stars in cat eyes

Jisung was wrong. Of course, it didn't matter when. Maybe a couple of years ago, maybe now, when four more people came into the workshop. He didn't even look at them. His heart was racing, the evening chill seemed like exhausting heat, and his white, laundered T-shirt was starting to get wet around his armpits. His eyes raced over the nearly glued mug, the happy Jeongin, the Harry Potter paper, but the voices that filled the room more and more forced him to make a move. —So this is what Yenny's savior looks like, — a guy sat down next to him, muscular, smiling, even, as Jisung noticed, with dimples. He smelled of gasoline and toothpaste, so much so that it was peppery to the nose, — I'm Bang Chan, the keeper of this zoo. I'm sorry for pushing you out, we... need to be together. —It's not a zoo, Channy-hyun! — Yenny exclaimed angrily, — Don't scare my Jisung, or he'll run away. Now, when it would seem that he should have claimed his seat, he sits huddled in a leather chair with fingernail scratches on the back of it, and for the hundredth time tapes up the mug handle that now holds more securely than the pain in his heart. —Jisung? — Han himself looked up interestedly at the same boy, maybe a little older than Jeongin. White cap, blue sweatshirt, jeans with dogs and, strangely, a quick glance, — I'm Kim Seungmin... do you... remember me? —You don't mind, Sunny, Seungmin just doesn't like new people, — Hwang threw his arm over the shoulder of his white cap, grabbing it off his head, putting it on perfectly. —I'm supposed to remember you? — He tilted his head to the side. —We and our parents had dinner together a couple times, you... you accidentally broke my nose, remember? Jisung hummed. He remembered. How to forget the very first childish act, when the blood in his veins began to boil and his brain refused to think. That was how it was. Han used to attend some celebrity dinners with his father and, as we now know, even with Seungmin. The latter was just a boy and couldn't do anything when the thirteen-year-old boy punched him in the nose for asking "where's your mom?". Jisung quickly ran away, came home and played on his computer. How he said. In fact, Han hid in his room and began to sob, cursing his father and mother for a spoiled childhood. Maybe then it seemed to him that life was playing a cruel joke on him, youthful maximalism and all the rest, but he could not forgive his mother. And Seungmin awakened the worst feelings in him. After which he smoked for the first time, yelled at his father, got a beating and went to bed stoned. Jisung had long ago tried everything in his distant childhood. And how did he find it? It doesn't take much brains to steal, though it depends on whom. But for Jisung's benefit, he realized that nothing good would come from crossing the road to scary people and stole herbs from a disabled neighbor, wrapped them in a piece of wallpaper and sat sadly on the window, with his legs hanging down, smoking It was disgusting, but Han had never tasted anything like it before. His grandfather gave him a cigarette once, and Jisung coughed and said he wouldn't take anything else like it in his mouth. So, though the weed was bitter and left a fine ligature on his tongue, he continued to smoke it like an adult, leaving some behind and stomping it out with his foot. —You expect me to apologize? — The other guys didn't really follow the conversation, looking around the workshop in a casual way. —Is that a green lada? — The most luminous of them all shouted enthusiastically in a low voice. Jisung might not have looked at him, but he couldn't help noticing the lightened yellow head, like a chicken's, and it certainly didn't fit with the low timbre of his voice and the brown freckles. —Felix, you like cars, don't you? — I'd like you to take me somewhere, how about we go out for a kimbab together? — Hyunjin hid behind the low-voiced man's shoulders, talking excitedly. —I'm sorry, the others have not introduced themselves to you, — Bang Chan began, — the one by the car is Felix, Seungmin you probably already know, and this one, — he pointed at the guy who looked remotely like the bully from yesterday. Big biceps, sleeveless T-shirt with some stupid heart print on the left side that didn't fit him at all. He silently sat down next to Minho, talking quietly about something, chuckling occasionally, —  Changbin, our defense. Did you see his body? I'm nowhere near that, — Jisung looked around the workshop fearfully at Chan's quiet sighs. —By the way, guys! Minho and I brought paint from the city! And a whole backpack of bottles of wine that we drank on New Year's Eve, Jeongin flew away from it, — Hwang stood in the center of the room, drawing attention to himself, — let's all dye, at least a little bit, in strands, but celebrate the reunion! Jisung frankly did not understand what reunion Hyunjin was talking about, but mentally noted that it was really important to him. It was evident from the burning eyes, the enthusiastic voice, and the hands that began to slowly lower when there was no reaction from the others. They looked at him and at each other, but each remained silent. —You better agree, or he'll drink that wine all by himself, — after Minho's words, the atmosphere lightened up considerably. Chan was still tense, though he looked at Hyunjin with playful eyes, and it was understandable. Nowadays, walking around with a colorful head of hair may not be weird, but when it's done by, like, serious guys, it's very contradictory. The joyful owner of gorgeous hair didn't seem to care at all about how he looked, how he dressed, or who he was. —There are only a few cans: blue, pink, green, brightener, so there's enough for everyone! —I want blue and pink, — shouted Jeongin, — on opposite sides! I'll be just like Harley Quinn! Chan patted the boy on the shoulder, crumpled the rustling windbreaker slightly in his hand, but kept silent. He made him feel like a leader, even if no one told Jisung that. Only the bulky Changbin could compete with him, but he didn't even seem to pay attention to the company's conversations, occasionally exchanging smiles and laughs with Minho. Jisung could feel their gaze. Not greasy. Interested. When you look at a new person and try to figure out what they are. Jisung was wrong. Wrong because he was afraid of them. Afraid of the familiar Seungmin, writhing in his sweater, looking at the doggies on his jeans. Felix, who couldn't keep his hands off the green lada, laughing with joy, smearing freckles all over his face. Chan, fatherly between Minho and Changbin, albeit ugly looking, but with a heart pattern on his chest, which says a lot. The others, too, were no longer suggestive of the impolite boys who had burst into Han's workshop and demanded to share it. Hyunjin, aka Jinny, bounced happily from one to the other, sometimes jumping on Jisung's neck, examining the smiley-face mug. Jeongin, who continued to help with the gluing, dousing his fingers in glue that was barely enough, was talking again, forgetting how they'd said goodbye to Han yesterday. And Minho. He was still sitting next to Changbin on the leather couch, occasionally glancing over at Jisung, purple curls falling over his flat nose and squinting at them without even touching his face. Among them, there were hardly any who could firmly say that Bang Jueng had chosen great guys, but somehow it seemed that together they were a terrifying force. And everyone seemed to fit in. Even the modest Seungmin sat on the back of the sofa next to Minho, exchanging phrases with him, constantly showing his white teeth in a wide grin. He was getting comfortable again, and Jisung could feel it. He felt less tense than he had a few minutes earlier, but he was still on guard, watching everyone, bashfully hiding his eyes when someone stumbled across a framed picture of him and hyung rubbing his newly dyed blond head. Maybe when they looked at this photo and recognized Han here, they were surprised by his wide smile and happy face, because now, sitting on a chair, slouching and sniffing his nose from an incomprehensible allergy - it was a completely different person. *** It was past eleven p.m. Dusk was gone, giving way to darkness, and Samcheok was beginning to look more and more like a safe neighborhood. Dogs barked, cats fought, branches knocked on the windows of the second floor and everything seemed normal, except that besides the two guys who always sat there, playing cards and listening to their favorite CDs, there were new ones lying unceremoniously on the bed, sitting on the floor among the scattered disks, occupying the remaining two sofas next to a DVD player, who stood with an open disk, previously playing "Don't speak", the words of which were unpleasantly bitter on the palate. A smiley-face mug was drying on the window sill under the open window, smiling at everyone present. —My grandmother almost left me at home! She started talking about Minho, like I was teaching you bad habits! — Hwang flew up to the second floor, holding a clear plastic bag that showed the faces of beautiful women on paint packages, and a briefcase hanging on his back, jingling from his movements, — You, Minho, are a real asshole! You turned my ancestors against me! — he stomped his foot resentfully, removing his luggage, sitting down on the bed next to Felix so that their knees were slightly touching, awkwardly glancing around and chuckling as if he hadn't meant to. The bottles were on the bedside table, and there were two packets of chips, flutes and glasses from the buffet (all different, because not enough), and a packet of spicy breadcrumbs. —Hey, Sunny, is your water supply okay here? I don't want these poor people's hair to suffer, — Hwang nodded at the others. —You're not going to dye your hair? — Jeongin, who was sitting next to Jisung and Felix, was indignant. —What's the big deal? A haircut, a dye job, everything is new, and I'm not going to throw my money away. Outrage flew from all sides, Changbin almost threw a hyung's manga, but faced with Jisung's eyes full of horror, he shamefully lowered his eyes and hands, mutely apologizing. —You're going to paint all of us, and you're the only one who doesn't look like a faggot? — Seungmin exclaimed, he had relaxed a lot, but he still kept his distance from Jisung. Children's resentments are the strongest, — What should I tell my father? —You don't say. When this neighborhood is ours, he won't say a word to you. —Yeah, because he's gonna kick me out of the house. —Don't worry! You'll be eighteen soon, and until then you'll live at Han's. Yes, Han, don't you feel sorry for himself? — He sat on the corner of the bed, wrinkling the edge of the rabbit blanket and kept quiet, not understanding when this whole mess would be over, — What color do you want? The whole head or the strands? —Ah...am I allowed to? —Why not? Look, the blue one looks like it was made for you! Come on, you'll be the first, — and Jisung got off the bed after Hyunjin, before he could say a word, sitting down in the middle of the room in the lotus position, looking around cautiously, — Well, your hair is already blond, the base is there, all that's left is to dye it. Don't worry, it's tonic, it'll wash off in a couple of weeks. But that's not what made Jisung shiver. The guys kept talking amongst themselves, shouting something out of the general commotion, going through Jun's things, not realizing they were now seeing Jisung's almost nakedly open life. —Oh, there's a disk! — Jeongin turned on the disk drive, and the room above the chatterers burst into music. The words rolled on their o wn tongues, but Jisung did not drive them away. Unbeknownst to himself. Who wasn't he chasing away?