“You are?” He glances over with those unnervingly pale eyes.
“I’m taking some vacation time. Hana is stopping over in Seoul for a couple days before she does a training course in Busan. We were going to explore.”
“She didn’t tell me that.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “You will both stay with me.”
“We have a hotel.”
Jihoon waves his hand. “My place is safer, and we can see each other. You can come to our VIP concert.”
I want this and know Hana would love it, so I don’t need any convincing. “We’d love to.”
“When Hana leaves, we will tour the city, you and I together.”
“That we can do.” I rest my head on his shoulder then lift it to smile at him. “I have an itinerary.”
“I have no doubt you would have the best one. Perhaps I can add some secret spots to it.”
It feels like we’re back in Toronto, normal people instead ofcelebrity and noncelebrity. Jihoon’s always been touchier than me, soothed with physical contact, but I didn’t realize how much he depends on it until he drapes himself over me, hands stroking my arms as if reminding himself of how I feel. Even though the conversation is going smoothly, I have this nagging feeling that it shouldn’t be going as well as it is.
“Why are you so quick to forgive me?” I ask suddenly. “I would have made me work for it way more.”
He plays with my hair. “What’s the point of that? We both acted poorly and have learned from it.”
“I guess.”
“You forgave me before, and I did the same. You’re here and we talked. People make mistakes, and it’s not productive to hold grudges forever or keep score. I’d prefer to be happy.”
He moves back to his seat when Eunyoo brings us hotteok, pancakes filled with syrup so sweet, it hurts my teeth.
“I should have made these for you when I was in Toronto,” he says.
“The pancakes you did were good. More chocolate chips than batter.”
He nods, satisfied. “Good. I miss the cereals, though.”
It’s an oddly domestic conversation. A relationship is built on tiny everyday interactions, casual comments, and brief touches. I didn’t know how much I missed it and, as Jihoon licks the syrup off the side of his hotteok, how I would like to have this all the time.
This is not like me. Previous relationships were in a very specific compartment in my mind. I had work, home, friends, family, and the occasional boyfriend with very little overlap. That’s not how it is with Jihoon. I like him in my home life and that he and Hana are friends apart from me. I like the way he intersected and intertwined with me in Toronto like no one else has.
Jihoon reaches over and tugs my hand across the table so he can trace the lines on my palm, his touch rippling through my wholebody. He’s not even looking as he does it, but his absentminded desire for us to touch makes me weak.
Eunyoo comes up and whispers to Jihoon. Both of them look serious. “Gamsahamnida,” he says quietly. She leaves, feet tapping lightly on the stairs as Jihoon rubs his knuckles into his hand.
“What?” I ask.
“There’s someone from a fan site outside. They must have followed me.”
Thirty-Four
Someone followed him. Right, that’s a common occurrence.
“Run that by me again. A fan site?”
“Websites run by fans that post photos of us.”
I take a deep breath and become lawyer Ariadne, based on data and not emotion. “If they followed you, do they already have photos of me?”
We pull out our phones. After a minute of scrolling, he looks up. “Nothing. You?”
