Chapter Text
The stars must have new gossip. Why else would they flock to you in your apartment when they should be taking their posts and glittering the night sky?
Whatever they’re about to tell you must be something about humans, judging from the way they sparkle and shine. You cross your arms across your chest and you feel an amused smirk making its way onto your face. Biting your lips, you try not to show your amusement too much. Your stars are beautiful little shits who love to tease you after all. You’re not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing your curiosity. Not tonight.
Turns out you don’t even have to play the waiting game; the stars tell you all about it anyway. They whisper excitedly of bestowing their abilities on an unsuspecting human. You raise a penciled eyebrow at that. The brush in your hand stalls as you wonder if their story won’t drag on until dawn. Ren is itching to go and perform in the new pair of heels you bought and she doesn’t wait for anyone. Even for her stars. So you tell the celestial beings to cut it short this time, hoping they understand.
They shrug (or shake which, in their book, is shrugging) and say the story isn’t that long anyway. You roll your eyes in disbelief; the last story they told you lasted until five in the morning and they weren’t even half-done with it. Still, you can’t deny that you’re certainly interested in what they have to say this time.
“Humans absorb things so easily, it’s no surprise that this one got it in their system so quickly.” One cluster of stars say in unison. You scoff lightly.
A crackle sounds from the record player on the coffee table. Sighing, you get up to switch the vinyl for another one. You want a fiery tune for tonight. To get you in the mood.
You pucker your lips to get the red lipstick to cover the surface all over. Red is tonight’s theme for your drag session. Or Ren’s drag session that is.
“Should I be worried?” you ask the stars. They shake and turn a red shade at the question. “ No” from them. A few of them find their way into your earrings. You beam widely, thanking them for the little glamour.
Some of the stars separate from one group and form another cluster on their own. You notice that they’re some of the younger ones, given their brightness. “It’s nothing to worry about. The human won’t die, nor will they feel anything. They’ll just notice a few things.” They then turn away from you and giggle among themselves. You roll your eyes in fake exasperation, perhaps it’s nothing to worry about for real.
“There better not have any side effects to this ‘experiment’ you have,” you say. Scratches from filing your nails fill the quiet air for a second or two. “If anything about it makes the paper’s headlines later on… Well, wouldn’t you all want to know?” The stars laugh, albeit a little shaken from your half-threat, and clumsily make their way back to the skies. Your giggles fill the space they left.
You grab the red pumps from underneath your vanity, their glossiness rivaling your lips. Figuring you’ll do your hair and outfit later at Pleiades, you layer on an overcoat and fedora before heading out the door. Looking like a businessman rushing through the London streets warrants less stares. It’s sad that you have to hide your heels, but you can’t risk a night in a cell this time.
Besides, Myungjun might have something to say about your heels this time around, he better have. Hey, you didn’t pay a hefty price just for them to go unnoticed like some cheap pair of shoes after all. He can’t say anything if you’re detained again.
You’re sure that they’ll stand out tonight, even in the dim lights of the bar.
You always recognise that slicked, ruby hair from the stage despite the low visibility anyway.
✦✦✦
You see him there again. Hiding among the smoke and hazy lights. Hell, he’s even got a hoodie on this time. But you know it’s him. You always do. Even if you couldn’t find him from his hair, his facial structure isn’t all that common around these parts. Well it would be, if you found yourself up in the business district uptown.
Rich folks , you mutter in your mind. A mental sigh follows that up. If he’s really that rich, why does he come here anyway ?
The real question you should be asking is why you even bother looking for him. He means nothing to you. He should mean nothing.
That’s not the case, though.
There’s something about him.
(You reason that it’s because he’s probably loaded and you’d kill to have all the money you need to get out of this fucking town and do drag somewhere else. He does reek of money, you’ll give him that. Maybe you could snatch a few and he wouldn’t even notice…)
“I don’t think stealing from our patrons is very smart, Minki.” Myungjun mutters as he works his way down your corset. He pulls the ribbons extra hard and you feel all your organs squeeze against your skin.
He’s as cheerful as ever; typical Myungjun. You scowl playfully, eventually giving into his sunny smile and smiling a little yourself. He doesn’t do much except give you a light peck on your cheek— it’s not hard enough to leave a lipstick stain, but not light enough to feel like it’s never there in the first place.
You dab at a sweat drop on your temple. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Myungjunnie.” Sarcasm and fake innocence drip off the tip of your tongue like it’s no big deal. If this was anyone else, they’d be too over in their own heads to realise they’re being bewitched. Too bad Myungjun’s immune to your magic: it would’ve been fun to fuck around with him. Curse his witch ass.
Except he can’t be cursed. Damn it.
“You have that face.” His sweet voice drops a volume or two. “Your evil face.”
You don’t even deny it; you know your own face enough. “‘Evil face’, huh?” Myungjun’s done with your corset so it shouldn't be too hard to do the rest on your own. Mumbling a quiet word of thanks, you pull a red gown over your head, careful not let it latch onto your blond wig.
“Yeah, evil face, Minki. Like you’re about to do something that could land you in jail.” Then as an afterthought Myungjun added, “Again.”
“You haven’t seen the worst of it.” You try to rub away at your wrists, as if trying to warm a phantom chill there. Handcuffs aren’t the nicest things in the world.
Myungjun doubles over with laughter at that. “I do hope not. And stop looking longingly to the door. Your knight in red hair isn’t gonna let you off with a slap to the wrist if you do go on with that.”
“MJ,” you say, Myungjun’s queen name weighing light on your tongue. It’s a good distraction from that patron and the imaginary cold that seeps into your arms. “Curtain call in five. Hurry up.”
He makes a dramatic show of rolling his eyes and feigning hurt. “Of course, Rennie. Give me a minute.”
He takes two minutes instead of one. You practically drag him to the stage door. You’re itching to sing already, damn it.
“We’re not finished here, Ren.” You swallow a snarky remark. The bite in your demeanor fades when you face MJ— or Myungjun, you can’t tell that easily— head on.
“I know,” you say simply. “Will you at least let me go home before midnight?”
The cheers roar louder. Jonghyun must’ve introduced you and MJ already. Your heart soars to your throat.
“I can give you that, at least.”
✦✦✦
Your eyes meet with deep brown ones half-way through the performance.
A flash of ruby hair shuffles among the crowd right after.
He stops before he reaches the door. Looking straight into your eyes, he mouths something. Your eyes are tearing up too much to see anything more than a meter in front of you. Myungjun gives you a kiss to your temple as the two of you disappear into the run-down dressing rooms.Your heart, however small it feels, seizes in your chest.
It’s the smoke, is the futile argument you give yourself. It always hurts my eyes.
✦✦✦
It’s a week after that day when you read headlines that have everything to do with your stars.
New disease makes people cry starlight , one paper reads.
Unknown disease produces tears full of glitter and light, another reads.
Man dies with light spilling from his body after date rejects his affection, the last one describes. You can’t bring yourself to read that article; it’s far too detailed for your liking.
Myungjun soon tells you of his patients who cry golden or silver light while their bodies pale as they gradually die. They’re pitiful and alone. No one, not even the nurses or doctors, can come near them for fear that it’s contagious. No medicine eases the pain or their cries at all. They die with the color drained from their body as if they’ve been dead for a long time. On the other hand, their tears are colorfully tragic: they take all the color and humanity of their host with them for themselves.
“The hospital reeks of death more than ever,” Myungjun says, burying his head between his calloused hands. His eye bags dim his usual sunshine energy. “Do you think it’s an aftermath of the war? Radiation and all? What if the enemies had something to do with it?! A sabotage!”
Myungjun’s doe eyes break your heart bit by bit. “Can’t really imagine radiation is that bad to make things like that,” you reply, choosing to ignore the third question altogether. The older man visibly deflates at your answer.
“Then? If not radiation, magic?” Oh, he nailed it on the head.
You clench your fists to stop them from shaking. Myungjun wears an unamused expression on his face. “I think so…?”
“Did you do something, constellation witch?” His sweet voice isn’t accusing, but it’s far from comforting too. You feel as if he already knows the story. Still, you explain everything about your stars. When you’re done, you’re half expecting a lecture from the older man. Instead, he surprises you with a kiss to your forehead and a gentle touch to your hands.
You ask Myungjun why he isn’t mad, to which he responds with a soft hum. Minutes pass before he quietly says, “It’s not your fault.”
“But I should’ve kept them in check! I am their master after all.”
Myungjun gets up to smoothen his white nurse attire. “Yeah. But what’s done is done. We can only move on and fix it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” For a split second, you could see a glimmer of MJ in Myungjun’s sad smile. It’s gone as quickly as it comes. “We’ll figure it out, won’t we?”
You see where this is going before the words tumble out your mouth. “You mean me. Because you think that I should look into this because you don’t wanna.” A small but cheeky smile makes its way onto your lips. Myungjun doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.
“Kinda,” he admits cheerfully. “I’ll do my best to heal people. You can figure shit out about the disease. It’s kinda beyond me, if you couldn’t tell.”
“Honest as ever, I see.” He laughs and you fall into step with laughs of your own too. Everything swirls in your head like wine and you feel dizzy at the thought of even doing anything to help. You don’t know if it’s a good kind of dizziness or not.
You just hope it goes away soon along with thoughts of a certain man from the bar.
✦✦✦
In the next week, you learn three things.
- The stars told you that their poor victim was a guy with red hair called Aaron Kwak. (Is it the same man from Pleiades?)
- The disease (called “Star Tears” by the public) is infectious. When one host dies from it, it transfers to the nearest person in the area.
- Confessing your feelings to someone (if you have the Tears) might kill you? You're not really sure on that one.
None of them are particularly positive, but you suppose that they’ll get you somewhere in your investigation. So much for actually getting answers to your never-ending list of questions though. Finding out shit just for you to get even more questions you can’t answer seems to be the only thing that you have going for you.
At least you now know the man’s name. (If the man was even the same one from the bar, that is.) You don’t even understand why you like the way his name rolls off your tongue. Aaron. Aaron. Aaron. Two syllables. You like things in sets of two: your heels, earrings, hands. Maybe that’s why you like his name too. You try not to think about it too much, fearful that it might consume you whole.
(You’re afraid it already has.)
Time inevitably passes, though it kind of feels like it dawdles as of late. People shut their doors. There’s a little less dust in the air this time around, odd considering you live in polluted London of all places. There’s barely anyone at the bar when you visit Jonghyun.
“They’re afraid,” Jonghyun tells you as he re-strings his guitar. A new one, you note.
“Of?” You ask in return, despite knowing the answer already.
“Star Tears, that’s what it’s called, right?”
You nod numbly. If the guitarist notices anything, he doesn’t mention it. The next few minutes pass by in comfortable silence, only disrupted by soft grunts from Jonghyun struggling with the strings. He starts the conversation this time.
“Did you know that the tears come from love? Unrequited love?” You stop picking at your fingernails to look up at Jonghyun with saucers for eyes. He pays you little attention, looking straight ahead with a careful expression. Rubbing his back in a circular motion, you encourage him to continue. He does.
“They say a lot of things nowadays, but I know it’s true. I’ve seen it myself. Heartbreaking is one way to describe it.” Jonghyun’s hands fall to his lap, clenching and unfurling as he breathes in and out. He’s always had better control of his emotions than you’ve ever been your entire life.
“Dongho: he has it. Said Jihoon had it before he died to his tears; his rejection from Soonyoung. Dongho sat next to Jihoon as he died, not wanting to leave his best friend alone. The disease jumps onto the nearest person after the host dies.”
Your small reply cuts through the air. “So Dongho got it.” The guitarist only nods.
You send a silent prayer to whoever will listen up above to take care of Jihoon. He’s always had a rough path in life; you only hope he’s able to rest wherever he ends up. It gives you a sense of peace in a way, praying for him. While it doesn’t take away the hurt in your chest, it lets you give your condolences somehow. Times like this, you curse lightly at the way you always hurt for other people. Empathy? You don’t know how to feel about it— you just keep crying into Jonghyun’s chest as he hums softly for you.
Eternity passes before you’re able to collect yourself (somewhat). “What will h-happen to Dongho then? I d-don’t want him to d-die!” Jonghyun’s gaze turns sad and uncertain. “D-did he at least tell you something about the disease?”
The guitarist nods slowly as he tucks away his guitar (you see a picture of Jonghyun and someone in the guitar case before he can close it). “Seems like he has to tell the subject of his affections he likes them and get the person to reciprocate, otherwise the tears will take more from him in a short time.”
“Dongho will die either way, won’t he? E-either by the tears on their own or the heartbreak. He’s t-trapped.”
Jonghyun’s laughs are hollow and painful to hear. “Knowing him, he’ll never say shit. He’s always been too shy. But he could risk it. I know he hates risks but—”
“Can’t you try?” You interrupt. Not waiting for an answer, you press on. “Try to get him to tell you who it is. He can’t— he won’t fucking die.” You choke over the dryness in your throat.
Then in the stillness of the bar you whisper, “Not when you love him too much to let him go like that.” He flinches, like you expected him to. His face morphs into all sorts of emotions: surprise to hurt to anger to simple acceptance. You see his eyes tear up even in the shitty light of the bar.
“It could be you he loves,” you offer carefully. “I know the way he looks at you, and it’s not entirely platonic, Jju.”
Jonghyun doesn’t say much when you tell him that. He’ll need a while to pick up the pieces of his heart and think, so you get up and leave. The stars should be coming back home soon to give you more information.
“Thank you, Minki-ah.” Jonghyun’s voice is incredibly small, nothing like the usual suave and commanding voice he usually has. You make no comment on it.
“Thank me when everything works out.”
Your guitarist friend laughs his honey-coated laugh until you reach the door of Pleiades. The chill of London’s December greets you, nips at your nose even. It’s a silent world out here, unlike the underground bar where chatter and humming fills the air instead of a hushed winter blanket covering your ears. Hugging your navy coat closer to your trembling body, you find that you miss all the people that would’ve been here by now if not for your stars.
This whole ordeal is beautifully sad. Your mind spins with thoughts of Jihoon, Jonghyun and Dongho. Eventually it becomes too much; you find a bench somewhere in the boulevard and let your eyes close shut.
When you open them, you’re met with striking red hair right in your face and a soft, gloved hand under your chin.
“Ren?” A stunning not-so-stranger asks you with an obvious American accent.
You can’t find it in yourself to breathe.