Twenty-Seven
“You said you left.” I sound faintly accusing when I open the door because I’m having a crisis and having him here in front of me isn’t helping.
“I asked the driver to come back when I got your message.” He reaches in to undo my seat belt before kissing the corner of my mouth in a peaceful way that makes me think it’s his favorite place. “Kit hyeong and Daehyun can wait a few minutes until I get there. Come with me?”
I don’t even think but grab my purse and phone before locking the door and following him to a black SUV. Besides the driver, it’s only us. Jihoon’s dressed in black cargo pants and a tight black shirt, with a mask pulled under his chin. It’s the same look he has in other airport news footage, and it strikes me hard that he’s about to rejoin a world completely unfamiliar to me.
“Were you crying?” he asks, running his thumb along my cheekbone.
“Of course not.” A blatant lie, as I’m not a pretty crier and the evidence is clear on my face.
“Ari. Don’t be sad.” He puts his hand on my knee and moves us so we’re facing each other. “We’ll see each other soon.”
I lean over and kiss him because I’m not sure what to say. My mind is a chaotic tumble, and I lurch between wishing he would stay to thinking this is all a bad idea to hoping we can make it work. I don’t have a plan for this, and I hate it. My phone vibrates and reminds me of the notifications that flowed in over the day. All those people thinking about Jihoon and tracking every moment of his screwy life.
As if aware of my internal turmoil, Jihoon undoes his seat belt, moves over to the center seat, and buckles back in—safety first—before taking my face in his hands. “I’m glad I found you,” he says before kissing me so completely, he leaves me panting.
When we come up for air, we’re on the highway. Jihoon puts his thumb on my lip, gaze serious. “Now tell me what you’re thinking.”
Even in the dimness of the car, his features are more dramatic than usual. I think he’s…
“Are you wearing makeup?” I ask. I’m a modern progressive woman, but I’ve never seen a man wearing natural makeup in real life.
“Yes. Do you like it?”
I assess him. “Very much. Is this your usual Min look?” Maybe his makeup is the equivalent of my business skirt suit of armor, the physical indicator that he’s about to become more Min than Jihoon. Or I’m overthinking it and he likes wearing eyeliner.
“Our company prefers us to look polished in public.” He stretches beside me. “Alex says our fans have been waiting at the airport since morning.”
This does not help my anxiety levels. “Did they check the flight times to Seoul or something?”
“We don’t usually fly commercial. It’s not secure. We have a private plane.”
He has a private plane. Jihoon must read the thoughts on my face. “It’s Newlight’s plane,” he hastens to assure me. “I don’t own it personally.”
“Is that how you got to Toronto without getting tracked? Private plane?”
He shakes his head. “I flew economy class and arrived without my security.” He laughs. “I think the person who checked me in isn’t a fan. He didn’t recognize me.”
“How do people know you’re leaving today, though?”
He leans over so his forehead touches mine. “Once I was found out, Starrys knew I would have to go back.”
My Mafia theory doesn’t look so far-fetched after all. “That sounds like you’re being kidnapped and also have a monster dose of Stockholm syndrome.”
The silence is so long, I wonder if he heard me. “You left me today to work,” he says finally. “Did you want to go?”
I falter. I want to say no because it would be rude to tell him yes, but the yes isn’t totally accurate either. He understands. “It’s the same. I have preferences, but my obligations to the others are more important. Running away because I had a few setbacks was not the best way to deal with my problems.” He turns to look at me and makes a face. “Kit hyeong scolded me for being too impulsive, as usual.”
“It was dramatic.”
“Yes.” He seems unbothered that his escape was covered by global media. “Now, tell me about your day.”
I’m grateful to have a neutral topic for my mouth to run on about while my brain touches down on every want and every doubt. What is this, really? What do you think is going to happen after you step on that plane? Not what you want to happen but what will happen each day. What’s the plan?
“Luxe was great, but those women were something else.” I glance at his chest. “Can you move your pecs?”
“What?”
“Make your chest muscles jump around.”
“I’ve never tried.” He looks down and I can tell by his face he’s struggling. Then one side twitches through his shirt, and he looks triumphant.
I give him a slow clap. “Sexy.”
“I can also wiggle my ears. Starrys will be impressed I can add this to my list of tricks.”
I glance out the window, confirming we’ve been in the same spot for a while. “I wonder if there’s an accident,” I say. “The traffic is slower than usual.”
He shrugs. “It might be my fault.” The connection is lost on me, so he elaborates, “Sometimes so many Starrys come to see us that it causes traffic jams.”
How in the world did I think this was a good idea? The man causes freaking traffic snarls. Even more surreal is that he takes it for granted. This is normal to him, a regular occurrence.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“It might be an accident,” he says. “It doesn’t happen all the time.”
“You really think that?”
“No,” he admits. “It’s probably because of me.”
His tone is easy enough but with a tension underneath that reflects my own. I’m casting around for a new topic when he speaks.
“Talk to me, Ari. I can tell there’s something upsetting you. Is it the traffic? Or that I’m leaving?”
I laugh and then immediately cringe because it sounds so brittle and false. “Of course not. You have work. It’s important.”
“Why are you speaking like this?” Jihoon shifts away from me to look at my face. “You’re important, too. I want us to be together, and you’ll visit soon. We can do this.”
No, we can’t. I wanted to, but real life has clawed its way back in. Ari and Jihoon half a world apart would be hard enough, but layering on a lawyer and a K-pop idol? It’s impossible, and I finally acknowledge the truth with a sick finality.
“You’ll be busy when you go back,” I say slowly, not sure how to say what I need to.
“I’m used to it.” His phone buzzes, and he frowns when he checks it.
“What?” I ask.
In answer, he shows me a video of the departure gate swarming with people holding those star sticks and banners. I replay it, almost unable to believe my eyes. “Is that for you?”
“This isn’t as bad as it can get.” He shuts the video off. “Starrys will be shocked to see Kit hyeong and Daehyun, since that didn’t leak,” he adds. “It will get the attention away from me.”
“Isn’t there a VIP terminal or something? Why do you need to go through the crowd?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “For the fans. Newlight wants us seen.”
It feels like they want to parade the captured general, but I sense this observation won’t be welcome and keep my mouth shut.
It’s worse than what I saw outside my apartment, and I can barely take it in. Reading about Jihoon’s fame is far removed from seeing it firsthand. I’d been playing with the knife of inadequacy already, and its nasty edge cuts in a little deeper. I text Hana for validation. The airport. That’s wild, right?
Her response is the polar opposite to Jihoon’s laissez-faire attitude. Totally, she texts. Make sure you’re covered when the door opens so they don’t see you.
I didn’t think of that, but apparently Jihoon has because he starts fussing around with a bag beside him. Out comes a pair of huge sunglasses, a face mask, and a black hoodie. “Here,” he says, passing them over. “At the right angle, a telephoto lens can see into the car.”
I check the brand. Dolce & Gabbana. I don’t even want to know how much they cost, but then again, I’m wearing a watch I could probably sell for a midsize car.
“Aish.” He clicks his tongue in dismay. “I forgot the hat.” He takes his own and positions it on my head, then brings up my hood.
The disguise smothers me, and Jihoon’s expression is not great for my ego. He snaps a photo. “For Hana,” he says, showing it to me. I look like a gothic mummy.
“Funny,” I say as I pull down the mask and hook it under my chin, glad we’re both trying to make the last minutes light. “This is stifling. I can’t believe you do this all the time.”
He’s frowning as he looks out the window, already planning for his life without me.
Slow disintegration or quick chop? I take a deep breath. What’s the end goal to keeping this going with him? I always have a goal. Suddenly I wish we had more time to talk about what’s going to happen, about us and him and everything, but there’s no time left except to say what I know is the smart thing.
Jihoon is thinking with his heart, which means one of us has to think with their head.
“Jihoon.” My voice is soft.
“Remember to stay in the corner,” he says, glancing out the window.
“Jihoon.”
My tone alerts him, and he swings back to give me all his attention. “Ari? What is it?”
My mouth opens and nothing comes out. It’s the right thing to do, I remind myself furiously. Get it over with so you can both get on with your lives.
But all I can do is say his name again.
This time, he understands and his eyes drop. “Ah.” He plays with his phone, moving it from one hand to another. “You don’t need to say it, Ari. I know.”
“This was fun, and I like you, but…”
“But what?” His eyes are wide.
“You know it won’t work,” I say, staring at my lap to avoid his gaze. “Your life is too different.”
“All this is all external,” he says. “We are what matters, and we only need to try. Give us a chance, Ari. Take a risk.”
I can barely breathe thinking about the crowds waiting for us and the cars, so many cars, on the road. How long did some of those people drive to have a chance to see Jihoon? No, not Jihoon. Min. “I can’t,” I whisper.
“We talked about this. Don’t you believe me that we have a chance?” The hurt bleeds through his voice. I keep rubbing my hands on my thighs to try to get them warm. I hate this conversation, and even worse, I have the horrible feeling I should have kept quiet. It was the right decision, but now that we’re here, I want to run away from the consequences of what I’ve said.
“We didn’t talk about it. Not enough.”
“Why are you doing this right before I leave?” Jihoon’s agitation is contagious. I try to breathe so my voice doesn’t shake. He’s right. This is an inexcusably bad time, but it’s not like it would be better to text him midflight or when he touches down in Seoul. It’s better to do this face-to-face.
“When you go back, you’ll be busy,” I say. “You made that clear.”
“Are you trying to tell me you know my schedule better than I do?” he says with a flash of anger. “I know my priorities.”
I deserve that, but I know I’m right. “Tell me honestly that you have time for something like this right now.” I don’t say me. That’s too hard.
“I want to try.”
“Wanting isn’t enough when there are only so many hours in a day.”
There’s a long and deep silence in the car, so intense I can almost see it. I unbuckle the watch from my wrist and hold it out. “I should give this back to you.”
“Don’t do this, Ari.” He looks pleading. “The time I spent with you meant so…please don’t do this.”
I can’t even look at him now, but I thrust the watch out. “I’m sorry.”
It feels like forever that my arm is outstretched, but eventually I hear him sigh, a deep sound that could be mistaken for a groan. “This is how it is, then.” His voice is soft and musing, almost as if he’s speaking to himself. He plucks the watch out of my hand.
My throat is hot and swollen. I want to cry but can’t, not in front of him when this is all my own doing.
The car stops, and I peer out the tinted window as layers of security converge on us. My heart stutters with nerves even though I’m not doing a thing except cowering in the back corner of the car. Jihoon takes a deep breath and makes a call, muttering as he scans what’s waiting for him outside. He’s all business now, and I’m grateful for the change.
“Kit hyeong and Daehyun are out of their car. In thirty seconds, my door will open,” he says after he ends the call. “You need to be as far away as possible. Keep your head down.”
“I will.” Precise instructions are necessary because I’m so far out of my depth, I’m basically in the Mariana Trench.
“May I hug you goodbye?” he asks, hands gripping his knees.
I can only nod. He pulls me close for a moment, his hands tight on my arms and his lips brushing my cheek. “I wish this could be different. I wish you had the courage.” His voice is husky. “Bye, Ari.”
“Bye, Jihoon.” To my shame, my voice hitches because I’m going to cry. Logically I haven’t known him long enough to be this attached, but this is beyond anything logical. My heart hammers so hard that I can barely hear the roar of the crowd over the rush in my ears.
Jihoon leans over to tug up my mask and opens his mouth as if to say something. Instead he runs a hand through his hair before the door opens to a flash so dazzling, it’s like I’ve been hit with a spotlight. The pulsating wall of brightness from media cameras and fan phones pushes me farther back as I instinctively cover my face with my arm. Even amid this, Jihoon is careful to only open the door enough for him to climb out, minimizing the crowd’s ability to see inside.
He doesn’t look back.
“Can anyone see through these windows?” I ask the driver after the door closes.
He’s staring at the commotion, mouth slightly open. “No, ma’am, they’re completely opaque.”
With that assurance, I scoot across to the window to watch Jihoon go. He joins two other men, who must be Kit and Daehyun, and the three of them bow repeatedly as the earsplitting screams become louder, even in the car. A woman tries to fight her way through and is almost tackled by security as the three members of StarLune bow one last time and wave, posing to give the cameras and fans a moment to drink their fill.
“Holy goddamn,” says the driver. He glances at me. “Excuse my French. I’ve never seen a crowd like this, and I drove for Harry Styles.”
“Do you think anyone will follow us?” I ask. My wretchedness about Jihoon has been submerged under new and worrying concerns for our personal safety.
“I’ll be careful,” the driver promises. We watch as Jihoon and his friends are engulfed by even more security and disappear as they enter the airport. The moment the doors shut behind them, the crowds flow into the space they left, chanting and cheering. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, please.”
“Got it.” He puts the car in gear as I check my phone. Unbelievably, Jihoon is trending with video footage from seconds ago. It’s weird to see him from multiple angles. He’s making a gesture I recognize from my deep dive but don’t know the meaning of, so I text Hana, my expert on all things Jihoon.
Me: What’s he doing with his hands? It’s like he’s crossing his thumb and finger.
Hana: Hand heart. Means I like u / love u
Jihoon had turned his body slightly when making the hand heart, almost back toward the car.
Or he’s doing it to the adoring fans and I’m reading way too much into it. I must be, because I don’t deserve anything from him.
The driver turns around. “Ma’am, do you want to go back to your car or somewhere else?”
“The car.” I don’t want to leave it overnight at a gas station.
“On our way.”
He goes back to driving as I do my best to not think about what happened. I glance over and see my watch sitting on the black leather. Jihoon forgot it. I reach out with shaking fingers and take it back. I can give it to Hana to send to him, perhaps.
I slide the band through my fingers and tilt it back and forth so the diamonds on the watch face reflect the highway lights as I think of the airport crowd. Mob, really. There were so many people screaming and chanting Min’s name. Kay, Min, DeeDee, over and over, like they were more than men. Their hands had been desperate to touch and their owners to be seen. I can barely put into words how paralyzing it was, and I’d been safe in the car. How did Jihoon feel being exposed like that? What did he think about when the crowds reached for him?
I’ll never know.
I straighten in my seat and shove the watch deep in my bag. Then I take my phone and bring up the invite he sent me for after his concert.
It hurts when I decline.
I did the right thing because it’s a whole different world that Jihoon lives in. It might be defeatist, but I can see Kit hadn’t lied: there’s no space in it for me.