Thirty-Three
The next day drags, and before I leave, Jihoon texts me where we can meet.
Jihoon: It’s safe but wear a mask and hat.
Safe. I’m meeting a man who needs to consider safety when going for coffee. Despite his money and fame, Jihoon lives in a bubble.
By the time I get to the café, I’ve discarded seven different starters as to how I’m going to apologize. None of them seem adequate yet all seem beyond my ability to manage.
The café is in a side alley and, absorbed in my interior role-play, I walk past the entrance and have to double back. The moment I tap the button to open the door and walk in, a smiling woman wearing an ivory apron bows and waves for me to follow her. The café is empty but gorgeously decorated like an old library, with green lamps and dark wood and books piled on side tables surrounding plush club chairs. She points me up the back staircase.
The decor on the second floor is similar but features pretty tea sets instead of books. I notice all these details with a sense of desperation as I try to avoid thinking about what’s going to happen. I don’t want to have this conversation. I would sell my soul to skip the next twenty minutes so I can deal with the fallout of what Jihoon has to say without having to live through the actual words.
There’s a table near a window, and at the table sits Jihoon, eyes trained on me. A black slide loafer dangles from the toes of his crossed leg.
He stands to greet me, and I peer at him. “What happened to your eyes?”
That wasn’t one of my planned openers, but it’s too late. Well, it’s no worse than some of them, so I commit and give a weak wave toward his face. “Your eyes. They’re blue.” More of a grayish blue, the color of a battleship, but now is not the time to get pedantic.
“Contacts,” he says. “For a photo shoot.”
“Oh.” Right now, I’m Smaug lying on that bed of loot, the jewels encrusting me, but the second I start talking, my words will reveal that one soft spot on my underbelly for him to stab or stroke.
I don’t even wait for him to sit down, because the stress is too much for me. Gone is the cool and collected Ari who can handle a client meeting without batting an eye.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said we shouldn’t see each other. I’m sorry I didn’t try. The contacts look good. I know you have every right to be mad. I’m sorry.”
“Ari, breathe.” He doesn’t touch me, but his voice is gentle.
I take a huge gasping breath and avoid looking at him because I don’t know what to do next. I hate this. I hate talking about anything emotional. I hate being vulnerable and hoping, praying the other person doesn’t make a joke to lighten the mood when I’m not ready to be laughed at or make me feel silly or cut me down for having those feelings. I hate having to give that amount of trust, even to Jihoon.
“We’ll talk,” he adds. I look up quickly and he nods me to the table. His face is drawn and pale under his tan skin, and his arms are crossed.
We sit down in chairs low enough that I land with an inelegant oomph. The silence thickens as I look anywhere but at him and he looks at me. Finally I understand he’s going to wait me out, so I steel myself and raise my eyes to his.
“I panicked,” I say softly. Eye contact makes all this harder, especially with those contacts, but I power through. “I saw the crowds, and it was all so strange, and I choked.”
“What worried you?” His hands are tucked under the table so I can’t see them.
“I’m not sure.” I frown. “A bit of everything? The fame, for sure. The distance. We’ve only known each other a month. We’re busy.”
He nods. “Those are all reasonable concerns that we discussed before I left. You’re using the panic as an excuse when you simply weren’t convinced even after we talked.”
I wince. “We might not have discussed them enough.”
“Then why didn’t you say so? Why didn’t you ask me what I thought or if I had the same fears?”
This makes me frown. “Because we’d talked about it already?”
“Yes, and you continued to have those thoughts. Instead of telling me, instead of communicating, you acted. You acted alone.”
That’s true, but… “I did it because you were happy with trying.”
“I was,” he says simply. “I was happy to try. I wanted to try because I don’t know the future. You were scared to even do that, and you should have told me.”
“I wasn’t scared.”
“You’re lying.” His voice is sharp.
“It was a shock to see the airport,” I say, plucking at a loose thread on the chair. “You told me, but I didn’t understand how famous you were until I saw it myself.”
Jihoon pushes away the cup he’s been playing with. “I was the same person.”
“Let’s be real. Say we date. We can’t go see a movie in the spur of the moment. Apparently we can’t even go to a coffee shop without a disguise. Even if we wanted coffee, it’s a thirteen-hour flight.”
“Others have made it work.” His jaw is set. “We could have, too. You didn’t want to make the effort.”
“That’s unfair.” I yank the thread out completely and fiddle with it. “I didn’t want what we had to fade away.”
“You wanted to keep control.”
That sounds both very bad and like me. I nod. “I guess I did, although I didn’t say that to myself at the time.”
“Yet here you are. None of those things have changed. What do you want from me, Ari?”
I take a deep breath and go for it. “I miss you. I miss talking to you and knowing you were there.” I take another deep breath, wondering if I’m going to start hyperventilating from sucking in all this oxygen, and force the words out. “I screwed up, and I know it. I want to try again.”
It’s out. I put all the cards on the table. He can get up and leave, but at least I won’t have the regret of never letting him know. I won’t live my worst-case scenario. Well, that might happen, but at least I gave it the same effort I would a work project. More, because feelings are much harder to deal with than a memo.
“When you told me it was over, at first I thought it was a joke,” he says mildly. Now he’s looking away from me, over my shoulder. “A very unfunny and cruel joke.”
Shame is the worst feeling. I try not to hide in my chair and instead accept the repercussions of my actions. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know what changed. I thought you were using me, and when I was leaving, you didn’t need me anymore.”
This snaps my head up. “Never!”
“No?” His smile is twisted. “I’m surrounded by people who only want me for what they can get.”
“Jihoon, I didn’t even know you were in StarLune or rich until I’d already fallen for you.” My face heats. That was too much information.
He assesses me carefully across the table. “Would you have contacted me if I hadn’t seen you last night?”
“I don’t know.” I look down at the red thread twisted around my fingers. “I was psyching myself up to it. Started a few texts. Deleted them.”
He gives me a small seedling of a smile. “What do you see happening, Ari?”
Be honest, my inner lawyer tells her client, Ms. A. Hui. “You to forgive me, first. I know I need to earn your trust back. I want to try, really try. If you want.”
“We need to talk about all those things you kept bottled up.” I frown, and this makes him groan. “Emotional openness is the only way I’m willing to forgive you.”
“How much openness?” I ask cautiously.
“Ari. As much as is needed.”
“Okay,” I say. “We have different standards, though, if past history is an example.”
“I want the Ari I knew in Toronto before she got scared,” he says. “The one who talked to me about her life and listened to me talk about mine.”
That I can do. I think I can do it. I will definitely do my best to try to do it. “All right,” I say with more confidence than I feel. He looks at me, and I speak more firmly because I have to fix this with Jihoon. “Yes. I will, if I can get the Jihoon I knew before Min.”
“That man is always here.” Jihoon pinches his lip thoughtfully. “Kit hyeong will call me a fool and say you’ll break my heart again.”
I glance up. “You can break mine this time.”
“I’d prefer we didn’t break anyone’s anything.” He slides the decorative teacup back and forth across the table. “You hurt me, Ari. I need you to know that, although I probably deserved it after lying to you in Toronto.”
“I know.” I keep his gaze this time and let myself feel the crush of regret around my heart. “I handled it badly.”
He stands up and comes around the table to my side, where he drops on the arm of my seat to run his hand along my hair. “It’s a deal. Again.”
I blink at him uncertainly. “It is? You? Ah…with me.” How articulate. I can’t even think of the words because he’s so close and his hand has moved from my hair to clasp the back of my neck. I freeze for a moment because I didn’t think he’d say yes, even after all that negotiation.
He bends down, those unnaturally light eyes fixed on mine. “Yes. Shall we seal it with a kiss?”
I groan. “That’s so corny, oh my…”
Jihoon shuts me up with his mouth. My hands come up to brush the hard muscles of his chest and his heart races under my fingers through the thin shirt. It’s a sweet kiss, no more than a flutter against my lips. It’s also not enough because after that torture, I want more. I sit up and lean into him as his arms wrap around me.
“Jihoon-ah!” A woman’s sharp voice comes from the other side of the room, and Jihoon leaps away. Her face has a hugely infectious smile, and she waves two menus as she winks.
He bows, but she only laughs. They speak together for a moment before she turns to me.
“It is nice to meet you,” she says. “I am Eunyoo.”
Her English is halting but miles better than my Korean. “Annyeonghaseyo,” I say, remembering that Jihoon once said this was the more formal greeting. “Hello. I’m Ari.”
She looks affectionately at Jihoon, and whatever she says causes him to duck his head and go red. Then she lays the menus down and leaves.
“What did she say?” I demand.
“She says I need to eat well.” He picks up the menu and goes to his seat to peruse it with his full attention.
“What else?” His color hasn’t gone down.
“Nothing.”
“Jihoon.”
“Because I need the energy,” he mutters.
“For what?”
“You know. Performing.” I say nothing and he huffs. “She said I need to stay strong to keep you happy.”
I watch in astonishment as the flush travels to the tips of his ears, turning them fuchsia. He won’t look me in the face, and this shyness from a man who can eye fuck an arena of fans into a screaming mass is hilarious. I take pity on him and change the topic. “How long is the break you’re getting today?”
He almost pouts. “Until ten tonight.”
“Oh.” That’s not long.
“I’m due back for practice because of the concert,” he says as if in apology.
I look at him carefully. “Have you been eating?” He’s skin, muscle, and bone, and his jawline is much sharper. I had noticed last night but had put it down to the lighting.
“Comeback,” he says. “We all lose weight. It’s expected.”
“That’s not healthy.” He’s as streamlined as a greyhound.
“Not at all healthy. It’s the industry.”
“How long can you keep this up? Performing, I mean?” I already hold my back when I have to bend over.
“A good question.” He glances down at himself. “I don’t know. StarLune debuted ten years ago. We’re veterans but not superhuman.”
“What comes after being an idol?”
“I could host a variety show,” he says. “Act in a drama or shift into full-time producing. Songwriting.”
“That seems like a better match than variety shows.” I hesitate. “Your songs are incredible.”
His eyebrows lift. “You listened to manufactured K-pop?”
I wrinkle my nose at being deservedly called out. “I was wrong.”
He laughs. “An unexpected but appreciated vote of confidence.” He comes over and tucks himself into the chair beside me. I lean into him, taking physical satisfaction in his closeness.
“Now, tell me why you are in Seoul stalking idols at parties,” he says.
“I really did think you were a hologram,” I excuse myself as he slides his arm around my back.
“I don’t know how to take that, to be honest.”
“As a compliment. I’m here with Alex to work on some of the North American promotions for bands under Newlight. Not StarLune, though.”
“For how long?”
“A few more days.”
He picks up his phone and brings up the calendar. “The concert is soon, and I’ll have some time off after. Can you stay longer?”
“Ah, I am actually staying longer.”
“You are?” He glances over with those unnervingly pale eyes.
“I’m taking some vacation time. Hana is stopping over in Seoul for a couple days before she does a training course in Busan. We were going to explore.”
“She didn’t tell me that.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “You will both stay with me.”
“We have a hotel.”
Jihoon waves his hand. “My place is safer, and we can see each other. You can come to our VIP concert.”
I want this and know Hana would love it, so I don’t need any convincing. “We’d love to.”
“When Hana leaves, we will tour the city, you and I together.”
“That we can do.” I rest my head on his shoulder then lift it to smile at him. “I have an itinerary.”
“I have no doubt you would have the best one. Perhaps I can add some secret spots to it.”
It feels like we’re back in Toronto, normal people instead of celebrity and noncelebrity. Jihoon’s always been touchier than me, soothed with physical contact, but I didn’t realize how much he depends on it until he drapes himself over me, hands stroking my arms as if reminding himself of how I feel. Even though the conversation is going smoothly, I have this nagging feeling that it shouldn’t be going as well as it is.
“Why are you so quick to forgive me?” I ask suddenly. “I would have made me work for it way more.”
He plays with my hair. “What’s the point of that? We both acted poorly and have learned from it.”
“I guess.”
“You forgave me before, and I did the same. You’re here and we talked. People make mistakes, and it’s not productive to hold grudges forever or keep score. I’d prefer to be happy.”
He moves back to his seat when Eunyoo brings us hotteok, pancakes filled with syrup so sweet, it hurts my teeth.
“I should have made these for you when I was in Toronto,” he says.
“The pancakes you did were good. More chocolate chips than batter.”
He nods, satisfied. “Good. I miss the cereals, though.”
It’s an oddly domestic conversation. A relationship is built on tiny everyday interactions, casual comments, and brief touches. I didn’t know how much I missed it and, as Jihoon licks the syrup off the side of his hotteok, how I would like to have this all the time.
This is not like me. Previous relationships were in a very specific compartment in my mind. I had work, home, friends, family, and the occasional boyfriend with very little overlap. That’s not how it is with Jihoon. I like him in my home life and that he and Hana are friends apart from me. I like the way he intersected and intertwined with me in Toronto like no one else has.
Jihoon reaches over and tugs my hand across the table so he can trace the lines on my palm, his touch rippling through my whole body. He’s not even looking as he does it, but his absentminded desire for us to touch makes me weak.
Eunyoo comes up and whispers to Jihoon. Both of them look serious. “Gamsahamnida,” he says quietly. She leaves, feet tapping lightly on the stairs as Jihoon rubs his knuckles into his hand.
“What?” I ask.
“There’s someone from a fan site outside. They must have followed me.”