He wasn't supposed to make choices that prioritized his own happiness or well-being. That was selfish. He wasn't supposed to turn away from what made him miserable, seeking any escape he could find, whether he did this through a book about a magical door or by zoning out in the middle of a photo shoot. That was weak.
If he broke his contract, Eunjae would be free. He'd known there would be a price to pay, financially and professionally, but the cost was far steeper than he imagined. He couldn’t do that to his brothers.
His phone buzzed, buried somewhere under the covers. It was still the phone from California because he’d never bothered to charge the one that had been forgotten in his luggage since last Wednesday. The buzzing continued, relentless, and at last he fished the phone out of the blankets. The name shining out at him from the screen was ‘Jiyeon.’
He’d let it ring too long and the call dropped. Eunjae thought about just rolling over and pretending to be asleep. Did he want to talk to Jiyeon? Yes. When did he ever not want to talk to her, in retrospect? Actually, he'd grown so accustomed to the routine of waiting all day to talk to Jiyeon after work, saving up the things he might tell her, that it pained him to deviate from that pattern now.
But did he want to tell Jiyeon that he wasn’t coming back? No. Saying it out loud was bound to make it real, and he didn’t want it to be real.
Still, Eunjae stared down at the phone in his hand. He missed the Hans and their comfortable chatter, their bickering, their kindness. He missed Denny's glowering face. He missed Jiyeon's laugh, and the sound of her key turning in the lock as evening fell.
Throwing the blanket back over his head, Eunjae swiped to his missed calls and dialed her number.
Jiyeon picked up immediately. “So, it’s possible that we Googled you,” she said.
Eunjae took a beat to process not only this, but the sound of her voice on the line, directly in his ear while the rest of her was physically out of reach. “Is that good or bad?”
“Hmm. Well, I guess I should clarify that it was my parents who Googled you. Denny claims he already knew everything because of his investigation, whatever that means, and I…”
He waited, watching as the luminous digits of his bedside alarm clock changed from 10:39 to 10:40. Eventually, Jiyeon said, “I heard you singing.”
In his rumpled bed on the other side of the world, Eunjae went stock still. But then he remembered that there was nothing left to conceal; Jiyeon knew exactly what he was. “I’ve been told I’m not bad at it,” he managed.
With a smile in her voice, Jiyeon replied, “Oh, sure. You can sing a little.” And Eunjae had to laugh, despite everything that had gone so wrong.
“There’s been some talk of converting the Austen shrine into an Apollo shrine, although really it would be a Ryan Kim shrine. Seems like we play favorites in this household.” She paused. Softly, Jiyeon amended, “Sorry. It’s Ari, isn’t it? That’s your name. The real one.”
“No.” This response came out of him with such vehemence that it practically blistered his mouth. “Ari's just the name my mum picked out for me. When I came here, that's what Emerald wanted me to use. But back when I was a kid, when Miss Vivi was still around, she always called me by my Korean name: Eunjae. She thought I should have some connection to the part of me that was Korean.”
On the day that Eunjae discovered he had a second name, it was like being handed a second chance. This brand new person named Eunjae didn't have to meet anyone's expectations. Ari, however, had always belonged to other people. First, he belonged to his parents and their visions for a future where he was a brighter, better, more promising version of himself. Then, Ari belonged to the agency. They owned the rights to his name and the use of his image. They owned his voice. Ari belonged to his brothers and his career. He belonged to his fans. But Eunjae belonged only to Eunjae.
“Whatever the Internet says, I’m just Eunjae. And when I was there, when I was with you, I could finally just be me.”
“For what it’s worth,” said Jiyeon, “whether you’re Eunjae or Ryan or Ari, or all of those at once, we miss having you around. Even if you can't come back, I'm grateful you were here. We all are.”
“That’s worth a lot,” Eunjae replied, tears blurring his vision. “More than you know.”
“There’s something I wanted to tell you. When I heard you sing… I knew I wasn’t gonna forget it, ever. Not just because you’re talented, but because you sounded so happy. I felt happy too, just to hear you. While you were singing, while you were with your brothers, I felt like that was the truth of you. That’s who you are, regardless of the name you use.”
She was right. Singing used to be something Eunjae did solely for the sheer joy of it, and that joy was still there, buried but not lost.
On the call, the background noise shifted from indoor quiet to a rush of wind that whistled through the receiver. Eunjae calculated the time and realized she must be walking to her car, heading over to help Denny with the morning rush. She’d woken up so early to call him.
“But you know what else? Your singing isn’t even the best thing about you. I get to say that because I never heard you sing until my parents went on a YouTube binge after you left.”
“Oh, no. You guys really do know everything about me now.”
“I think Denny’s been watching the one with the top five wardrobe malfunctions on a loop. That one and the clip of you being really mad about someone stealing your snacks.”
“Great,” groaned Eunjae.
“The silver hair looked weirdly good. I mean, I’d rather not encourage you to go back in that direction, but I’m trying to be fair. It looked so good that I was mad about it for at least two hours. But the color you’ve got now is still the one I love best. And the haircut isn’t bad, for being my greatest failure.”
He kicked the covers off. When did the thermostat go up ten degrees? “No worries. Never changing my hair again.” And then it hit him. “You went to the leasing office, though?” He’d taken much too long to ask. Eunjae felt like an ass.
“Yeah,” she answered, with uncharacteristic hesitance. “I did. I took pictures but I didn’t want to bother you with them.”
“I want to see. Send them, okay?”
