By the time Dad called up the stairs that dinner was ready, my eyes were barely red. I closed my laptop, and wiped away any remaining tears for the what could-have-beens and never-would-bes, ready to move forward into the what-could-be.
Chapter 18
My alarm went off at 9 am, even though I was already awake.
Today was the day of the virtual concert, and I’d wanted to make sure I was up in plenty of time for it. GVibes were going on stage in a couple of hours.
I checked my phone for what felt like the tenth time, but Jihoon hadn’t responded to my earlier message.
My phone had chimed this morning just after 6 am, waking me up, and the words were still going around in my brain.
I chewed my thumbnail as I read the message again.
Joon
Today might be our last concert, and that scares me so much. What if our fans forget about us?
[Sent 0608]
I’d responded immediately.
Me
That won’t happen. Are you okay?
He hadn’t gotten back to me since then, even though I’d tried calling him.
For Jihoon, the idea that the fans might move on from them to other groups was like a scab he couldn’t stop picking at. For a group like theirs, fan engagement was the essence of them, how they’d gotten to where they were, but it was also a real thing to the members. Because while they’d been trained to know their status depended on the fans, for them it was a reciprocal kind of relationship. For them, it was never bullshit when they called “we love you!” into a packed auditorium.
To leave all that behind, especially prematurely… I couldn’t imagine. All the public speculation about their enlistment made it worse, because they hadn’t even announced anything yet, and as far as I knew, no plans had actually been drafted up.
Despite this, there was speculation that this would be the group’s last, official performance together.
Contrary to how easy the organisers and companies had made it look, one does not simply shoehorn an event of that scale into a random calendar event. Performances, stages, are booked many months in advance. To say nothing of existing dates. The biggest stadiums were booked a year or more in advance, even if it was just as a placeholder. Sometimes, a big company like ENT would book out venues years in advance, aiming to fill them with whatever group was most popular, or in anticipation of a tour at that time. Logistically, it was mind-boggling.
To have lost their tour meant so much more than postponing some venues.
Alongside my concern at not receiving a response from Jihoon, I also wasn’t surprised. I knew that Minjae had a no-phones policy just before a performance. They also had a soundcheck, and probably a million other things I couldn’t even conceive of.
Knowing that he was probably too busy to even look at his phone didn’t make me any less anxious though.
To take my mind of it, I went through the motions of my morning.
Coffee and a bowl of cereal, shower and hair wash. Just enough time left over to make myself look presentable as I logged into the virtual waiting room. The additional self-preening was because Jihoon had asked me to be one of the fans who would be up on the massive screen. My webcam would be live during a segment, along with hundreds of other Vibers, allowing us all to sing along with the group for one of their biggest hits at the end of the concert.
I’d weakly protested when he’d asked me, putting forth all sorts of arguments.
“Is it a good idea to have your girlfriend in one of your concerts?”
“You’ll be one person in a crowd of hundreds, Ky,” he’d said patiently.
“I don’t look good on camera,” I’d whined.
“You’ll look perfect to me.” He had winked.
“Joon…”
“Kaiya, it would bring me peace to know you’re there with me.”
