16

one missed call

Kim Jongin to Kang Seulgi: I tried to call you yesterday.

[You have deleted this message.]

Kim Jongin to Kang Seulgi: Don’t worry. I’m fine.

Krystal looked up from her pot of bubbling kimchi stew. Kai shuffled into the living room, dragging his feet like they were made out of lead. They probably were, after everything he had put them though for the past three decades.

He stared at her, startled, but only momentarily. He probably shouldn’t have been, since she had become such a permanent fixture, as temporary as they thought they were. “When did you get here?” he asked, lying down on his grey sofa.

“Half an hour ago,” she replied, stirring at the contents of her pot. She had made it several times before, so she didn’t know why the color was turning out that red. As if to defend herself, she added, “I did knock.”

“Oh,” he said flatly. “Sorry.”

Krystal calmly added her chopped ingredients into the stew. She knew he wasn’t sorry. Not now, not ever.

She could start a polite conversation, ask him how his nap was, how he planned to spend the rest of the day, whether he was okay with the stew being a little spicier than normal. If they turned back the clock thirteen years, perhaps she would. But things had changed. Krystal had grown out of starting such pleasantries, and Kai had grown out of hearing them. She wasn’t Seulgi, who could say the same for years and pretend that they were more than empty words.

She switched off the stove. “When were you planning to tell me?”

She could hear him inhale slowly. He probably had expected her to ask. “I haven’t made up my mind,” he replied, as though it was even an answer.

“Isn’t that what I’m here for?” she asked. “To help you make up your mind?”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to, for her to know she was right. For years she had been his compass, even though he probably didn’t even know he had one. If she had chosen to go into professional counselling instead of entertainment, maybe she wouldn’t be providing her services for free. Who am I kidding, she thought. How do I fix someone else when I can barely fix myself?

His phone vibrated. Even from the kitchen, she had heard it buzzing endlessly on his table. He clicked it off, heaving a sigh.

She turned around. “Is it because of me?”

He kept his eyes trained away from her. “No,” he began.

Lies, she knew. Or didn’t know, Krystal couldn’t tell anymore. “We’ve been through this before,” she reasoned quietly. “It’ll take a while, but it’ll pass. There’s no need for you to throw it all to the wind.”

“What if that’s what I want?”

Krystal stood unmoving. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, in a breath, “what if I want to throw it all to the wind? For a moment, to feel like I’m free, like there’s nothing holding me back from just drifting away.”

She shut her eyes. They didn’t have to talk about it for her to know what he meant. Throughout his years, he was kept on a very tight leash by the company. They had primed him to be the star, the center of attention, the one and only Kai, and for years, he was. And no matter how much he tried to stray from the identity that had been crafted for him, they would put him back on track. Self-destruction wasn’t an option for someone who had been long destroyed.

“You did it, didn’t you?” he added. Krystal winced.

But it didn’t set me free, she wanted to say. She thought it would. She thought that leaving meant that she could be her own person, to discard the ty stage name that made her the gem she wasn’t, to reconnect with the karaoke-loving teen that once was Jung Soojung. It didn’t take her long to find out that she could throw away some names, but not others. That Krystal was the cage she had unwittingly stepped into at fifteen, and trying to run away wouldn’t change the fact that it was still her home.

Kai’s phone was ringing again. She knew it was probably Kyungsoo, or Joonmyeon, or Yixing, or even Sehun, because some natural disasters needed the entire rescue team, even the ones who usually couldn’t give a .

“Pick it up,” Krystal advised, watching the buzzing stop and restart again.

He chuckled, looking away. “Before you left, did you ever pick up anyone’s calls?”

“No,” she said, drawing her breath, “because there wasn’t anyone left to call me.”

Jaehyun squeezed through the crowd, keeping his cap over his eyes. For once, he was grateful for the noise, the riot, the darkness – it meant that he could move around without half the world knowing he was there.

He had escaped before their table could make him open another bottle. It was their last day of filming, and everyone, for some reason, had expected him, of all people, to be the one to open a table at the club. Perhaps because they thought he was a regular, and that perks just followed him around by virtue of his identity. It was true, but it would be sad if that was the only reason why a group of people who initially thought he was a ing deadweight eventually expressed an interest keeping contact with him.

He flicked out his phone. No missed calls.

Strange, he thought to himself. Normally, Seulgi would have called at least once. Instead, his call box was empty, and his messenger was blowing up.

It was only a week since the weekend getaway that turned into a full-on company event. An inebriated Kai probably said some words to the wrong people; what was a thought became a rumor, and what was a rumor suddenly became front-page news. Everyone was up in arms about him possibly not resigning his contract. It was like a crown prince had decided to relinquish his rights to the crown, and now everyone had two options: to get him to stay, or to prepare for a different heir.   

Perhaps, Seulgi was part of that crowd. It was likely that she eventually checked her call box, found the missed call there, and acted on it. Should’ve just told her, he thought. At least he would have known what she would have said on that call.  

His thumb hovered over the ‘call’ button. He was counting the seconds like fate would miraculously swing in and prove him wrong, like everything he had seen and heard that weekend was just a–

A girl ran into the alcove, weeping softly. She had her face covered by her hands, but not her head. He would recognize her crop of ice pink hair anywhere.

“Rosé?” he whispered. The girl looked up. “Wha– Are you okay?”

“Oh, J–“ She opened , trying to breathe between sobs. “Jaehyun.”

Before he could react, she had bounded straight towards him, circling her arms around his waist and burying her head into his chest. His arms hung limply by his side, with the blue on his phone’s screen slowly fading to black.

Jaehyun fished out a pack of tissue from his pocket, holding it up to the sniffling Rosé. He didn’t know what was more surprising – that he even had tissue, or that that he was offering his ex tissue that he would have usually used to wipe his current girlfriend’s lips on their car dates.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, dabbing at her eyes. Her usually melodic voice came out as a hoarse whisper, weighed down by the remnants of her previous waterworks. They were still at the same alcove, backs pressed against the wall, with a good one meter between them.

He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Is it Chanyeol?”

Rosé kept silent.

“What happened?” he asked. “Did he cheat on you?” He could hear Rosé expel a breath. Even without looking at her, he knew the answer. “He did.”

Rosé spat out a laugh, bitter and sad. “You know what’s the worst part?” she said. He wasn’t going to answer. He knew a rhetorical question when he heard one. “I wasn’t even surprised. Not even the slightest bit. It was like I knew it was going to happen, like I was just counting down the seconds.”

He turned away. Her spluttered words sent memories flooding into his mind, memories that he never wanted to relive.

“Oh god,” she choked, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. You, of all people. What the .”

It was ironic, of course it was – years ago, the tears in her eyes were because of him