Total meltdown. Who the hell called Jaehwan-hyung again? When would Kazu learn to parent them on his own? Complaints were lodged, insecurities aired. From the heart of this storm, Eunjae heard Jiyeon ask a question.
“Eric,” she said. “What’s your name?”
44
“Yourrealname,”Jiyeonclarified. “It’s not Eric. I’ve always thought you looked more like an Allen, or a Bruce.”
Eunjae found her hand under the table. “Bruce. Yeah, I see it.”
“It’s not Bruce,” said Eric. “How is this relevant?”
“I think you should answer her question.”
“You’re supposed to be nice. Isn’t this out of character for you?”
“I’m usually nice,” Eunjae agreed, “and you should answer her question.”
Brothers weighed in. What was this guy’s problem? She’d asked a fair question, and it wasn’t even on the extreme end of the difficulty scale. Ooh, had Eric forgotten his own name? Could he perhaps have selective amnesia? They’d played that card already, how boring if they did it again. Hey Chief, what if we put him in a coma for some variety—
Caving under the pressure of too much animosity from too many brothers, Eric muttered, “Trevor. That’s my real name.”
“Trevor Allen Wong,” Denny intoned, reciting the contents of a dossier stored in his head. “Stanford University, graduated with honors. Internships at Emerald Entertainment and Prism Strategic Management. Offered a permanent position at Prism two years ago, promoted last year. Speaks four languages.” He rolled his eyes. “Another one wasted on the entertainment industry.”
"Chief, when was he born?"
"Yeah, what year? Tell us."
Denny's mouth twitched. "1999."
"Ha!" said Namgyu. High fives all around. Brothers surrounded Trevor's chair, proclaiming that he could call them 'hyung.' He was younger than every member of Apollo. Everybody was 'hyung' to him. He should show proper respect for his seniors. With immense glee, Nicky declared the establishment of 'an unbroken circle of trust.' The Prism handbook: the gift that kept on giving.
"Not me," Jesse screeched, arms flailing. "He can't call me hyung! Trevor, when in 1999? Before August, right? Please, please,pleasebe born before August—"
The Captain confirmed that Trevor's birthday was in May, thus sparing Jesse from having to confront the inevitability of old age. Jiyeon turned to smile at Eunjae. “I knew there was an Allen in there somewhere.”
“You both have weird superpowers,” Ezra remarked, unimpressed as usual. As for Max, he wanted a refund.Trevor?This guy didn’t even look like a goddamn Trevor. He had to be lying.
He wasn’t lying, and Jiyeon’s question had cracked something open, revealing a gap in Eric’s defenses. No, Trevor. This wasTrevor, not a faceless enemy concealed by algorithmsand glowing screens. Nor was it an army of Prism henchmen with the same name, parroting the same corporate gospel.
She went for it. “Trevor, you said this was your dream. You wanted to work with Apollo. That’s a brand, but it’s also nine people. Real people, with families and friends. You’re a real person, too. Maybe Eric doesn’t care about their feelings, but I think you do.”
Trevor stared at his coffee mug. “Eric is me. I did all of those things.”
“Oh, sure,” Jiyeon replied. “Emma is me, but she’s not all of me, just like Eric isn’t all of you. You don’t have to be famous to have different versions of yourself. Who are you, when it’s just you? ‘Cause I think there’s more to the story.”
“Hope you like disappointment,” muttered Max. “He’s a jackass. That’s the story.”
“No. He’s a fan, and Sunshines don’t love you for being a brand. They don’t come to your concerts and play your music at their weddings ‘cause they care about a product. They care about Apollo, and that’s the nine of you.” Jiyeon retrieved the coffee pot, pulled a mug from the shelf, and poured Trevor a fresh cup. “You care,” she said, “so give the story back to them. That’s all we’re asking.”
Trevor put his head down on the table. He stayed that way for a while. They heard the happy chatter of volunteers coming and going, preparing for lunch, hollering about paint rollers. Raucous laughter filtered through the walls as the audience took over Emma’s podcast episode. Eunjae closed his eyes for a moment and thought that it would be okay, regardless of everything hanging in the balance. He’d spent a long time feeling alone, even in a bus packed with brothers, even on stage in a sold-out arena. He didn’t feel like that anymore.
He held on to this optimism until Trevor finally lifted his head and said, “I can cancel the rest of the campaign. There’sno easy fix for what’s already out there, though. It’s too late for that.” He checked his watch, then the kitchen clock. “Yeah… definitely too late.”
“Too late for what?” Kazu demanded. “Ya, call your mom. When I tell her about everything you’ve done—”
Nicky had it pulled up in record time. “It’s bad, Ari.”
“Hyung,” said Max, grabbing Eunjae by the shoulder and shaking him. “This is America. For fuck’s sake, let’s sue him.”
