Chapter 17 ★

Hey, you wanna come in?

For the next few days, things began to get better, both in Stray Kids and myself. Aside from a few curious glances from Chan and Hyunjin and a gentle inquiry from Felix, the members didn't speak up when I finally emerged from my room the next day—Tuesday—after binging ramyun and cheesy kdramas with Changbin the night before. I smiled at Chan and Hyunjin and assured Felix I was okay, and that was that. Thoughts of my past had dwindled; they were still there, but less intrusive now that I'd gotten over my guilt over depending on Changbin.

True to his word, Chan stopped spending so much time working; he made sure we went over to the other dorm for dinner almost every night, ordering takeout when Minho, Felix or I didn't feel like cooking. We went out as a group more often: bowling, hiking, visiting amusement parks and arcades. I learned that Jeongin and Hyunjin stole the other members' clothes so much that most of their closets didn't actually belong to them anymore; I learned the reason why there was a sign on the blender that read for protein shakes and smoothies ONLY, looking at you, Changbin; I learned that spatulas were banned at the dorm because of some incident involving the ATEEZ members (mainly Wooyoung). I learned that under no circumstances should Stray Kids ever be allowed to go bowling again.

This was all mixed in with Stray Kids' busy schedule; I was alone for almost as much time as I was with them, waiting at the dorm for them to come home from interviews and whatnot. It was good to have time to myself—I called Claire, walked around, breathed a bit—but without the constant shouting and rambunctiousness of the members, the house felt strangely still with just me to fill it.

After a while, though, things shifted again: not like before, with Chan overworking himself too much and 3Racha practically absent 24/7, but not like the past couple days, where they were always together. Rather, it was some murky in-between, where Chan would hang out with the members in the daytime and make up for it by working late into the night, the light from under his door spilling into the hallway until 3 or 4 in the morning. I worried for him, but I wasn't sure if it was my place to step in. I was living with the members, but I still wasn't a Stray Kid, after all.

The week passed in a blur of colors and voices, clamor and quiet; the end of it was bearing on me before I knew it, marking my second week living with Stray Kids.

Thursday night, there was a knock on my door. I knew it was Hyunjin before he poked his head in: 3Racha had left for the studio that afternoon, still working to complete the demos for their new tracks. "Yeji-noona, I was about to reheat some of the galbitang from last week. Did you want any?"

"Sure," I said. "Are the others not coming over for dinner, then?"

Hyunjin shook his head. "Minho-hyung's giving the maknaes a refresher on our cult protocols, so they're in for the rest of the evening."

I got up, following him out the door. "You guys have a cult protocol?"

"We need to." Hyunjin walked into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge; I slid into a chair on the counter table so I could still face him as he talked. "Jeongin has the uncanny ability of being a magnet to whatever cult, mafia, or gang that resides in the city he's in. The last time he got kidnapped, we had to stay up all night getting him back, and it messed up all our sleep schedules, so no one's inclined to repeat past mistakes."

I blinked. "What do you mean, 'the last time he got kidnapped?'"

Hyunjin raised his eyebrows at me from across the counter, placing the leftovers in the microwave and turning it on with a sharp beep. "I think you know exactly what I mean."

As I struggled to process that tidbit of information, Hyunjin continued, "Anyway, we go over the protocols once every other month or so just to make sure we're prepared. Usually Channie-hyung does it, but he's busy now and Minho-hyung is pretty much in charge of the maknae dorm, so..." he shrugged.

"Why do I feel like you have the protocol on a list taped to the fridge?" I asked.

Hyunjin's nose wrinkled. "Why would we do that? The fridge is reserved for special announcements, our predebut wall, and Hannie's crayon art only." He grabbed two bowls from the cabinet, setting them down in front of me, then added, "the protocol is taped to the front door, anyways."

I laughed, my head hanging low. "Let me guess. Rule number one: under no circumstances is Jeongin allowed to open the door to strangers in hoods and robes demanding the blood of your firstborn."

"No, that's rule number two."

"I'm afraid to ask what rule number one is."

Hyunjin grinned. "Rule number one is 'Jeongin isn't allowed to open the door.'"

I snorted. "What, like he's banned from opening it?"

"Yep." Hyunjin set my bowl of steaming galbitang in front of me, pulling up a chair to sit down as well. "He's only allowed if he brings Seungminnie or Minho-hyung with him as witnesses."

I laughed to myself as I leaned my head over the bowl, letting the wisps of steam curl onto my face. "Thanks for making me some," I told him, breathing in the warm smells. "This is the best."

"Minho and Felix made it, not me," Hyunjin said with a wry grin. "You know I can't cook."

"You can make Shin Ramyun," I offered.

"I can follow instructions on a packet. After that, my skills end."

"That's better than what Jisung can do," I pointed out.

He chuckled. "That's true."

We both dug into our food; it wasn't as good as when we'd first had it, but reheated galbitang was still galbitang. It was one of many foods I'd missed when I was in America. Comfort food like this was near impossible to find replicated in the U.S., especially among the greasy waffle houses and double-quarter-bacon-pounder Big Macs.

"I'm glad you're here, Yeji," Hyunjin said suddenly, looking over at me with a soft smile. "And not just because I can finally relate to someone about living with 3Racha."

I felt a smile curve over my own lips. "I'm glad I'm here too, Hyunjin."

We finished our meal, setting our bowls in the sink. As I rinsed them off, I asked Hyunjin, "What do you usually do, on nights like this where it's just you in the dorm?"

"Paint, mostly," he replied, handing me his bowl. "Sometimes Chan-hyung will ask me to record something in the studio, or I'll practice a dance choreo. If you weren't here tonight, though, I'd probably take the time to dye my hair."

My eyebrows shot up, and I almost dropped the bowl. "Really? Why?" From what I could see, his hair looked fine. Better than fine; it had framed his face perfectly as he stuffed his face with galbitang, and now it still looked pristine, tucked behind his ear.

Hyunjin shrugged. "I've done a lot with my hair, but it's been a long time since I've felt content with it." He fingered a strand of his hair, frowning slightly. "I think I would like to try pink, or maybe silver."

I gaped at him. "Seriously? But your hair is so pretty."

His frown deepened. "I guess."

"It is," I insisted, turning off the water and facing him fully. "You're honestly really lucky to have such beautiful hair."

Hyunjin made an expression equivalent to when I'd tried Changbin's cooking for the first time. "Don't say that." He turned and walked out of the kitchen.

"Why not?" I followed him out, my curiosity piqued. There way no way I would be letting him end the conversation so easily. I was complimenting him; Hyunjin's hair was beautiful. So was his entire face. Why was he acting so unsettled?

"Because I am lucky," Hyunjin replied sharply, whirling around to face me. "And I am also cursed." With that, he turned away again and walked into his room.

I took the fact that he didn't close the door as an invitation and followed him into his room, sitting down next to him on the floor. "I don't understand." Cursed? I studied Hyunjin's face as he refused to meet my eyes. Even now his beauty was apparent, as it always was; he was the first member that caught my eye when I was introduced to the group. And it wasn't just me. Everyone's eyes go right to Hyunjin like he's a flame and we are all moths. It's the kind of beauty I would've killed for when I was younger—the kind that could not be ignored. The kind that I was insecure about lacking until I met Claire, and she decided to love me whether I had it or not.

"Do you know how I'm here?" Hyunjin asked me, meeting my eyes at last. "I was shopping with my mother one day because we were out of fish. A man came up to me, told me I was the kind of person he was looking for, and handed me his card. He was a scout for JYP Entertainment." Hyunjin shook his head. "I didn't realize until I became a trainee that 'the kind of person he was looking for' was someone with a pretty face."

I blinked. "So ... the reason why you got scouted to be an idol was because you looked good while shopping with your mom?"

Hyunjin tipped his head back with a bitter sigh, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. I realized then I'd never been in Hyunjin's room before. It was surprisingly bare and neat, compared to the rest of the dorm; his bed was made, the only things on the carpet were us, and the only thing adorning his walls was a simple framed photo above his dresser. "Yes. That's how it's been my whole life. Everyone has always assumed the only reason why I've ever accomplished anything is because of my looks."

My brows knitted together. "But ... you're an idol. Of Stray Kids—one of the most popular groups in k-pop. Nobody in their right mind would doubt your talents."

A sharp sound came from Hyunjin, and it took me a second to realize he'd snorted. I blinked in surprise as he down at me through his lashes. "You really don't know how this world works, do you?"

At my confused expression, he said flatly, "My contract ended two months ago. Instead of renewing it, I told JYP I didn't want to be a dancer anymore. I was going to quit vocals too. And you know what they did?

"They panicked. Told me I had to stay, that my face was the reason Stray Kids drew in so many new fans. They offered to pretend I'd gotten some vocal illness or injured myself so I couldn't dance or sing, and put me on the sidelines for every dance---let me stop doing everything---as long as I'd stay in the lineup and smile for the cameras." Hyunjin's voice turned bitter. "That's who I was to them. That's who they wanted me to be. A pretty face, nothing more." His fists curled around the edges of the carpet. "That's why my beauty is a curse. As long as it's glued to my face, no one will ever take me seriously. No one will believe I can ever amount to anything without it." He shook his head, voice strained and bitter. "No one cares about talent here if you look good enough."

I'd shifted towards him as he spoke, captivated by his words; now, I reached forward, catching his hands in my own and forcing him to look at me. "That's not true, Hyunjin. We're more than our surfaces. You're more than just a pretty face or a nice smile."

Hyunjin tried to look away, but I tightened my grip on his hands. His eyes were the color of a wet stone after a rainstorm, deep and dark. "A pretty face doesn't always use the wrong end of the knife when you're trying to butter your toast in the mornings because you're so tired you can't tell the difference. A pretty face doesn't wake up with red lines all over your face and neck from your pillow and your hair sticking straight up because of how damaged it is. A pretty face doesn't insist on eating around the crusts of the bread even though it's wasteful and only likes the middle parts of the pop tarts and refuses to eat shin ramyun without the beef flavoring because there's no point. A pretty face doesn't mess up choreographies sometimes, or go over them on your own time, again and again, until you know them as well as your own heartbeat." I squeezed his hands, willing him to understand the point I was trying to make. "A pretty face isn't you, okay? I see you, Hyunjinnie, a you that is imperfect and flawed and beautiful, even when it's not always like that on the outside. That's the you I see. And if people don't want to look past your surface beauty and see the person who's even more beautiful underneath, well, they don't deserve to, do they?"

Hyunjin's eyes gleamed like molten silver, spilling over and cascading down his face. He choked on whatever he was trying to say and instead threw himself forward, twining his arms around my waist in a hug. I laughed slightly, patting his mess of blond hair and hugging him back awkwardly. "Have I really used the wrong side of the knife on my toast?" He asked, his voice muffled against my stomach.

I laughed. "Changbinnie says you used a spoon once."

Hyunjin laughed too, drawing back and wiping a hand along his face. I said, "Of course you look like a silver glass when you cry, and I look like a splotchy tomato."

"I don't even get bloated," he said with a sniffle.

I smiled, ruffling his hair. "I thought you were the nice one when I met you, you know? You were quiet compared to 3Racha, so I thought, 'oh, he must be nice.' But no. You threatened your own manager. You bluffed out JYP-freaking-Entertainment."

Hyunjin snorted. "I wasn't actually going to leave. I was just ... fed up." His face turned heavy again. "I wasn't made for this life, at first. The pressures of being an idol, paired with the brutality of being a trainee—it could've broken me. But I made myself able to withstand it. I turned myself into someone who wasn't easy to break."

And he'd come back, again and again. People had tried to separate him from his success, lock all his accomplishments in an empty room; but he'd just snuck in through the back door and taken them all back anyway.

I said quietly, "Why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I what?"

"Leave."

Hyunjin glanced to his right. I followed his gaze to the wall of his bedroom, where one, small picture hung. In it, the members were all crowded around each other, barely any space between them, smiling their constant shit-eating grins. Felix's arm was slung over Hyunjin's shoulders, their heads thrown back in laughter at some joke, the memory's joy so potent I could almost feel it through the photo.

I looked back at Hyunjin. His face was still pained, but this time his eyes were crinkled in the corners, and the ghost of a smile touched his lips as he answered my question.

"Why do you think?"

I was silent for a long time, pondering that. Then I smiled. "I think," I said slowly, "that you shouldn't dye your hair. Not pink, not silver, not anything."

Hyunjin's face crinkled in confusion, but I leaned forward, my smile widening, and whispered into his ear, "I think you should chop it all off."