case 03

chapter 27: my better half

She scrunched her fingers around the once clean, crisp bill, reluctantly handing it over to the cashier. The lady bowed unaffectedly and placed a plate of piping hot tteokbokki in front of her, ready made within seconds.

Once in a while, Wendy told herself, as she took the plate to an empty table. She was about to start a feast when a pair of chopsticks flew out in front of her, tucking into the fruits of her –well, not hers, but her hard-earned money’s– labor.

She scowled. Other than Mark, only one person had the gall to steal from her. In broad daylight.

“Get your own, Nakamoto!” she spat. Nakamoto – she probably mispronounced it somehow, but screw him for snatching her food. She only gave herself those treats once in a month.

Yuta plopped across her, daintily lifting one leg over the other. “Cheapskate.”

“Freeloader.” Wendy stuck out her tongue. She tugged the plate to her end of the table, arms forming a protective barrier around it. When Yuta seemed like he wasn’t going to continue taking from her, Wendy carefully took a piece of tteokbokki. “Did you get your test scores?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“How’d you do?”

“Alright. I was ranked.”

“What the ?” Wendy said loudly, appalled. “Even for Korean Literature?”

He nodded again, and Wendy’s scowl deepened. “You failed again, huh?”

Wendy was close to burying her face in her tteokbokki. At that point, her shame was redder than her food. “Look, I tried. I really, really listened in class, took notes, did all the practices,” she sighed. “I think I’m really just not cut out for this.”

“You don’t have to be,” Yuta replied thoughtfully. “Not everyone is meant to be a straight-A, glorified test-taker.”

“Yeah, but those straight-A, glorified test-takers get to college.” Wendy chewed unhappily on her rice cakes. “With my grades, I might not even get into any of the colleges in Seoul.”

Yuta crossed his arms. “What’s with you and college? You don’t have to go, you know.”

“What do you mean? Everyone has to go!”

“No, not everyone is meant to go. People are good at different things, fulfill different roles,” Yuta said wisely. “You don’t need to force yourself to go just to fit in.”

Wendy heaved a low sigh, setting down her chopsticks. “I’m not forcing myself. It’s just…” she hesitated. “My mom and I have been talking about college forever. She didn’t get to go because she had me too young… I’d be living both our dreams if I got to go, you know?”

Yuta kept quiet. He didn’t know how that would feel –living vicariously through someone else, fulfilling someone else’s dream– but he couldn’t put her down for that. It meant something to her.

“Don’t you have a dream too?” she asked, looking up from her tteokbokki.

Yuta cocked his head to the side. “No, not really.”

“What? That’s not possible. Everyone has a dream.”

“Not me. I’ll just go with the flow.”

“I think you’re just being secretive as usual. Come on, Nakamoto Yuta,” Wendy insisted, “spill. No dream is too big.”

Yuta deliberated the thought. He’d never really considered it. He was an in-the-moment type of guy, not a five-year-planner. In the recent weeks since they’d started hanging out, he’d found that Wendy was the latter, and sometimes he wondered why she would spend her time trying to detail out every minute when the tidal waves of fate could change it all. She was too idealistic for his taste, but he couldn’t really fault her for looking forward when the present seemed too hard to bear.

“Uh, well,” he ruminated, “I think it would be cool to go on a live broadcast.”

 “What kind? Radio or television?”

“Any, I guess.”

Wendy raised her brows, stunned by his unexpected answer. “Never pegged you to be a fame and fortune kind of guy.”

Yuta picked up another piece of tteokbokki, evoking another scowl from her. She probably didn’t see that coming, either. Wendy was a dense little , and perhaps that was one of the best things about her – her poor sense of judgement made her indiscriminately kind, even to someone she barely knew. It had been a while since he’d found that kind of comfort in someone.

“Well,” he chuckled, “you did say no dream would be too big.”

At the end of the runway, a lone figure her heel. The extravagant display of tulle and organza followed with her, sashaying brightly in the air. With a little smirk, she winked at the flashing cameras and strutted her way back down.

Once the model had disappeared, Yuta emerged from the darkness, standing tall and proud. Reporters and TV cameramen tapped excitedly on glinting devices, below the exhilarated breaths jittering from their whispering lips. He strode through the clouds of smoke and glitter, keeping his head held high until he reached the centerstage.

Gallantly, he took a deep bow.

“Nakamoto Yuta! Nakamoto Yuta! Nakamoto Yuta!”

“Yuta.”

He blinked. Are you here? He opened his eyes, scanning through the crowd. Can you see me now?

He stopped at five all-too-familiar faces. They were up on their feet, punching their fists in the air and cheering without a care. Johnny was hooting and tooting, Jungwoo was doing some sort of strange body wave, Jaehyun had both his thumbs up, Seulgi was waving a banner, and Wendy had clambered onto her chair, waving her arms ecstatically. Their demeanors were starkly out of place amongst the stiff-lipped highbrows of the industry, but honestly, Yuta didn’t give a . He caught their eyes, spread his lips into a wide, toothy grin, and dipped into another bow.

“There we go – the man of the hour!”

Yuta strolled towards his friends, hands tucked into his pocket and eyes apologetic. Yuta got to them, regrettably, only towards the later half of the after-party. He blamed the stiff necks and social climbers for prolonging the small talk beyond his allotted duration for vacuous pleasantries. But as he always advised Wendy, networking was a necessity. His friends understood.

They understood it too well, perhaps. So much so that they had started turning his refreshments table into their home. Johnny had five different cocktails and Seulgi had two plates piled high with food his more careful guests would not eat. Not to mention Jungwoo, who was treating the place like an all-you-can-eat chicken buffet. Wendy looked like she had probably stolen a piece of silverware, and Jaehyun was likely the person who came up with the idea. Yuta shrugged. At least some people were enjoying themselves.

“And how do you feel about today’s show, Mr. Nakamoto?” Wendy asked, shoving an imaginary microphone under Yuta’s nose.

Yuta leaned towards it sportingly. “Well,” he started, taking on his usual, exaggerated stand of feigned humility, “it’s amazing to see everything come to life after months of hard work, and I really owe this great success to the diligence and love of the many artisans and support staff. Of course, we wouldn’t be here without the continued patronage of the amazing people here today.”

Jungwoo’s eyes took a turn within his sockets. “Christ,” he said, between mouthfuls of fried chicken, “what a phony.”

“I know, right?” Wendy concurred, looking at Yuta in disgust.

As usual, Seulgi stepped in to mediate. “It really was a great show, Yuta,” she said, patting his back. “You did a great job.”

“Thank you, Seulgi.” Yuta glared at the other two. “Glad to have at least one person who can recognize the magnificence of the display.”

“Oh god,” Wendy groaned. “Stop letting him have his cake, Seul.”

“What do you mean, Wen? The man really did do a good job,” Johnny slurred. He still had two of his cocktails, and his eyes were turning a happy kind of hazy. He slung an arm around Yuta. “Hey, bud. I really liked that last tux that came down the runway. Think I could pull it off?”

Yuta looked at him knowingly. Johnny was a sleazeball, but he was the best sleazeball. “Absolutely,” he winked. “After all, art is only art with the right canvas.”

“Eyyy!” Johnny cheered. They exchanged fist-bumps as Wendy continued to roll her eyes.

Seulgi took a step back, intending to make space for Johnny and Yuta to continue their antics, only to find herself tripping on someone else’s toes. She whirled around with a string of apologies prepared in her mind, but came face-to-face with Jaehyun.

Seulgi gulped.

He held her by the shoulders, stopping her before she toppled down. His eyes seemed hard and cold, and if she didn’t look a little longer she wouldn’t have caught the wistfulness that belied the steel on the surface.

They hadn’t seen in each other in two weeks – an anomaly in their years as friends. They didn’t hit each other up for meals, didn’t look for each other in their usual haunts, and didn’t take their usual drive to Incheon. Even Taeil was surprised when Seulgi turned up alone. He had stared at the door, expecting Jaehyun to emerge with boxes of Seulgi’s tributes from Seoul. But when it became clear that Jaehyun wasn’t coming, Taeil understood. Or at least, he had the tact to hold his silence.

Why couldn’t you just say ‘yes’? His eyes seemed to ask.

Because I couldn’t. Seulgi stared back. Because we’re better off like this. Because we don’t have to ever be in a position where we watch our hearts ch–

Seulgi stopped herself from thinking. He couldn’t hear her. Of course, he couldn’t. She didn’t say anything. And she wouldn’t. Some things never needed to be said. And one day, when everything would find their way into place, he would understand.

Bull.

His eyes changed. Seulgi’s eyes widened. He couldn’t hear her – right?

“You guys want to go for drinks after this?” Wendy asked. Jaehyun and Seulgi were quickly brought back to reality, turning to her with momentous synchronicity. “We should do a part after the after-party, to celebrate Yuta’s, quote, great success.”

Yuta gave her a side-eye. Wendy stuck out her tongue.

“I have plans,” Jaehyun said, interrupting the mirthful atmosphere with the solemnity in his tone.

“What? Today?” Wendy looked at him in surprise. “Don’t tell me you have a date with N–“

“No, I don’t,” Jaehyun replied. He should’ve let her go on to drive the wedge deeper into Seulgi’s heart, but part of him couldn’t bear it. “Someone else.”

The rest gasped, and Seulgi could already see them ready to squeeze the truth out of him. “No worries,” she said, joining in. “We also have work to finish.” Seulgi turned to Johnny, who was busy downing a cocktail. “Don’t we, Johnny?”

Johnny nearly choked on his drink. “What? Huh?” He caught Seulgi’s admonishing gaze. “Oh, right, right, yeah!” he recalled. “Lots of work. Loads of work. Wait – what work?”

Seulgi sighed. Johnny was hopeless. She averted her eyes to Jungwoo, whose senses were an inch more discerning.

“I’ve got work too,” Jungwoo said, sliding an arm over Seulgi’s shoulders. “We’ll probably head back first. Catch you guys later?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Yuta smiled. “I’ve also got a bit to do to close the show. Let’s do something one of the other weekends.”

“Alright, see you!”

Jaehyun, Jungwoo and Seulgi made an exit, with Jaehyun going his own, separate way. Wendy stared on, eyes narrowed at them suspiciously. Johnny was getting to the point where he was probably too drunk to count, but Yuta playing along all-too-easily meant she was the only one out of the loop. And part of her could sense that it was intentional.

“Why do I feel like none of them actually have plans?” Wendy crossed her arms.

Johnny and Yuta exchanged looks. “I’m free, though! You can take me for drinks, Wendy Son!” Johnny said, scooping Wendy by the waist.

“Jesus Christ – Johnny Suh!”

Wendy drummed her fingers on her steering wheel, grooving to the lo-fi beats resounding throughout the interior of the car. She heard a tapping discordant to her Honne song and turned to her right, finding Johnny curled up on the passenger seat while attempting to type out a coherent text.

“Are you drunk-texting Irene?” she said, staring at him wryly.

Johnny shot her a look akin to that of a petulant, five-year-old child’s. “It’s not drunk-texting if you’re not drunk,” he grumbled crabbily.

Wendy rolled her eyes and stepped on the accelerator. She had heard that song and dance before. Johnny was an idiot.

“After all she did, I can’t believe you’re back together with her,” she grumbled.

Johnny glared. “We’re not back together. We’re just amiable.”

“That’s getting back together.”

“No, that’s not,” Johnny refuted, turning away from her, still in a fetal position. “You’re such a child.”

“You’re such a child.”

“No, you are.” He put his phone away and sat up straight – a po