then he grew bored of it, and started his own café in Gangnam. That also had a lot of business, and was frequently visited by celebrities, but he quickly lost interest in that as well. He sold the rights and ownership to someone more eager than him, and went back to university to study Law.

“So what do you want?” I asked as I walked towards the dairy section.

“I was thinking,” he began, “something’s missing in our apartment.”

I stopped and picked up a box of eggs from the shelf. “Like what? A jacuzzi?”

“No, but good guess.”

“What else could our apartment need besides a nice hot tub?”

“Think furry,” he hinted.

“An animal rug?”

He laughed again. “God, no. That’s cruel.”

“So, a pet,” I answered, heading to the self-checkout.

“Ding ding ding, correct!”

There was a woman in front of me in the queue. When one of the tills was not occupied, she went there, and I moved forward. Only moments later the man at the till next to her left. I walked, and placed the eggs onto the counter.

“So you want to buy a pet?”

“Yeah, a cat would be nice.”

“Are you asking for permission?”

“No, I already bought him,” he retorted. “A Bengal cat. He’s beautiful. I’m taking him home right now.”

“Then why are you calling me?” I asked, scanning the box of eggs and putting money into the slot.

“I want you to give our cat a name.”

I scoffed. “So now it’s our cat?”

After receiving my change, I put the eggs into my bag, careful not to break anything. JB asked about name suggestions when I turned around, ready to leave. At the same time that woman from before stepped back, so we almost ran into each other. When she looked up, I noticed how familiar she was. I stared at her for two whole seconds. Finally, on the three second mark, I remembered.

“Krystal?”

“Our cat is a male,” said JB, offended. I almost forgot about him.

“Sorry, I’ll call you later,” I spoke into the phone, and hung up.

After three years and countless events that had shaped me, and now during a moment in my life where I thought I was content, it stood there — the past I had been trying to run away from, the past I hadn’t wrapped up — in the shape of a grown-up woman. She tucked strands of her hair behind her ear, her eyes smiling from underneath her bangs. She had changed a little. She looked more mature.

“It’s been a long time,” she said. I could hear the sincerity in her voice.

“How have you been?” I asked, smiling back. “Are you a famous fashion designer now?”

“Not yet. But I’m working on it.”

A woman in her late forties interrupted our small talk, and ushered us to go talk somewhere else. Not that I really wanted to. So much time had passed between us, and we weren’t really friends to begin with. There was only one thing that had ever bound us. And it wasn’t there anymore.

We apologized to the woman and the queue that had seemingly gotten longer, and left the supermarket. Outside, we exchanged some more pleasantries, and explored each others’ social position. After a few minutes, it seemed like we had exhausted the limits to our conversation, but I had one last thing to ask.

“I was wondering,” I began, surprised at how uncomfortable I felt, “whether you’ve seen Woohyun around.”

Her eyes widened at the name, almost as if she had forgotten such a person existed in our lives. Sometimes it happened to me. When I was alone in the apartment, and the stars were exceptionally bright. He would just become an illusion. A fictional 17-year-old boy from a time I could only faintly recall.

“I’ve only seen him once since I’ve been here in Seoul,” said Krystal, furrowing her brows. “We met up for lunch. But that was surely two or three years ago.”

“You haven’t seen him since then?”

She shook her head. “I think he changed his number.”

I wanted to ask what they were talking about, but that seemed too intrusive, so I left it at that. 

“We really have no contact or whatsoever,” she carried on, waving her hands in front of her. She looked genuinely bothered. “And when we had lunch together, we just talked about general things.”

It took me a few seconds to realize what she was doing. “I’m sorry, Krystal, I wasn’t interrogating you or anything. I apologize if it came off like that.”

“No, I’m sorry if I seemed like I was falsely accusing you.”

“Not at all.”

Krystal opened , as if she wanted to say something, then decided otherwise.

“You can say it,” I told her, smiling to show I would welcome it.

She still hesitated, her eyes unsure. Then, after a moment’s pause, she asked, “You don’t talk anymore?”

“Yeah,” I responded, having prepared my heart for this, “but it’s been ages, so I was just curious whether you have heard anything from him.”

“Same for me. It’s been years.”

We exchanged numbers, and promised to keep in touch or talk once in a while, knowing fully well they were just white lies. When we parted ways, I realized there was a huge lump in my throat that I hadn’t noticed before, and without understanding the meaning of it, everything just went downhill from that encounter.

☆

In the apartment, JB had already assembled the litter, the scratching posts, a bed, and the food and water bowls in the living room for our new pet. They were all beige colored because our furniture was beige, and JB had a thing for color-coded rooms. The actual cat wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Only Sunggyu, who was slumped across the couch, still in his black T-shirt, watching TV. I asked him when he was going to take a shower. But he ignored me.

I went to the kitchen counter, took the box of eggs out of my bag, and checked the pile of letters and newspaper. Most of them were for JB. Some for Mijoo. Sunggyu must have finally noticed me then because he said, “There’s a letter for you from home.”

“Where’s JB or Mijoo?” I asked, grabbing my mom’s letter. It was the one she had texted me about.

“Out with Daegu.”

“Daegu?”

“The new cat,” Sunggyu slurred. I watched him pick himself up from the couch and turn off the TV. He shuffled his feet towards me, and sat on the bar stool. “I’m allergic to cats.”

“No, you’re not,” I objected.

“But I could be.”

“Why did they call the cat Daegu?”

He shrugged, lifting one of JB’s letter and absentmindedly examining it. “They asked me, and I had your letter in my hand, and saw the address.”

“How creative,” I praised, taking a seat as well.

“How was work? How was Mark?” The last question was paired up with the wiggle of his brows.

“I told you we’re not like that,” I insisted.

“Actually, you told me you kind of fancy this cute, glasses-wearing dork who is your cubicle neighbor.”

“That was months ago.”

“Does your heart change so easily?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing I could not win such an argument with Sunggyu. He could be so persistent about things sometimes. Instead, I said, “I saw Krystal today.”

“Wow, how’s she? Is she still hot?”

“I don’t think hotness changes in three years.”

He laughed, shrugging. “So what did you guys talk about?”

“I asked her about Woohyun.”

Sunggyu dropped the letter in his hand, and looked up at me. “Oh, wow…”

“Yeah.”

“And how’s he doing?”

“She hasn’t seen him for three years.”

“So, no clue as to where he is either.”

I nodded, averting my gaze away from Sunggyu. It wasn’t like the subject of Woohyun was still a sensitive topic for me. I had moved on. But inside me, there still resided the 17-year-old Anjell that fell in love with him and the 19-year-old one that got her heart broken. And both of them had stopped in time. Frozen in  their respective feelings.

“Are you okay?”

When I looked up, I noticed the furrowed brows on Sunggyu’s face, and it took me back to that one snowy day three years ago. At that memory, I couldn’t help but smile.

“JB and Mijoo are going out for dinner after Daegu has gotten his shots,” he explained, changing the topic. “We can ask them to get takeout for us, or I can cook for you.”

“You’d cook for me?” I asked, grinning.

“Didn’t I do it this morning?”

“You’re such a keeper,” I said.

His ears turned a little bit red. “What do you want to eat?”

“Beef!”

“Any preferred side dishes?”

“Whatever you can bring on the table,” I replied in singsong. Sunggyu nodded and started rummaging the fridge for ingredients and leftovers. He was singing a Britney Spear’s song, which thoroughly amused me. In my hands, I still had my Mom’s letter, so I decided to open it. There was another envelope inside. I opened that as well. When my eyes glanced across the name of the sender, my heart dropped. It was Mrs. Go, the Cheese Lady. And she had passed away.

☆