stars in cat eyes

***

      "—Don't sit here", — he said for the umpteenth time, but the kid continued to rock back and forth in his leather upholstered chair, — "they offered you a walk, and you're hanging out here with me. You're not doing anything, at least go out and make some friends".       —"And I'm fine here."

***

      He should has listened. Then Jisung wouldn't be sitting on that chair in the garage, staring at a green lada, crying. Alone. He'd be doing the same thing, but with someone.       His nails dug into the upholstery, his lip was bitten to a bloody pulp, but the ointment his grandmother had given him was forgotten on the table somewhere. Jisung didn't have time to say goodbye to him, so he just looked at the old car, sat still, didn't roll around (he always forbade it), and thought about how now he would have washed his hands of machine oil, thrown all his tools into a blue box, which, if you looked closely, had a black marker on it, cracked with time, put on a sunburned sweatshirt and gone to his friends.       He was left to pick at his fingers, which were bleeding as much as his lip, sniffle as the flow of tears diminished and roar with renewed vigor.

***

      "—Girl. Just like a girl",— he soaked a cotton disk in peroxide and applied it to the wound red because of blood, — "why didn't you fight back, they hit you with a fist, so you fell on your knee. Didn't you do anything to them?" —Hyo-young," Jisung stammered in a new cry, — "you said it yourself, revenge is low,"— the boy said in a non-dickish voice, wiping away his tears with a dirty sleeve, diluting the blackness on his face and tingling with pain. —"You still have to stand up for yourself, next time don't just stand there, or they won't leave you alive." *** You didn't let me live, — he thought, —why did you leave me alone? His grief was beginning to be eclipsed by anger. The shroud in front of his eyes made him feel blind. Jisung stood up, the chair flew to the side, as did the tools left on the table, as did the scribbled notebook, as did the yellow smiley-face mug with black finger marks... The sound of shattering china snapped him out of his trance. Jisung stared for a few seconds at the shards scattered all over the floor, at the bottom of the cup with the dried coffee still intact, at the fingerprints that were just as intact. He thought he began to choke. Fell to his knees against the very pieces of porcelain, perhaps stepping on them with his knees, but it didn't matter now. Jun-hyun's favorite mug, the one that held so much, at least his fingerprints, was now broken. just as Jisung was broken. *** "I told him to come to me, I'll fix your bike, you'll ride without fear, otherwise it'll blow up on the road, and he says he's gonna go to a paymaster, thinks I'm gonna steal parts from him," —  Jun-hyun was angrily recounting the incident with his acquaintance, but Jisung, leaning on his own fist, was staring in a strange direction, trying to concentrate on hyun's speech without success, — "motherfucker," — Jun adds quietly, not wanting the younger one to learn badly, — "and why are you so pensive"? —"Mom and dad are getting a divorce. This morning they asked me who I want to stay with," — the boy said calmly. Hyung always knew about Jisung's problems, and maybe even envisioned it coming to this. —"How are you feeling"? —"No, I'm used to their fights, I don't mind if they stop". —"Can't decide who to stay with"? —  Jun tilted his head thoughtfully to the side, as if reading the boy like an open book. Though he was. —"I may not loke them, but I can't hurt either my father or my mother. My dad is always at work, he hardly ever talks to me, my mom is always out partying, I can't remember the last time I saw her sober, but they have something in common..." Jisung thought - desire to kill me - but he kept silent, Hyung will understand everything. —"You take your time, it's a hard choice, a choice of the heart", — hyun held out a yellow smiley face mug to the boy and took a sip of the hot liquid after Jison's refusal, — shit, I stained my favorite mug. —"We'll have to get a new one," — heard a squeaky voice. —"No, no," — said the older man, with a smile, — "it's just one of the family ones". On the back of the entire bottom, a red felt-tip marker read: "To my favorite son, MinJun." *** Jisung was rushing around the garage, quickly jumping up to the second floor and just as quickly coming down from it. He seemed to ignore the black metal ladder, flying down it in one jump. There was no glue anywhere. The guy frantically rummaged through the contents of the table, on which at normal times, in addition to screws, nuts, herbal tea bags could be found hygiene kit (where did hyung get it from?), CDs of old K-pop bands, sheets with colorful paper clips with different names written on them. Jisung to the whole mug situation aptly recalled his last game with hyung. How he kept failing to guess Harry Potter, how visibly embarrassed he was when Jun rubbed his dark blond head, and drifted off to sleep. How often did he sleep just before he died.... No, not now, it's the mug that counts. But the glue still hasn't shown up. With a sick heart, Jisung threw on his sunburned jacket, glanced at the shards, and stepped out into the cool of the night. June had just begun, and the sun was not yet very hot during the day, so there was a breeze at night. The street was dark, except for some islands of light from a lamppost. Jisung walked slowly, kicking lonely stones. Somewhere behind him he could hear some cats fighting, and a woman with a surprisingly low voice shouting that some Jinnie had gone rogue, gone for a walk at night, and they were looking for him. But that didn't matter to Jisung. He'd often walked here with hyung before, and all those sounds were far away, and except for a quiet voice, high enough for a boy, the younger man heard nothing. He walked facing the older man, his heels bumping into the pebbles that hyung always kept silent about, and chuckled quietly when Jisung hopped on one foot, grabbing the other, and whimpered quietly because it hurt. Painful. He'd shove all the sharp rocks in his sneakers and walk all over their town with them just to feel the physical pain. Jisung was distracted from his match with the stones by a squeaky voice that twirled in a falsetto, but not in a pretty way, as if its owner were really frightened. The guy stopped in front of a dark alleyway between houses that seemed long, and somewhere deep the same voice was beeping. —No! Don't touch me, please! You know who's behind me! I'll tell hyungs, let me go! Followed by a lower voice. Jisung had avoided them before, because he knew that hyung would save him from them all. And now he had to save him. — What do you call yourself? ah... Yenny, right? Look, Yenny, neither you nor your friends are allowed to say anything about us. You forget whose neighborhood you're in! Jisung stood. Stood and was silent. How he had not been seen here, on the island of light from the lantern, so cowardly writhing in his black trench coat, hiding his brown eyes behind his lightened hair, which had already lost its color. No, he can't stand. The guy was sure if hyung were here, he'd stop with one hand, walk into a dark alley and spit on himself to save the man. He stepped forward. His heart pounded furiously and his soul whimpered. Even if he was going to be killed now, so be it. he missed hyung so much, his voice, his hair, his gait, himself, that his fear of death receded to the very back of his mind. he walked, and every step echoed in his ears as the conversations began to intensify in the sound. —What? You're not afraid to talk in front of others, but when you're alone, that's it? You didn't pee your pants, did you? — There was the sound of a kick, probably somewhere in the stomach. Jisung's eyes had already adjusted to the darkness, and fear was replaced by anger. It was just a little boy. I couldn't see the color, but the bulky, rustling windbreaker was covered in red blobs somewhere. The boy was leaning over him. He was so heavy, and his whole body was piled on top of him. —Have you read that fights usually take weight inequality into account? — Jisung tried to keep his voice casual, even shoved his hands in the pockets of his light-colored jeans to show his indifference, — Do you even know how to read? — he tilted his head to the side, trying to hide the inevitable feeling and met the dark eyes. —Who are you, asshole? — The big man spit and hit the wall. It's awfully crowded in here. — I'm his hyung, — was the first thing that came to mind, — do you even know whose kid you're hitting right now? — Jisung was a good liar. He'd been running to hyung's house all his childhood, even though his parents had strictly forbidden him to go out at night and hang out with him, — what are you gonna do when he tells his elders about you? Jisung might not have known, but he understood that walking around this area at night was dangerous unless you had some impressive company and authority behind you. He didn't know anyone by name, but from what hyung had told him, things were separate in this town. —Who are his elders? — he waved his head at the boy, who was already sitting on the floor, shaking with fear. He didn't care what Jisung thought, and Jisung didn't care who the boy was. Maybe he was in some big company, or maybe he didn't know anything about them like Jisung did. —Don't know the hierarchy of the neighboring territory? Bad. Very bad, — Jisung waved his finger before the eyes of the bully, — if you don't want to be thrown out of your company tomorrow morning, let the boy go. That was a finger in the air. How would Jison know if he was in a company or a lone wolf like the rest of them? But it was hard to tell from the reaction if he was wrong or if he'd hit the big one. He grabbed the boy by the collar of his windbreaker, lifted him up and put his hand on his shoulder and rubbed him on the top of his head. The younger boy was stunned, but didn't say anything. —I didn't let you go! — Jisung leaned in close to the boy's ear and said quietly: —When I say three, let's get out of here. —What are you whispering about? We haven't decided anything yet, who are your elders? — he was aggressively trying to get a grip on his braid. one. —Why are you hatching? If you keep quiet, it'll be worse! Two. —Hey, Chivong, what took you so long? — There were voices, many voices, some as low, some a little higher, but all of them more frightening than the one heavy one. —Three! — Jisung's shout banged a couple times against the walls of the narrow alleyway. The boy rushed first, followed by Jisung, and, unfortunately, the rest of the company as well. Somewhere near the exit of the alley they got a little stuck, giving the younger ones a head start, and the weakest of them went forward. —Chivong! — The exit's wider on the back side! — The voices began to drift away, but not for long. Just as Jisung was beginning to think he wasn't going to get anything today, the same company came flying at them from the next street at the intersection. The boy staggered back, his windbreaker, which turned out to be blue-white-and-red striped, slipped down to his elbows, his discolored hair poking up into his frightened eyes. Jisung grabbed his hand and ran toward hyun's workshop. the empty street didn't seem calm anymore, and his thoughts no longer rejoiced at the imminent death. Such a run was windblown on his face, developing his hair, and in his hand was some kid's hand, which was constantly sweating, and Jisung felt ashamed of his feelings, because now he felt alive.