stars in cat eyes

The night descended slowly, lazily dragging the sun behind it and covering Samcheok with gloom. The trees tapped on the second-story windows, the sunset giving them a pinkish tint. The unspoken words swirled on my tongue like a disk for the hundredth and more times. Night was always their meeting time, just because it seemed cool to Jisung at fifteen, just because Jun was very busy during the day. Later they started meeting earlier. Once upon a time hyung taught him how to work on a car. He was very proud of his workshop, the cars he picked up from big junkyards and rebuilt. The same green lada used to be a pile of gray metal. the workshop was very popular, he could afford it. His heart and soul felt shame. Jisung had promised not to leave the shop, to look after it, to "keep it afloat". But in two months, Han had fixed only two motorcycles and a rusty bicycle. The news of MinJun's death spread faster than a bullet and customers, regular or potential, began looking for a new place to repair their cars. The shop stood, out of work, out of earnings, getting more decrepit by the day. And Jisung stayed here, inside, eating ramen supplies, occasionally buying something else with the remaining couple thousand won. Sometimes a grandmother would come in, knock on the door, yell at her grandson, and then just give up and put the food on the windowsill through the open window. And that made it worse. He'd ruined his own life, and continued to ruin his grandmother, the only one after hyung who'd been good to Jisung. He hadn't even let her into the workshop, forcing her to stand in the May sun in the afternoon, waiting for him, knowing there would be no answer. Will need to go to her. Apologize, explain everything, maybe (read that as accurate) ask for money, eat normally and leave, probably for two months again. Self-pity oozed from every crevice. Jisung was from a good-looking family, but he didn't know happiness: he had no friends, his parents had beaten him first in marriage and then separately, and his grandfather, his favorite grandfather, had died when he was thirteen and left nothing behind. Han was lucky to have met hyung. He was a copy of his grandfather, he loved cars just as much, he was calm and funny at the same time, and most importantly, he loved Jisung just as much, protecting him no matter what. But he also left him. *** —"Hyung! I brought you grandma's kimchi. She wouldn't let me in hungry, but I talked her into two servings!" — The boy stormed into the workshop, his ankle hitting the blue box, almost spilling the food all over the floor, — "Hyung?" Jun sat in a leather chair, legs spread tiredly, staring at the ceiling and not knowing what he was thinking about. —"What's wrong, hyung?" - The boy rushed over to the older man, leaving the food on the table next to the Harry Potter paper, and sat down next to hyung's feet. —"Jisung-a, why are you here?" —"Why? It's Friday, it's movie night, we're having kimchi. What's happened?" —"Don't come here anymore, you're wasting your time". —"What?" — Jisung rounded his big eyes, — "No! No way!" — He took the older man's hand, intertwining his fingers with his own, — "What's gotten into you, hyung, I'm not leaving!" —"You're here with me, you could be with some guys, girls, not wasting your youth in this goddamn shack. You know your father..." —"My father took away my childhood, and with you, it's like I'm a kid again. Hyung, don't bring it up again, I'm not leaving." Jun looked into the younger man's eyes. So dark, darker than usual. And so serious. *** —Han Jisung! — The voice was again in a falsetto, — Hyun! Open up, we can hear the music from the window! Heart stabbed. The image of the boy with the bleached hair, the sly squint, the bloody lip, the voice that belonged to him, came into Jisung's mind. —We're not leaving, don't even hide. The voice was getting annoying. Jisung got out of bed, fixed his white T-shirt, with some washed-out inscription on it. On the first floor, the fragments continued to lie, stained a dull pink by the sun. The door was tapped rhythmically with just his knuckles, seeming to beat out some kind of tune. There were three men standing in front of the door. —Jisung! You finally opened up. I thought you didn't bring me here yesterday, — he was wearing the same eye-catching blue-white-and-red windbreaker. Two guys were standing next to him, one with dark hair styled like cotton candy, silky, and wearing a floral sweater, and the other Han didn't have time to see, because he was so angry. —What are you doing here? — Jisung answered after a few seconds, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorjamb. —I'm here to thank you, of course! —Where is it? —Thank you, hyung! — The boy smiled happily, his teeth gleaming with silver braces and pink rubber bands. —That's it, — Han was about to close the door, but the super-hair guy stopped him with his hand. —Yenny said you live alone. He clapped his eyes stupidly several times, staring at the handsome face, which was very rare for this neighborhood, and tried to remember it. —How would he know? — squinted. —Hey, hyung, I'm actually perceptive! Your things are scattered, there are splinters on the floor, and we came at three in the morning, and there's no one home, — Jisung tensed up, he didn't understand the reason for the question and its consequences he didn't want to know, — you see, I have many talents. —Talent to be rude, does that count? —Who was being rude to you? I was pouring out my heart to you, and you started lecturing to me like a mother, — Jeongin puffed up his cheeks in resentment. The situation was comical. Jisung might get beaten up, like the kid said yesterday. "It's his hyungs," his mind raced, and his brain began to frantically come up with an escape plan. —What do you want? — It came out too harshly. Han was nervous enough as it was, with Bang Jueng's henchmen standing on his doorstep, waiting suspiciously for something. —Can we come in? — The colorful-sweatered guy asks cautiously and takes a step forward. Jisung swallows imperceptibly, but still lets all three of them go in. —Wow! It's even better in the daytime! And here, hyung, — Jeongin holds out a small, half-empty package of what appears to be some kind of paste, — it's glue, I almost cut my leg yesterday because of these splinters! —I would've bought it myself. And you didn't cut it. You were wearing sneakers, and the shards are porcelain. And why did you bring glue? Maybe I was gonna throw it away. —Wanted - threw it away. Well, also, when I sat down to take a closer look, I saw the inscription on the back, which, as a rule, you don't just throw them away. Heart skipped a beat again. Jeongin was really perceptive. What else could he have learned about Jisung in the half hour he'd been here? He had very quick eyes, and it showed. He ran them over every surface in the room, stopping at the Harry Potter paper and smiling. Maybe he'd figured it out, or maybe he'd built up some theories in his head? It was as if there was no hiding anything from his brown eyes. His hyungs, standing next to the couch, apparently waiting for an invitation. —Tell me, why are you here? They lowered him onto the leather couch, and Jisung sat down opposite, in the same chair, almost out of habit he began to sway. Is he really very mature, or does he not want to fall flat on his face in front of these guys? —We have a proposal. But first... my name is Hwang Hyunjin, Yenny you already know, and Lee Minho… — Lee Minho was pretty good looking. This one was handsome, his nose was so straight, his hair was purple for some reason, slightly curled. They all looked like they were from a fashion show, and if Jeongin could be an exception, because he looked more like a local than anyone else, then these guys were definitely from beauty week. The clothes were new, and the hair had been dyed recently. —Not locals? — Jisung's voice was mundane. They seemed to have been waiting for that question. —So much notice? — Hwang smiled at Minho. —It's noticeable that people like you are hard-wired. —Then I'll get right to the point, — the smile faded from his face, — You know who we are, don't you? — Han nodded apprehensively. Of course, he didn't pay much attention to the younger man's stories and missed half of them, but the information about Samcheok's company was absorbed by itself, — Jeongin found out that you don't work here much, and the second floor is quite spacious. So we have a deal. We'll set up our headquarters here, and your business will go up. —How? — In fact, behind the mask of impartiality, Jisung's heart was burning with surprise. Not that it was an offer he should refuse, but he didn't want to make the shrine, where everything reminded him of Jun, a dumping ground for these guys. —You'll have to think, — the violet-haired man said, revitalized, —  We're the future of Samcheok, and if everyone knows you've become a part of it, they'll reach out to you. And even more so, and soon we'll be able to take this backwater by force, it's just a matter of time, — he leaned back on the couch and smiled with a feline grin, — and there's so much upside to our deal. —Nobody said I'd be a member of the group if I gave you a headquarters. —Why not? We welcome newcomers. Felix, he's only been with the company a couple years, he was on probation, so I brought him here. Minho! He's almost a newcomer! If you don't want to be with us, we don't force you. It's everyone's choice. But you have nothing to be afraid of. Everyone will benefit: you'll have a thriving business, and we'll have a place to work. Han sighed wistfully. He really never thought of being with anyone but hyung. And he didn't have to dream about it. All of his past, present, and future was replaced by Jun. —You'd better think faster, — the purple head leaned to the side. It's not even a choice. They'll still have Jisung under their thumb when Ban Jueng, like in the old crime movies, gives up the neighborhood to these little guys, and they'll keep Jisung in line, taking a cut of the profits. But what kind of profits are we talking about when he's paid everything back to zero in two months? —Come on, hyung, agree! We're jolly and kind, almost all of us. Just kidding! We won't get in your way! — Jeongin jumped around the chair. The windbreaker rustled with the movement and reminded him of something, but Jisung stopped. —If you bother me or don't keep your promise about the workshop, you're out of here like a bullet. —Yay! Hyung, you're the best! — Jeongin jumped on Han's neck, which caused him to get a slap from Hwang, — Sunny! I'll raise the issue of your enrollment in the company, we won't find anyone else as great as you. —But get off me, please. —You can call me Yenny, hyung, it's an honor! — Hwang laughed infectiously, and Jisung smiled briefly. —Then call me Jinny, Sunny. A woman's voice came through his head like a joke about a certain Jinny. The whole situation seemed unreal. Jisung is talking to someone other than hyung, his father, and his grandmother right now? Tell that to Han a couple months ago. He would have cowered in a corner and started crying. He doesn't like that. This Jinny, though he looked like the cover of a magazine, was trustworthy. He laughed loudly, revealing white teeth, squinted sweetly, and occasionally touched a mole under his eye in conversation. Minho seemed even more emotionless than Han, but he was still very much like them. He chuckled quietly from the same couch, clearly not caring that it was almost the first time he was smiling in the company of more than just his friends. —Gotta get the others excited! —I already threw the address before I came in here, they're about to come, — Minho replied, looking at his phone. Jisung arched an eyebrow. —What if I'd said no? —Where would you go if you saw the others? — almost mocking. Han turned away and rubbed the glue packet in his hands. It was a good one, but he wouldn't have bought it himself. Jisung still had some of hyung's childishness in him. He often acted like a child with him. He'd pout his lips, turn his head away with a pout, but in a second he'd be running away with some bling in his hands just to distract attention. He swept up the shards and put them on the table among the kimchi packs and the Harry Potter cards that were always lying around. —Hyung, let me help you! And Jisung allowed it. Allowed him to glue the smiley-face mug together, bashfully hiding the painted bottom, collecting Jun's fingerprints bit by bit, letting someone else touch his soul. Jisung is weird. Really. Since he didn't yell at them on the doorstep, kick them out with all apologies, back in, hiding himself from people. Now the four of them are sitting in the su nset orange workshop, waiting for the others. He'd be lying if he said he didn't care. His heart clenched not from pain, but from waiting for the unknown.