I flinched as a stiff breeze cut across the porch and over my skin, and I pulled my feet up onto the chair, folding myself in half, making myself smaller as our conversation played through my mind.
He had looked tired, and I said as much, because he always seemed tired. I was worried, but he had taken it as criticism.
“Thanks,” he scoffed.
I had reeled back, frowning at the bite in his voice.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quietly, trying to be conscious of the early hour and my parents sleeping inside.
Jihoon sighed and dragged a hand down his face.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I am tired.”
This was something I didn’t understand. GVibes were rarely free. There was always something to do, even in quieter months. But the rush of promotion after the release of their album had faded, they weren’t currently working on a new comeback, they weren’t touring.
Yet Jihoon was always exhausted. That was why I was worried, because I knew that not all exhaustion was related to physical tiredness.
“Joon,” I had said tentatively, biting my lower lip. “Are you–have you been talking to your therapist?”
I knew he had one. ENT insisted on all their artists at least having access to one. I also knew he didn’t consider it a priority. Whenever I’d brought it up with him in the past, he’d been reluctant to even talk about it.
Jihoon’s eyes pinched, and I braced for the rebuke I expected. Instead, he surprised me.
“I know I should,” he said quietly.”
I waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t, the silence between us dragged on. His head dropped, making his hair fall into his face to hide his expression.
Anxiety swam through my veins. It had become familiar – that almost painful pinch in my gut before a rush of nervous energy. A need to do something, to fix something. Anything.
“Tell me about the fan calls today,” I had blurted out, hating myself for avoiding the painful conversation.
It took a moment, but I watched as Joon reeled himself back in. He lifted his head, brushed his hair back from his face and refocused on me.
“Most of them were fine–good,” he corrected himself, “but…”
“Was she there again?” I guessed, seeing the way his mouth tightened.
Recently, there had been one girl who somehow kept winning fan calls. They were supposed to be randomised – mostly – but there were so many different ways to win them, and no one seemed able to figure out how she kept getting them or was inclined to. Fan calls were proving to be an absolute cash cow for the industry.
This particular fan, a young woman, had already been on three calls.
It wouldn’t normally be a concern. Enthusiastic fans were an expected, welcome part of the industry – provided they didn’t cross the line from enthusiastic into saesang.
However, this person had become well-known in the Viber community, not just because she regularly posted edited videos of her fan call interactions with the group, but because she’d recently started to claim she was the ‘dark haired girl in the rain’.
“Yes,” Jihoon had answered tersely.
“I don’t understand why the managers don’t vet the calls,” I said angrily, then immediately hushed my voice as I looked back to the still dark kitchen. Seeing no sign I’d woken my parents, I continued, but quieter. “They surely know who she is, why don’t they do something?”
“Like what?” He said drily. “She has done nothing wrong.”
“Joon, she–she’s…” I gestured inarticulately, feeling my face grow red.
“She is not breaking the rules,” he said firmly.
I gaped, mouth opening and closing as I tried to think of a good response.
“But, it’s not okay,” I said weakly. “Are you okay with this?”
