The starry night winks down at a hunched over, frowning boy who torpidly clenches a jumbo slushy cup in his loose fist as if it is his last tether whilst sitting on the pavement, the ice melting into his trousers.
That boy is me.
Seong Jin Lee.
Despite the heavy weight of sadness pressing down on my chest, my eyes flutter as if trying to shield themselves from the emotional storm brewing within. Crying is going to take energy and right now even the rapid blinking feels like a chore. The world around me fades into a blur as I focus on holding back the flood of tears, resisting the pull of despair that threatens to spill over.
The ice slowly leaking through my jeans is beginning to prickle my skin with cold. I know I should drag myself out of this puddle before I wake up with a sore throat and a cough tomorrow, but I honestly do not have it in me.
Let the stars blink and blink and blink.
I'll get up eventually.
Probably.
A delighted shriek rings into the night, drawing me out of my train of thought. Inquisitively, I throw my head over my shoulder and spot a group of girls happily stumbling down the pavement. The way they keep leaning on each other leads me to believe they might be bit tipsy. When I take a closer look at them, a sense of recognition washes over me. They bear a striking resemblance to some classmates from my school.
Slightly unsteady laughter bubbles up from their lips as they stroll by. With a hint of mischief in their eyes, they give me a coy wave.
"Hey, Starr."
Starr, the name I chose back in year seven.
Stiffly, I smile at them before shyly averting my gaze down to my trainers again.
They continue to stumble along their path and I watch their retreating forms, hoping that they reach their respective homes safely. The moment they disappear around the corner, I distractedly take a sip from my slushy and adjust the camera perched awkwardly on my lap. The ice clinks dully inside the oversized cup.
I know I'm tempting fate with the combination of this cold drink and sitting on a damp pavement, flirting with the flu I will definitely catch.
But honestly? I couldn't care less.
Not today.
Bloody weak immune system...
Where the hell is Taylor with my ice cream?
She has been gone far too long. It does not take ten minutes to order two scoops of chocolate therapy. I whip my head around, squinting through the frosted shop windows. She should be easy to find with her reinvention haircut for the month. This time she went for a short and choppy look, bleached blue at the tips.
I spot her.
Perched at the counter, giggling at something the tall guy in a puffer jacket just said. An irritated scowl slowly spreads across my face before unrolling into something unimpressed.
Of course.
I hurriedly jam a hand into my pocket and yank my phone out with my fingers stiff from the cold. My thumbs fly over the screen, punching out a text with the fury of someone deeply infuriated by her delaying my chocolate therapy.
SJ: Dude, come out here with my ice cream.
I hit send and watch the screen blink.
Message delivered.
Still scowling, I shift awkwardly on my damp backside and peer through the window again.
Her eyes visibly drop to her phone.
She sees my message.
And then I watch, mouth falling open in disbelief, as she powers her phone down without even flinching and returns her attention to the guy in the puffer jacket as if I don't exist.
Her smile is pure sugar, eyes wide and guileless.
My jaw is still somewhere near my collarbone as I blink slowly.
Wow.
Unreal.
My thumb hovers over the send button longer than it should, then I roll my eyes skyward and kiss my teeth in frustration.
Why am I not surprised?
With a huff, I shove the phone back into my pocket and instead reach for something that always makes a little more sense. My camera. My fingers know the weight of it instinctively now. I flip open the viewfinder, causing the screen to blink back at me monotonously. Just waiting.
I press record.
For a second, nothing happens. Just the soft whir of the lens.
Somewhere in that silence, my thoughts rewind to the first time I did this. The first time I looked into the camera and tried talking to it as though it were a friend. It was awkward, like speaking to a wall and expecting a response. I kept tripping over words, unsure what to share and what to hide.
But with time, the lens stopped feeling like glass and more like... a mirror.
Now, I share everything like it's second nature. A reflex.
My lips curve into a practised smile.
I picture myself as lighthearted. When I see the crinkle at the edge of my eyes and the bright reflection in my hazel irises, I almost buy the illusion.
Almost.
I try not to break the mirthful smile, even though I want to because this is what people expect from me. When they point at me they usually refer to me as the bubbly one. The guy who sees the glass half full. That version of me gets remembered. That version of me is loved.
And that version doesn't get forgotten like I did that day.
I still remember it clear as crystal.
Taylor, planning her first date with Tae Ho.
Me, hidden behind a vending machine occasionally peeking out at them, nerves in my throat as she asked if she could bring me along on their date.
To third wheel.
And then his voice when he asked, "Who the hell is Seong Jin?"
He genuinely sounded confused.
As if I did not exist.
Since that fateful day, I have made sure not to fade into the background anymore. From my deliberately weird clothing all the way to my perfectly curated smile. I have become as unavoidable as a bloodstain. Even if the only one who knows the difference is me.
The camera blinks red to confirm it was recording. I keep my eyes trained on the viewfinder, the pink glow from the neon froyo sign above washing one side of my face in a cotton candy light. I almost look poised even.
"Hey," I murmur, voice a little too soft. "So Taylor is a terrible friend. Please direct your attention to this betrayal in progress."
I spin the camera and slowly zoom in dramatically.
There she is inside, laughing as if she is in a romcom with a guy I have never seen in my life. They are both leaning awfully close, all smiles and coy hand gestures.
"That right there," I say, slowly panning for dramatic effect, "is the face of a traitor."
I spin the camera back around to myself.
"She was supposed to be out here mourning with me. Actually no, she doesn't even have to sit out here with me. She can stay in there with that random neek. What really vexes me is the fact she chose him over delivering the chocolate ice cream she owes me."
I sip my slushy, teeth freezing in protest.
"Why does she owe me ice cream, you ask?" I lift a brow. "Basically, we made a bet. When I told her I was going to confess how I feel about Dominic, she said I would definitely chicken out. I said I wouldn't."
I pause.
"Spoiler alert? I did not, in fact, chicken out."
I chew lightly on my straw, trying to look casual even as my heartbeat reminds me I was on the verge of crying an hour ago.
"Earlier today at school, I courageously walked up to Dominic and said those three magic words. I did the terrifying thing and confessed my feelings to my crush all for the reward of chocolate ice cream."
I set the slushy down and adjust the camera to show more of my face, trying to look heroic over my accomplishment.
"It was also to face my biggest fear, sure, but the ice cream was the push I imagine I needed."
My hand sifts through my hair, pushing the strands away from my forehead.
"Okay, now pop quiz," I say, clapping my hands with faux excitement. "What do you think Dominic did when I told him that I liked him?"
I pause for a moment for dramatic effect.
"Did he, option one, tell me he feels the same and then proceed to ride off into the sunset with me? Or did he, option two, gently break my heart with a polite 'no thanks' like a decent fucking human being?"
I hold up my finger.
"Trick question."
I lean in closer, voice flat but simmering.
"It was neither. He did neither of those things. You know what Dominic did instead?"
I let the silence sit heavy.
"He looked me dead in the eye and then after telling me to just stop, got up and walked away. Not even a confused glance. He actually just turned around and left like I was a small glitch in the Matrix. But a glitch that didn't matter to him."
My bleak gaze drops to my feet, shoulders curling inward as the memory crashes back in waves. I was not expecting him to like me back, not really. I had braced for rejection after running all possible scenarios. But still some stupid part of me had hoped that maybe...
"Look," I mumble under my breath, "I could have dealt with him just letting me down with an explanation like a normal human being but to tell me to stop and then just fuck off...."
The sting deepens behind my eyes, and I blink fast so the tears will get the hint and retreat.
Clearing my throat, I inhale to steady myself.
It's okay.
My hand fumbles across the pavement until it finds my slushy cup, feeling the perspiration melting down its side between my frozen fingers. I take a long sip as if that might cool the lump gathering in my throat.
Then I lift my eyes to the camera lens again, watching myself on the viewfinder. My face looks detached, but the indifference is exactly how I want it—neutral enough to be believable but controlled enough not to unravel in public. Even though the streets are basically empty except for the occasional car that hums by.
"Whatever," I mutter flatly. "I don't care anymore. I just want my fucking ice cream."
I shoot another look toward the window, jaw tightening.
Taylor is still in there twirling her hair coyly instead of comforting her emotionally frozen best friend on the footpath. Who even is that guy? He looks old as hell like he pays taxes and owns a vinyl record collection.
Just as I turn back to the camera with a sigh, I summon a smile so forced it practically squeaks. "Anyway happy birthday to—"
A jarring shove to my back forces my body to lurch forward and I shriek as a tsunami of blue slushy cascades down the front of my shirt and splatters across my lap. Icy liquid soaks through the fabric in an instant.
Oh my God, that is freezing!
I scramble to my feet in a panic, yanking at the front of my shirt and shaking it like that might magically undo the chaos. No such luck. The dark blue stain is already blooming across the fabric.
I stare at it in horror.
Of course this would happen to this particular shirt. The one I just bought and was starting to fall in love with. I even planned to make it part of my favourite new outfit. A frustrated growl claws its way out of my throat as I flail dramatically, throwing air punches like some anime protagonist in the midst of a battle.
Then—oh God, my camera.
My heart skids as I snatch it up and inspect every inch, praying for mercy from the laws of physics. It better be okay or I will actually break down crying this time. I cannot afford to lose the only thing I have left of him.
A shaky sigh of relief passes my lips.
A few droplets cling to the corners, but otherwise there are no glitches.
"I am... so sorry." The introduction of a new deep voice.
I turn around curiously, still clutching my camera like a mother that nearly lost its baby bird, and lock eyes with the source of the chaos. The guy looks about my age. Tall and awkward in a way that borders on charming, but these aren't the features commanding my attention.
His eyes.
Heterochromatic, one brown and the other jade.
Without hesitation, he fumbles into his coat pocket and yanks out the most eccentric handkerchief I have ever seen, splashed with dizzying swirls of pinks, greens and oranges. Before I can ask him what on earth he's planning to do with it, he scrubs at my soaked shirt with urgency.
I blink in confusion. "Uh... what are you—?"
His brows are furrowed in dead serious focus, mouth pressed in a determined line as if this is a life or death operation involving my shirt. He doesn't even look at me. His entire being is locked in on the stain.
I look down at the sticky blue mess on my tee, then back at his oddly gentle hands and up at his face. Just as I'm about to say something, his eyes flick up briefly and in that split second glance, I notice the panic brewing in his gaze..
Does he think I'm going to explode on him?
"It's okay," I stutter nervously, my voice barely the same octave it was a couple of seconds ago. "You don't have to..."
But he keeps dabbing, like maybe if he works fast enough this whole awkward scene will magically vanish.
So I calmly reach out and rest my hand over his, stilling him in his movements.
"I was trying to clean my lenses," he stammers apologetically, eyes wide. "I was barely focusing on where I was going."
He fumbles to hold up the smudged glasses in his other hand as if to attest to his words. When he slides them back onto his face and lifts his head to look at me, it's like a curtain parting. The effect is immediate and oddly intimate. His eyes snap into perfect clarity and with them, I am once again speechless. Caught in the sharpness of his mismatched gaze.
"Without these, I'm basically blind as a bat."
I don't know what to say.
So I just nod, my brain still catching up to what was happening here.
His left jade eye sparkles with a vibrant intensity akin the depths of a murky lagoon as if his eyes hold the mysteries of an untouched underwater world. Juxtaposed with the sea of cerulean on the opposite side, his right eye boasts an earthy brown tone, a warm colour reminding me of a million acorns scattered around an oak tree on an autumn day.
He's beautiful.
When I realise that I have been staring at him for far too long to be normal, I blink myself out of my dazed state.
In assurance, I whisper, "It's okay."
Silence resumes from there and awkwardly, I avert my gaze to the side.
He finally breaks the thick silence that had settled between us, his brow furrowed in thought. "Do you want me to maybe buy you another shirt? No, wait a minute. It's already deep into the night. I doubt any clothing stores are still open at this hour. Shit."
"No, it's okay," I reply with a light chuckle, masking the truth. "I didn't really like this shirt anyway."
With a wistful sigh, I bow my chin toward my chest, my gaze drawn to the dark stain that had marred the fabric. My lips involuntarily purse in disappointment as I take in the unsightly blotch on my vintage shirt. I take a slow blink before shaking my head dismissively. After all is said and done, it is only a shirt.
"What about your camera? Is it okay? I didn't accidentally spill the slushy all over it, did I?"
I respond by shaking my head softly, a wave of relief washing over me as I lift the camera to show him. When I realise it's still recording, I quickly press the stop button.
I can't help but be grateful that the slushy didn't meet its fate on my precious device. The thought of how I might have reacted creeps into my mind. An image of myself, curled up in a tight ball on the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks in a desperate lament for the loss. The mental picture makes me shudder.
Through my eyelashes, I notice the tension finally leaving his body and he expels a deep sigh from his chest.
"You vlog?"
"Yeah," I say unsure if the question is genuine or mockery.
Without responding, he looks down at the ground.
When I follow his gaze, I realise that he's looking at the empty, jumbo cup that once was holding my blueberry slushy.
"Can I," he nervously starts and questioningly, I stare up at him. "Can I buy you another slushy?"
His request, for some reason, makes my mouth dry up. I swallow a gulp down my throat. In my stunned state, I slowly blink up at his openly soft face.
That's when his lips tilt up and a genuine grin breaks across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he does.
My gaze travels down his lean form with interest and I notice the shirt that he's wearing looks like a uniform. Is he coming back from a job? How old is he? He does not look that much older than me. Maybe a year or two at most.
Silence hangs over our heads—a silence I can easily eliminate just by replying to his question.
Do I want him to buy me another slushy? Probably. Not because I want another slushy, but because he's courteously asking me to let him buy me another slushy. Before I can open my mouth and answer, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.
"Uh," I dig in my pocket for the device, breaking our eye contact to check who the caller is and when I see who it is, a grimace escapes me. "One second please."
He nods, patiently folding his arms behind his back and almost subconsciously rocking back and forth.
I slide my finger across the screen to answer and then turn away from him slightly. "Amma."
"Seong Jin, eodiya?" she muses, and her exasperation comes through the device clearly.
"Uh..."
"I thought I told you to be here at eight p.m. on the dot. This is why I didn't want to let you go out so late with Taylor. Where is she right now? Put her on the phone. I want to scold her."
"Uh," I glance over the boy's shoulder into the froyo shop that Taylor is still in, "Taylor's not here with me right now. She's in the shop buying some ice cream, but we're on our way back. I promise. I'm sorry I stayed out late. I didn't notice the time."
She stays quiet for a second until she finally defeatedly says, "Joh-ayo. Jib-e seodulleo. I don't want to keep worrying about you."
"Okay. I will."
"Saranghaeyo," she says affectionately.
I open my mouth to say it back until I realise that there's someone here, watching me. With my cheeks heating up, I glance over at him through my periphery. Would he understand what I'm about to say to my mum?
"Why aren't you saying it back?" my mum demands.
"Uh... nado saranghae," I murmur quietly, under my breath.
"Okay. See you at home."
"Bye."
I hang up the call, burying my phone deep into my pocket again. Trying to calm my face from heating up, I don't look at him just yet. Once I know that my face isn't red anymore, that's when I raise my chin from my chest and stare into his gaze.
"I have to go home," I say to him, and his face drops slightly, "uhm... so I don't think it's necessary for you to buy me that slushy, but I appreciate the gesture."
"Oh," he murmurs and then he zones out thoughtfully. "Then let me compensate you."
He rushes to reach into his pockets for what I'm assuming is money and when he pulls out five quid from his coat, I immediately start shaking my head in refusal.
"You don't have to—"
"Please," he begs, grabbing my hand and placing the money in my palm. "Take it."
Reluctantly, I fist the five quid. "Okay. Thanks."
Again, he smiles.
"I have to go now," I say, my words coming out awkwardly.
He bobs his head up and down in agreement. "Okay."
With another stiff grin, I walk around him to make it to the froyo shop. I resist the urge to look back at him and instead focus on getting my best friend before my mother decides to kill us both.
"Oh, hey!"
I halt in my steps and slowly turn around, arching my eyebrows inquisitively.
"I didn't catch your name." Then he adds simply, "I'm Kai."
"Cool. I'm sticky," I say in jest before scowling in disgust. "That wasn't a good joke at all."
Kai smirks in amusement.
"Seong Jin," I introduce with a friendly smile to distract away from that terrible joke. "Nice to meet you, Kai."
While mirroring my expression, he spins on his heels and makes his timely retreat into the bookstore next door. I stare after him, blueberry slushy slowly drying on my chest, wondering what kind of books he reads.
Until I remember the conversation with my mother.
I see my best friend through the glass window, sitting down in a booth with that random guy still.
I squint in bewilderment.
What the hell is she doing?
Was she just going to leave me to sit out here all by myself this whole time? Did she decide to make this a casual day to abandon your friend on their emotional collapse day? Because I must have missed the memo.
She's supposed to be holding my hand, giving me unsolicited advice about how time heals even the most shattered hearts. She's supposed to be feeding me chocolate ice cream like a baby bird, rubbing my back and encouraging me to hold my tears back. Not playing footsie with someone she met ten minutes ago.
She left me.
For him.
On my birthday.
Honestly, this is treason.
Betrayal of the highest order.
I press my forehead against the cool, transparent pane of glass and give it a decisive knock with my knuckles to draw her attention. The sound reverberates through the presumably quiet shop, prompting her to startle and glance in my direction. When our eyes meet, I hold a completely expressionless face. My deadpan stare is unwavering.
In response, she bites her lip and glances downward sheepishly, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her features.
I narrow my eyes and silently mouth, Ice cream now.
After a while, Taylor eventually emerges from the froyo shop with a bright grin on her face. She quickly hands over a cone of the chocolate ice cream before it can melt all over her fingers. "Confession, check. Humiliation, double check."
I point to my soaked shirt. "You owe me laundry money too."