Seo Joon
"Take care of yourself!"
It must be the fifteenth time I've reread the message, and I still smile.
Jade.
The strange thing is, it's as if I can hear her voice ringing in my ears, even though she's thousands of miles away.
A week has passed since I returned home; I haven't even had time to unpack my suitcase before my daily commitments have sucked me into the same breathless vortex.
And her messages, our videos, our laughter, have remained my lifeline.
At night, in bed, I can't help but reread them, as if they were a glimpse of paradise where I can escape.
Could it have been the same for Mih-no?
I sigh and put my phone on the pillow.
I was afraid to meet her gaze when I returned, but instead everything was normal.
If we can talk about normality, it's made up of a few words exchanged between a dance and a score.
He's not the same friend I left behind when I flew to Italy, though.
There's a thin veil separating us, and it bears the name of a young woman with eyes like the ocean.
The truth is, I'd like to talk to Min-ho about it, tell him everything we said, and I hoped that by sending him the videos, he'd understand the kind of relationship we have and what a huge mistake he's making by letting it slip away like this.
But his hypersensitivity and that damned sense of duty are holding him back.
He loves Jade, I know.
I've never seen him like last year, so alive, so full of life.
He was… transformed. Now, that was the right word.
We've known each other for fifteen years, and never have his eyes been so lively, his smiles so full of hope and desire.
Jade has touched his primal being, she has brought to the surface who he truly is, what he can achieve as an artist.
Now he's someone playing a part, waiting for the final applause.
I don't like seeing him like this, even less so now with this charade with Ji-Ri.
Also because, he doesn't realize it, she's clinging to him like a clam.
She's a sweet, nice girl, but she's too docile, too malleable.
And she fell in love with Min-ho's charisma, but above all with his presence and kindness.
Maybe I'm just a bad friend, but what I regret about Ji-Ri is that she's not Jade.
She doesn't have her character, her energy.
Too submissive and cloying, even in her reactions.
A shiver runs through me.
I hate people with no personality and I've always kept away from them.
People have said I'm a loner, sometimes even antisocial, but those few days in Italy...
Damn, it's like I've lived a lifetime in a few days.
I'm an idol with a segregated life, cramped spaces to move in, I have to be careful with my every expression, word, and gesture.
In Milan, however...
I smile again and pick up my phone.
I scroll through the photos and stop at the image of a hand holding a bowl of fruit ice cream.
The memory of the headache dampens my smile a little, but I can almost taste that damned lemon on the tip of my tongue.
And Jade's hug consoles me.
I let out a sigh. All I can think about is her face, her smile, that blend of American and Korean that fascinates me so much.
But my heart doesn't beat for her.
I twist my lips and even hate myself a little.
I feel immense affection for her, but it's not love.
And yet, I almost would have liked it.
But instead, nothing clicked.
Just a strong sense of solidarity, a desperate need to have her close, peppered with a damned desire for protection. And I don't even know if she's protecting me or I'm protecting her, but I know we're connected, and that makes me feel less alone.
My phone vibrates and a notification pops up.
Another damned article, peppered with hundreds of comments from fans and netizens, about my friend and his "girlfriend."
I click on the slightly blurry image of them sitting at a table in a restaurant, intently chatting.
It looks like a stolen image, but I know it was commissioned by our manager.
I zoom in and study their faces: Ji-Ri is leaning toward him, eyes wide, lips parted.
She worships him, you can see it.
And him?
Yes, he smiles, but it's a mask.
That's not the smile I saw when he looked at Jade.
Damn!
This is starting to get almost exasperating.
I sit up, look for the number in my contacts, and make the call.
Min-ho answers on the third ring.
There's background music, punctuated by whispered voices.
"Tell me, hyoung."
"Book a flight to Milan. Now!"
"Huh?"
"Either you go on your own or I'll kick you out! Now I'm fed up!"
I hang up with a satisfied smile.
And don't let him say I'm not his friend.