stardust | park seonghwa - Chapter 41: Chapter 41

I NEVER made it to the studio that day. All my energy had been drained and all I did when I finally got home was lie on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling and every so often wiping a tear that managed to escape my eyes. Since then, I told myself that I shouldn't be crying. After all, it's my fault that I let my hopes fly too high and I should take the consequences that come along with it.
Still, I find myself hurting seeing the star adoption certificate hung up on my wall. To burrow myself into a deeper sorrow, somehow Aldebaran is playing softly in the background. It's just how he is; once you're attached, you can never let go.
When you're an outside kind of person being inside is a little suffocating but nothing seemed to make me want to lift myself off the bed. There are multiple notifications on my phone; some I've never opened ever since I've received the them. My mum, San, Wooyoung, Yeji, Yeosang and even Yunho from the roastery. But the most was Seonghwa.
Every time I hear my phone vibrate, I can only watch it silently from under the covers as it displays 'Seonghoon enthusiast' on the screen―at some point, I'd changed it back to just his name. It happened at almost every half an hour at first and it almost scared me, but it's lessened now. Somehow in between my mixed feelings, I can tell that Seonghwa is worried but I'm too preoccupied in my own emotions that I find myself not even caring.
I know that the afternoon after I got back home, Seonghwa came to my door. I heard him knock several times, calling my name from the other side of the entrance with a hint of desperation. I wanted to answer, I really did. I really wanted to open that door, go straight into his arms and kiss his lips again but I couldn't do that. It hurt me enough to hear his sniffles through the walls so to even do that or let alone face him, It's a stupid move yet I don't know how many more heartstrings will snap. Seonghwa waited all night.
The wound is still fresh. It's barely been a few days and I'm still thinking, getting used to the fact that what I saw was real and something that I didn't imagine. Most of the time, I feel myself almost clawing at my mark and trying to rip it off but I couldn't as at the same time, I couldn't hurt San.
Oh my God, San. I groan, burying my face in my pillows once more.
Why did I have to be so overconfident?
Nobody knows the real reason why I left with San in such a hurry that day. It's a bit selfish of me not letting anyone know but even if I did, who would I tell?
I'm not ready to tell Seonghwa yet. I bet he too doesn't know. The thought frightens me, having to be reminded that the universe never wrote about us. Not San either... I don't know how he'll react. And especially not Yeosang.
Especially not him. I clench my fists on my bed sheets; no matter how you look at it, intentional or not, it's my fault for keeping Yeosang away from the one he's meant to be with―someone whom he waited for almost six years. Although he says that he's fine and he's not bothered by it anymore, I can say otherwise as he still gets excited when his star mate would write on their marks. His star mate that is Seonghwa...
Ugh, why did it have to be like this?
Finally, I've heard enough of Aldebaran, quickly cutting off the album being played harshly with a jab of my thumb. The nearing-spring atmosphere brings a tickle to my nose and I wipe it harshly.
I glare at the screen of my phone as it shuts off then glance at the clock on the wall. It's like I expected it to have moved faster but for the past few times I've looked at it, the time still shows two in the afternoon.
There's nothing interesting in being heartbroken. However the repeated feeling of being hurt when my mind wanders off is definitely something that I shouldn't keep using as entertainment to fill the silence. There's a light thumping in my head from being in my bed for so long when I stand up, making a mental note in my head to look for a headache pill later on. So with heavy steps, I let my feet take me out of my room and let my mind busy over the fact that there are multiple empty mugs on the coffee table.
"Yikes," I whisper to myself, picking them up one by one and placing them in the kitchen sink.
After fixing myself a snack, I return to the living room and sit on the floor, opening my laptop to check any emails that I may have missed this morning. Maybe I wasted two days leaving my paintings abandoned. I should visit the studio later on and work on it for a little while, even if I have to suck it up and try to forget anything that relates to it.
There's one from my professor; looks like it's forwarded to everyone in the class ― a reminder about the upcoming showcase and that all works must be submitted... oh fuck.
"Tomorrow!?" I screech, blinking my eyes rapidly, rereading the word to see if my eyes had been mistaken.
All individual projects must be submitted to the showcase committee tomorrow (21st of March) by 5 pm for further labeling and cataloging. Thank you, I look forward to seeing your pieces.
"Fuck, fuck, fuckkk..!" I groan, feeling another fresh wave of tears coming. Images of my unfinished works flash before my eyes and more emotions filled with regret seep through my skin and into my bones.
There's no other option left but for me to get myself out of my apartment right now and finish my work. Although my paintings are almost complete, it will take a while to add the finishing touches, the extra details, pour all the protective resin on all of them after all the paints are dry. Which means it would take more than a few hours and if I did take a shortcut by blow-drying my paintings, the results would be different and I... I can't risk that.
I guess that's what I get for doing nothing the past couple of days because as they say, what goes round comes around.
If you see me rushing from the door with a coat carelessly thrown on me, face still faintly tear-streaked and my laptop hastily tucked under my arm, you know the reason. With my unoccupied hand, I make a call to the studio to ask if there were any classes scheduled right now, which to my luck, there was none.
Upon arriving at the faculty building, the season of spring catches up with me. There's an irritating itch at the back of my throat that soon merges into an uncomfortable feeling in my nose. It's not long before I let out my first sneeze in a couple of days, cursing at all the pollen in the air.
I pause in my tracks for a second to let the sneezes pass, noticing that they're a little more painful than usual at the inside of my nostril. After bracing myself in a series of sneezes, I scrunch my nose to make sure there isn't another one coming and enter the building.
A sense of comforting familiarity greet me as I walk along the halls to the studio. I almost forget about the tight deadline I am working with. At least is a little warmer here, even if it's not too cold outside. I feel another oncoming itch but I shake it off with a deep sniff. Now is not the time.
Our studio is on the first floor, thank Goodness I won't have to waste more energy into climbing a mountain of stairs. When I let my hand rest on the door knob, I pause hearing the quiet noises of brushstrokes. Oh, there's someone?
I twist the sphere and push the door lightly, peeking my head in to see who it is.
"Yerim!" I call out and the said girl tears her attention from her painting and flashes me a grin.
"Hey!" she replies, "where have you been, bro? Usually you'd be working here every day!"
"Eh, stuff happened," it isn't a lie exactly. Stuff did happen but I'd figure I'd spare Yerim from my sucky sob story.
I place my laptop on top of a table before walking over to the drying rack I'd placed my works a week prior, making a small talk with Yerim. From what I've seen roughly from over her shoulders, Yerim's pieces are almost completed and all there's left to do is to varnish it. Lucky her, even though Yerim is one of the more pro-procrastination out of all of us, she sure have made use of her time.
"I saw your painting by the way," she tells me, rubbing off some paint on her apron before walking over with her canvas to where all the blow dryers are. "I don't see many kids doing it on star marks, I'm surprised you're doing it."
"Yeah?"
Yerim hums in affirmation. "The only other star mark-related work I've seen all the while we've been here was freshman year," she continues, "a piece made by a sophomore then so they'd be a senior to us now."
"Do you know who?" I ask her. I grab the first canvas off the drying rack.
"Nope, but making something to do with star marks is a pretty brave move, y'know? It's a sensitive topic for a lot of people."
My arm pauses mid-air as I feel another uncomfortable feeling at the base of my nose but it quickly passes.
"Your pieces are great though!" Yerim adds quickly, "I'm not saying they're bad or anything but I don't know... catching a star mark down on paper is hard to do so I was really impressed."
"Uh- well uh... thanks," I say, piling more canvases on my arm as I go.
Yerim continues to talk as I browse around the rows and rows of drying racks, racking my brain to remember where the hell I put the rest of my paintings. A lot of the pieces I see here are completed, varnished and signed by their respective artists on the bottom left corner, or the bottom right or wherever. I can't help but smile sadly.
I come to the second last row of drying racks, eyes lighting up at a familiar smudge of paint on the side of the canvas. The last piece of my collection and... oh.
"―he lost so Mingi owes us all a 3CHACHA album and he's been crying over his dying wallet all wee― uh, Hyeshin? Are you okay? Did you misplace a piece?" Yerim's voice breaks through the ice that froze my mind.
I snatch the painting off the rack, turning to face her with a forced grin on my face. "Yeah, yeah no I didn't lose anything. It's all fine, s'all good, don't worry," my too-fast paced talking startles Yerim a little but she lets me off with a look of suspicion.
The painting of the all-too-familiar stars that belong to Yeosang is in my hand. It completely slipped my mind with all the thoughts that clouded my head. My fingers clench around the wooden frame, so hard I can hear my internal self scream that it will break. It leaves a rough mark on the pads of my fingers but it doesn't compare to the slow churn at the pit of my stomach.
It's only a painting, I tell myself, it's only a painting.
"No, seriously, what's wrong?" before I know it, a hand takes the canvas away from my hold and Yerim's eyes stare right into me.
'What's wrong' sounds different to when San asked me that day. Maybe it's because Yerim knew nothing; all she knew that barely a week ago I was completely fine, I'd continued my painting like nothing was bothering me. In fact, nothing really did. There was nothing to hide when it comes to Yerim, unlike San and Seonghwa. And Yerim's questioning gaze feels more demanding than it is inquiring, so when tears blur my vision, a part of me blames her stare.
"Shin..." she says, placing the canvas elsewhere before engulfing me in a tight hug, "you haven't talked about whatever this is to anyone, haven't you?"
I shake my head into her neck.
"Not even Yeosang?"
Oh God, no, no, not Yeosang.
"Okay, let it out first and then you can talk to me because you obviously don't want him to know," Yerim rubs my back soothingly. "After that, trust me, you'll feel better."
I know I told myself not to cry over it again but at this point, even I know I've held off talking to someone long enough. The mark on my shoulder aches, making me clench my fists behind Yerim's back―oh Lord, I can only hope San didn't feel that.
Minutes later, Yerim sits me down on one of the stools with a bottle of water nudged in my direction. She's expectant, but doesn't push me to speak. Instead, she copies my movements in picking at the dried blobs of acrylic stuck at the edges of the table.
I take a deep breath. "So..."
"Hmm?"
"I don't know where to..."
I sneeze.
"Let's start with the painting."
"Right, the painting..." I sniff as Yerim hands me a tissue to stuff my nostril with. "The painting was... Yeosang's... mark..."
Yerim's lips tug up in a small smile. "Is it? It's pretty..."
I smile sadly, unable to disagree because really, for the past several years, I'd thought it was one of the most beautiful I've ever seen.
"Yeosang had that for years but he never knew who had the same, until..." I scrunch my nose. Yerim lifts her brow, as if urging me to go on. "Until... I saw that mark a couple of days ago."
"Oh?" she hums, handing me another piece of tissue, "who was it on? And by the way, you're sniffling a shit ton today, is the hay fever really that bad?"
"At this time of the year, it shouldn't be, not until a couple of weeks anyways," I answer, gratefully taking the tissue and wipe at my nose.
Yerim nods. "Okay, you were saying?"
"Right, uh..." I trace small stars on my thighs. "It was on Seonghwa...." I say in a quiet voice.
"Seonghwa?"
I nod.
Yerim sighs. "Are you sure you didn't see it wrong? Maybe it could've been someone else's but they have similar colou―"
"―I'd know that mark anywhere, Yerim, anywhere."
"I'm so sorry, honey," she whispers, rubbing my knee comfortingly.
The moment she said those words, my breath hitch at my throat and I let out a choked laugh. "Don't say sorry, it's not your fault," I tell her.
"Okay, I understand why you're finding it hard to tell Yeosang and judging from this, you haven't told Seonghwa too, huh?"
Honestly, that 'I understand' was all I ever needed, something that I never knew I'd been wanting to hear until now. I sneeze again and Yerim grimaces, giving me more tissues.
"You know you will have to tell them eventually, right? When you're ready, of course," Yerim tells me. Of course I know that, I can't keep Yeosang from his star mate forever, even if it hurts.
"As for what will happen with you and Seonghwa is completely up to the both of you," she continues, "it's clear that you two are falling in love, maybe you're in love already―that's for you to figure out. It won't kill you for being with someone else other than your star mate, you do not need to worry about anything. However, you need to remember communication is very important if you want what's best for you and for Seonghwa."
"There's a reason why there's a next life, 'Shin. People with amare marks don't always fall in love in their current lives; maybe Seonghwa and Yeosang already have in their past lives―maybe they will in their next. There's just so many people in this world, no one can guarantee one will meet their star mate. But we're still here, in this life, we can always focus on the present. Fuck, even a dumb person would know that Seonghwa is head over heels for you. And only you."
After a moment of silence, Yerim speaks again.
"You're not getting up and getting on with your work, you're not making a move so there's something else you're not telling me."
I stare at my lap, lowering my head. "I uh... I found my star mate."
Yerim goes quiet for a moment and it's as if I can hear the gears of her mind ticking like clockwork. In that moment, for some unknown reason, I feel extremely nervous, like Yerim is going to say a life-changing secret―I hope she doesn't actually do that.
"Have you been distancing yourself from San?"
My head shoots up, eyes gone wide. How did she know?
"There's really nothing else to pinpoint you know," she explains, "I figured, if it affected you this much, the person who has your mark must be close to you. Seonghwa has Yeosang, so it couldn't be your best friend. Wooyoung wouldn't be either because he has Yeji, not even Mingi  because... that kid's never told anyone anything, so it would be no one else but San."
"It could've been Hongjoong Seonghwa's best friend, you know?"
"Hyeshin, you're close to San, you're deliberately distancing yourself away from him out of fear, your star can sense that―Hyeshin you can die!" Yerim states. Her eyes swirl grey with worry and concern, I can see it glimmering with the hint of tears from the corners of her eyes. "Your hay fever, your exhaustion, I bet you're having headaches too..."
It's like my heart stopped beating when realisation crashes hard on me. My hands fall limp on my lap, staring blankly at the floor as I try to make sense of what Yerim told me. Yerim's voice drown out, sounding like I'm underwater as she tells me that my star must have thought I don't get along with San and at this point, if any outsiders were to look in, they could easily misinterpret.
I let my face fall in between my hands, a slow twist in my insides and I feel my mark burn with guilt.
"Hyeshin, I know I can't push you but you really need to tell them very soon so your star can be at ease."
The thought stays with me as I nod, it stays with me as I get up and continue my painting, it even stays with me as I grip on my brush tightly (tighter than I've ever remembered myself holding one before) and trace over sparkled detailing on Yeosang's star,