“Go on,” I groused.
“You don’t need to pretend to be single, you don’t need to put out this public persona,” she counted off on her fingers, “you arefree to miss your partner, because who are you telling? Me and your parents?”
“I have other friends!” I protested, outraged by the insinuation.
Becka scoffed. “My point is, you get to be there, doing shit like forging a new career, going back to college. You’re living your life – however fraught with difficulties it is – while he’s there, pretending to be single as a pringle, carrying on like he always has, despite privately dealing with missing you.” She blew out a breath. “I hate to say it, but it’s a wonder he hasn’t cracked.”
Becka paused, and right then, I saw her face morph into an expression I’d rarely seen on her before. Genuine sympathy.
“I really think his life sucks, sometimes. Y’know, I read something recently, and I don’t know how true it is.” Becka looked uncomfortable. “It was an article, and it talked about how kinda awful the K-Pop industry is. How it doesn’t protect its performers. There was a lot.”
Becka looked at me, tilting her head slightly like she was looking for the answers on my face. I wasn’t sure how to answer her. Jihoon had told me some things about what he, and other performers, had gone through, but compared to some companies, ENT was known to treat its artists relatively well. Other companies… not so much.
There was a reason K-Pop was often called a ‘machine’, and sometimes the machine grinds up whatever falls into it.
There was a lot coming to light, given how much of boom the K-Pop industry was currently experiencing across Western media. And a lot of what was coming out was damning.
But even with the better reputation ENT had, they hadn’t done much to protect Jihoon’s family from the anti-fans, or even Jihoon himself.
“I just think,” Becka went on, oblivious to the dark turn my thoughts had taken. “That maybe you being in Korea, being his live-in girlfriend, gave him a sense of normalcy that he’s never had, and now he’s alone, having to put on a brave face.” She sighed. “I don’t know. I just think that maybe sometimes his life sucks, and so many months of separation remind him that he can’t have the normal life other people can.”
I nodded, forcing down the lump in my throat, because she was right, and I was suddenly ashamed for only seeing how hard it was for me, not him.
“And don’t even get me started on how fucking weird it is for some random person to be all over social media claiming to be his girlfriend.”
I’d told her about the woman who kept winning all the fan calls. Who was publicly claiming to be Joon’s secret girlfriend, the ‘dark-haired girl’.
“Yeah,” I conceded, “it gives me the ick, but it’s harmless, right?”
I felt like I needed an outside opinion, because I kept going back and forth, wavering between getting uselessly angry about it, and writing it off as an unfortunate side-effect of fame.
Becka considered before answering.
“On the surface sure. If all it ever is is some bullshit clout-chasing, but think of it from the artist’s point of view – because this is definitely not just happening to him – some chick you’ve never seen before starts claiming to be your secret girlfriend, and then starts showing up in nearly every round of fan calls you do. Suddenly, she’s got loads of footage of you acting all cutesy and shit-”
“That’s just fan service,” I protested, interrupting her.
“Again, sure, but consider the optics.”
I did, taking a moment to recall the few videos of hers that I’d seen. Pieced together in the right way, they did look…
“See?” Becka pointed at the screen, “that right there is why he’s uncomfortable.”
“Shit,” I breathed. “I didn’t think about that. Fuck, I am a shitty girlfriend. Maybe this is why he’s been weird recently.”
I said the words, but I didn’t believe them. Maybe the situation contributed, but this – whatever it was – had been going on far longer than the fancalls.
“I’m a shitty girlfriend,” I said quietly. Mostly to myself because I didn’t know how to fix what was going on.
Becka rolled her eyes.
“You’re not a shitty girlfriend,” she said, oblivious to my turn of thought. “You just… have your own shit going on. How is big, fancy college life, anyway?”
She grinned at me, and even though the crack in my chest made it hard to breath, I forced a smile onto my face, and allowed the change in subject. Because it was an easy way out. And I was a shitty girlfriend.
“So far, easy.”
I cleared my throat, and this time, my words sounded more normal. “A metric ton of paperwork, but… I’m excited.”
