[CONTENTID2] Contradictory [/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID1]

Its been half an our since I last stepped foot in the house.

I took a taxi here with the cash I had remaining in my pockets and fled to Hongdae. I kind of felt reluctant while paying the taxi driver, knowing that I could've took the bus at a smaller expense. But what could I do? In times like these, my raging emotions prevented me from thinking straight.

But then, why would world-famous artist Jung Yunho take a bus? Wasn't he too good for that?

I dragged my feet onto the paved grounds, hearing my soles scrape against the concrete.

Hongdae's establishments flourished within my eyes as its trendy cafes lined the streets. The chaos of the pedestrians buzzed within my ears, mixed with an abundance of footsteps.

Hongdae was a ruby in a sea of pearls; located in the west of Seoul.

Innocent youths would often roam here, often fascinated by its colourful and youthful ambience. Tourists were also frequent lurkers.

"Omo! Are you Jung Yunho?!" A plump, pale girl gaped at me, aiming her finger towards me.

"Yeah," I said, feeling my cheeks tighten from my grin. I had to mask my emotions, no matter what situation. I had a reputation to maintain.

"OMO!! I love your art work!! I saw your interview on Naver's front page last month!! Mind if we take a selca?"

"Of...of course!" I stumbled. Wow, I felt like a celebrity. Like a movie star-type. You know, different professions from a critically-acclaimed artist.  People often asked for my autographs, but never offered to take pictures. It seemed that this girl was starstrucked by a mere fellow like me.

 “Omo, your arm!” she pointed out, putting a hand over .

A burning sensation scorched my cheeks at the mention of my arm. I didn’t like to talk about my injuries. Every time a broken arm was mentioned, all I could think of was Chae Won. The accident. My wrongdoings.

“Oh, it’s nothing really…” I said.

“Nothing? I heard about your accident in the news…” the excitement on her face darkened to a worried expression as she eyed my cast. 

Can we not talk about my arm or the accident? Can we just take the picture? Please?

“Aish…it’s okay really,” I said, faking a grin as I tried to conceal my annoyance.

Seconds passed after she configured her camera settings. She hovered her arm, trying to perfect the camera’s angle.

“Aish…my face looks bloated next to yours!!”

“No!! You look great!!”

“Maybe I've been eating too much ramen!! My face is seriously too bloated!! I can't really afford 'fresh' food since its too expensive for a college student like me...aigoo."

"You’re a college student?”

“Yup!”

“Ooh, what major do you take?"

"Literature,” she replied.

"Ahh..."

"OH! And my professor is a huge fan of you!!"

"Really?"

"Yeah...maybe I'll get extra marks for getting your autograph. Keke. He always does analyses on your paintings."

Interesting. That professor of hers must’ve been a passionate fan of my work. The things art did to people were amazing.

“Which paintings?”

“The Pelting Rain.”

The pelting rain was my most well-known, critically acclaimed painting. It’s the work that got me to where I am. The ‘Pelting Rain’ was a landscape painting of a street doused in rainfall. But what made it unique was the hidden meaning behind it. The picture depicted a streetlamp’s light bleeding onto the puddles, which reflected an image of a blurred, human silhouette. The identity of the person within the reflection remained a mystery.

Honestly, I didn’t remember the process of painting it, although the sight of it sent shivers down my spine.  

Seconds later, a camera shutter clicked within my ears as she captured the selca.

"Good..." she said, swiping her finger onto the screen.

"Anyways...can you sign my notebook? And can you please sign the other page for my professor?" she asked, pulling a notebook from her book bag.

"Oh, yes," I said, taking the pen from her.

I glided the pen, creating intricate scribbles onto the surface.

 Doing the same movement with my hand, I made another signature onto the paper, making it identical to the other page.

"What's your professors name?"

"Kim Jaejoong...aigoo, it feels weird saying his first name."

My heart leapt at the sound of his name, causing the pen to slip out of my hands. It succumbed to gravity, soon plunking onto the grounds.

What is that Jaejoong that I know?

"Wait!! You forgot to put my...."

Her desperate hollers died as I furthered myself into the street, soon merging in with the cluster of people.

Just the sound of his name made me paranoid.

Kim. Jae. Joong. Just like the sound of the pelting rain.

~~

The exquisite scent of chocolate danced into my nose, causing my stomach to grow like an animal. The interior of the cafe never failed to make me feel at home, as I surveyed the wooden walls that bounded me. Sunlight illuminated the room as its yellow rays beamed upon the minimalistic-style furnishings.

"Omo! Yunho!!" One of the cafe owners emerged from the wall behind the counters, taking me by surprise.

"Heechul!!" I beamed, gravitating towards the counters separating us. "Your already back from your Europe tour?" I asked, raising one brow.

"Of course!!" He said, flinging his arms in the air.

Heechul's over-flamboyant nature made Kim Jaejoong's craziness pale in comparsion. And I guess I kinda liked him for that. He was a breath of fresh air within the masses of mediocrity that filled the streets.

Heechul owned this café, along with his best friend Choi Siwon. They both held a passion for cooking and interior decorating, which explained the café’s aesthetically-pleasing interior design.

I guess both of them were my only true friends whom I could trust.

"How was it?" I asked, seating myself onto the stools facing the counter.

"Ah-mazing!! I got...wait....oh my god!! Before I get my own interview, let’s talk about your arm!! Oh Yunho! You look so fatigued! You lost so much weight…and your arm…does it still hurt? I heard from Siwon that you got into an accident…” Heechul chirped.

His voice bounced up and down, somewhat alternating pitches as he expressed his concern. It was a tendency of his to immerse himself in other’s people’s pain. It wasn’t a cry for pity or an act; it’s because he’s Kim Heechul.

“Well, the pain’s not as bad as before. Luckily, I’m taking the cast off next week so I can move freely again.”

“Oh, that’s good,” he said, putting a finger to his lips.

“What’s your cheapest thing from your menu?” I asked, looking at the list of choices on the chalk board.

“Cheapest? You’re a world-renowned artist! You should be drinking gourmet coffees and eating caviar!”

“Aish, I don’t need all that…” I said.

“What’s the point in having money if you’re not going to use it?” he asked, wiping the counters.

“I don’t use it.”

“Aigoo Yunho…you’re no longer a starving teenage run-away! You’re Jung Yunho…Korea’s best artist!! You even got a spread in European Vouge because of your work!!”

The words ‘teenage runaway’ struck me.

Recently, it seemed that people were just out to get me. Telling me things that I’m not, discussing events that I’ve never experienced. All their baseless, unprovable claims confused the heck out of me. Like a scrambled puzzle that was yet to be solved.

I couldn’t help but feel stupid. 

Changmin, and now Heechul said the same thing.

Did Chae Won know of this?

“Yunho! Why are you so quiet all a sudden?” he asked, widening his eyes.

I couldn’t just tell him I had selective amnesia. There’s no, absolute way I would unveil my weaknesses.

“Sorry, I’m just…I’m just too busy thinking about the exhibition…” I lied, drumming my fingers onto the marble surface.

“Oh right! You’re holding the exhibition at this café right?” he asked, tucking his long, orange locks on the back of his ear.

“Yeah,” I said, taking a glance at the café’s space.

Somehow, after the mention of the art exhibition, my worries died down. I should be focusing on my craft, instead of little, petty problems that hindered my work.

“I heard from my partner in crime Siwon. You guys already arranged the date?”

“Yeah, September 24th.”

“Oooh, around autumn.”

“Are you okay with me holding it here?”

“Of course!” Heechul exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “As long as I get twenty percent of the profits.”

Aish this Heechul. He’s always negotiating.

“Fine,” I agreed.