Celestine

eighteen // jungkook

2 weeks later

An intern make-up artist – Julia – points out the bags under my eyes for the second time. I get no more than four hours of sleep every night, I tell her again. When Alex grins at me through the mirror, patting my shoulders, telling me about the 'incredible ratings of the last aired episode', I don't mind the eye bags that much.

I search my name online every night. My both names – John Harris and Jeon Jungkook. The ratings of the show are high, the ratings of the restaurant are higher than ever before. I've given three interviews since the show aired for the first time, and read all the comments when they were available. My main motivation should be sharing what I'm passionate about with people, but all I care about is if I'm getting famous.

I'm not used to that kind of attention. So many people talking about me online. So many praises in one go. It's addictive to some extent, though overwhelming.

I feel like I understand Célestine even better now. I understand why being in the spotlight tires her out, and why she couldn't quit for so long even if she wanted to.

The more good things I read about myself – handsome, talented, sweet, pretty, incredible cook – the more I want to prove they are right.

But it's been two weeks since I've last seen Célestine. Since I've last talked to her. I didn't even have time for a single phone call. Whenever I get home, I pass out on the couch. In the best case scenario I shower and make it to my bedroom. With a heavy heart, I had to move everything connected with painting to the back of the room.

I don't paint at all nowadays, and when I dragged myself through the bedroom, just to get to bed, I stepped onto a canvas, tearing a hole in the middle of it.

But I have to prioritize the show for a while if I want all of this – my restaurant, painting, my relationship with Célestine, my reality – to improve.

I'm on my way to another interview, as I call Yoongi. "Can you cook something extra?"

"You're coming to the restaurant?" he asks, surprised.

"No, not yet," I say. "But can you make something and get someone to bring it to Célestine's set?"

"Oh, yeah. On it, boss." The line crunches. "How are you?"

"Tired."

"You're kind of rocking it," Yoongi says through a chuckle, pots clicking in the distance. "Even I am hooked on the show, even though I've seen you do it million times."

"Good, you're improving your skills," I joke.

Even though I can't be with her in person yet, I care more and more every day. That's why I'm pushing myself. The harder I work, the more success, the better I am, the higher I step. The closer I am to be able to tell Célestine that I see her in my future.

~~~

On my way home at 8 p.m., after an exhaustive interview about my cooking, restaurant and the show, I'm crying. Exhaustion sips into my aching bones, but it's not why I'm crying. Everything makes me feel so heavy that I can't hold it in. I stop at a red light and sob, frantically rubbing the blurriness away.

Home, when I drop onto the couch, feels empty. I barley spend time in here anyways. When I do, I'm barely aware of my surroundings.

Today, out of all days, I don't fall asleep. After an intense – and confusing – crying session, I take a cold shower and eat one third of my fridge. I haven't eaten a thing since morning. I end up cooking oatmeal, cooking fried rice while I eat the oatmeal, and cooking spaghetti while I eat the fried rice.