As I tuck my face into Kija’s shoulder to keep the wind from whipping my hair across my cheeks, I feel his arms tightenaround me. It’s protective and a little bit possessive, the way he’s shielding me from not only the rest of the passengers on the ferry but also the rest of the world.
I’m more than content to let him hold me—happy just to be close to him—until he nudges me to turn around. I start to grumble until I realize he’s directing my attention to the horizon and the hazy outline of Jeju Island.
Growing up, Jeju had always seemed a mythical place to me, somewhere people who could afford it went on long holidays, and that was never my family. I didn’t realize it was also home to a tight-knit community of residents who lived there year-round, until I had gotten to go once with the group to film some episodes of FLY. I had also been legitimately surprised to find out Kija had been born and raised there, until he moved to Seoul for university.
With land becoming clearer, the nerves I’d had on the drive from Seoul to Mokpo return. Even after nearly four hours on the road with Kija reassuring me that his parents know I will be joining him and they knew we are together, I’m still anxious. I want them—no, Ineedthem—to like me, to approve of me, so badly it makes me sick to think about any alternative.
“Stop worrying,” Kija tells me, pressing a kiss to my temple because he knows exactly what I need. “They’re going to adore you, I promise.”
His parents know about me.
Of all the unexpected things today has brought me, learning that Kija’s parents are aware that he has a partner who is a man and are apparently unbothered by the idea has been the biggest one by far. When he told me about the chat they’d had when he had asked about coming to visit with his partner, his mom’s excitement about him finally having someone he wanted to bring home was greater than the fact the person was not a woman like they had always expected.
I can’t imagine telling my own parents I’m bringing myboyfriend home. Their general disdain over knowing that I am gay is enough—having to be confronted by it with a significant other would probably be too much for them.
Kija drops a kiss to the top of my head, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You want to go back inside and get ready to find the car?”
I nod and take his hand when he offers it to me, sticking close to him as we leave the ferry’s upper deck and descend the staircases to where we left the car nearly four hours ago. It’s been a long day of traveling between the drive and the boat ride, and I’m tired, my body restless from the lack of real activity.
We could have taken a flight and gotten to Jeju in about an hour, but planes mean airports—and people watching us. Nobody expects to see an idol on a ferry full of families headed for vacation. Hiding in plain sight seems to be the way we operate for now. I might not like it, but if this is the way I can be with him, I’ll take it.
We’re back in his car and driving off the boat before I know it, just another vehicle in a long line. Kija reaches over to rest his hand on my thigh as we roll off onto the dock, and I smile immediately at the warmth of his touch.
The drive to his family’s home only takes about twenty-five minutes, giving me just enough time to catch glimpses of the area where he spent his childhood as we go. I can see the sea almost the entire time, and it makes me wonder what it would have been like to grow up somewhere so lovely.
“This is it. First eighteen years of my life, right here,” Kija comments as he parks in front of a house that looks like something I would have dreamed up in a fantasy about Kija and I far in the future, together, married if it were possible, a couple of kids running around in the well-manicured lawn. “I like it a lot more now than I did then.”
I look at him curiously. “What is there not to like?”
He gets out of the car and comes around to open my door.The chivalry that comes so easily to him never ceases to amaze me. “It seemed so basic, I think, when I was younger. It’s an older house, and all my friends were moving into these new houses that were being built to make everything look more modern and appeal to tourists. I felt like it wasn’t good enough, I guess. Now I see it for what it is—sturdy, cozy, welcoming, full of love and happy memories. Everything a home should be.”
I’m hit with a wave of complicated feelings as I follow him to the door, reflecting on what he said. I’m so happy that he feels this way about the place his parents live, but sad for myself that I didn’t know what any of that meant until I met the members of RYSING. Until I started to reallyfeelit when I’d spend nights with Kija.
The front door swings open, and Kija’s parents come running out, looking eager to see their son and who is with him. It’s immediately obvious who he gets his good looks from—his father is handsome in an intimidating sort of way, his features more severe than Kija’s but so similar. And his mother might be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. She’s softer and looks sweet somehow, but could easily be a model.
Kija turns to me as they approach, setting our bags down to pull me into a hug. “You’re already their favorite person,” he murmurs, the dry press of a soft kiss against my forehead. The delighted gasp from beside us makes me laugh in Kija’s arms and he chuckles in response. “You’re not subtle, eomma.”
“I have been waiting for this day for years!” she exclaims. “Let go of him. Let us meet him.”
Any fear that I had seems to vanish as I look over to see his parents—his mother beaming at us with her hands clasped together over her heart, his father with a bemused grin on his face.
“Hello,” I whisper as I step back to give myself room and bow to them so deeply I’m nearly folded in half, my face close to my knees. My respect for these people, for the man they raised, is so intense and overwhelming, going fully to theground to show them crosses my mind.
“Sun, come back up,” Kija coaxes, his voice full of fondness. Once I’m upright again, he says, “Eomma, appa, I’d like you to meet Yung-Sun. My boyfriend.”
There’s a chance my heart will explode any moment. Being introduced to his parents as his boyfriend thrills me so deeply and intensely that I can’t even describe it, but seeing both of them smile back at me, wide and bright, almost brings me to tears. When his mother reaches to pull me into a hug, I have to bite my lip to stifle whatever embarrassing sound is trying to escape, from all these emotions I’m feeling at once.
She squeezes me tightly, then his father pats me on the shoulder. Kija waits until she releases me and says, “Sun-ah, these are my parents. Kim Sangcheol, my father, and Soohee, my mother.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, still quieter than I’d like, still unsure because I realize that I have no idea how to address them.
Soohee slips her arm through mine and begins walking toward the house, and as though she can read my mind, tells me, “You can call me eomma. And my husband will be appa. If that’s okay with you.”
I have to blink away the tears that gather in my eyes immediately. I had hoped that they would like me, but this easy acceptance they seem to have of me and my relationship with their son is nearly too much. “Yes. Thank you, eomeonim.” I use a more formal version of mother, partially because we just met but also because I feel like she deserves all the reverence I can give her.
“Go easy on him, eomma,” Kija calls from where he’s still standing with his dad.
“He’s mine now!” Soohee yells back, and I decide she might be my new best friend.
