[04] REAL, years & years
I broke my bones playing games with you

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Krystal rhymed with Cristal. His smile was sardonic as he prepared himself to down the latter.

Jay Z would not be pleased with him, but who cared about Z when 2Pac would thumbs up from the grave if he poured some Alizé into the cup?

Not like he would, though—having some Alizé. Not now. That would definitely beat the purpose of having Kry—having Cristal.

He had made his sacrifice for this extravagant show of teenage angst: he had put those sneakers and snapbacks he had been eyeing into the back of his mind. Instead, what he did was he went to a neat liquor store and purchased a few bottles, his weekly budget gone in a few seconds.

“Have a bottle after a dish of lobster with your beloved one, Sir.” The salesman had smiled cordially, making him snort because his beloved one loved fries more than a five-course meal at the Shilla Seoul.

It’s good that you’re not pulling a Holden Caulfield, but channeling your anguish into a pathetic drinking session is DEFINITELY THAT: PATHETIC.

He ignored his conscience. “You better be good,” he said to the plastic cup, wishing so hard he almost cried.

If she was not in his mind maybe it would have been good like it was supposed to: rich flavors of apricot, dried nuts and cherry—60% of Pinot Noir, the rest Chardonnay—all melting into one solid entity as it flowed down—burned down—his throat. God…didn’t it just burn him—confused him with cryptic words—never saying enough to make him understand—all the while knowing full well that he would never address her the problem, because doing so equaled a new batch of tears.

“It tastes so bad.” He sniffled.

Only he kept downing it, downing it like he was addicted.

Maybe he was.

On the balcony and in tears, that was how they found him the next morning—the first day her inbox started becoming empty.

Like his debut song, like those bottles and cups.

“He must have forgotten where he had put it,” she huffed and crossed her arms. “He must’ve gone to his schedule phone-less. His manager better scold him for a good whole hour.”

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Krystal also rhymed with pistol.

He did not contemplate; he was pretty sure that even 2Pac would be disappointed and kill him again had he chosen to die the same way.

He slept it off and forgot about pistol—about its rhymed companion.

Her inbox became emptier.

She wondered if he had lost his phone altogether. The idea was not far-fetched. A lot of times she had to pocket it because he forgot to as they left a café or a restaurant.

“Ugh,” she huffed. “Stupid oaf.”

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The next day she considered visiting his house (she shuddered—never again) or his dorm (“When hell freezes over”).

As she pondered, telling herself that he was okay or else she would have seen him on the news, the photographer slammed his camera on the table, “Krystal Jung! The concept of today’s photo shoot is girl in love, not girl in mourning!”

Her manager bowed down, apologizing several times. “Sorry, sorry.”

“If smiling hurts you that much, at least don’t look like you’re about to face an execution.”

She crossed her arms against her chest. Song Minho would pay for making her like this. He most definitely would. “Sunyoung! You’re free tomorrow, right? Come to my house. We’re going on a mission, you and I.”

“What? What mission?”

Retrieving Song Minho from the middle of nowhere, that was what.

Sunyoung looked unsure when they left the house and still did when they arrived and Soojung was getting off the car. “What?”

“This is not a good idea.”

Soojung closed the car door again. If Sunyoung had not blinked, she would have seen the younger girl tremble in her seat. “It has been four days. Four.” The worried part she left unsaid.

“Yeah, but Soojung, hasn’t it occurred to you that,” Sunyoung bit her lip and shrugged. When she spoke again her voice was lower in volume, “I don’t know. Maybe, I repeat maybe, he’s avoiding you?”

Soojung snorted. “That’s impossible, Sunyoung. He likes me.”

Sunyoung screeched, “He’s told you that?”

Soojung snorted again. “He doesn’t need to. When a guy likes you the way Minho does me, he doesn’t need to say anything, you will know.”

Sunyoung gawked for a moment before she finally recovered and was able to croak out some words, “Well, I still think that this isn’t a good idea.”

“The worst scenario is he’s not there and we meet Taehyun or Seungyoon instead. I—we’ll be fine. We’ll make up an excuse.” Soojung got off the car and motioned Sunyoung to follow her as well.

“No. The worst one is he’s there and tells you he doesn’t want to see you anymore.”

But Soojung didn’t hear that. She just tapped the window impatiently, “Sunyoung, come on!”

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