She opens the larger, non-cosmetics fridge and some drawersbefore admitting defeat and handing me a banana. “Not much apart from microwave rice and ramen.”
“Aren’t they millionaires?”
She points at the cosmetics fridge. “Millionaires with priorities.”
We eat the bananas standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room as we debate stealing Jihoon’s sheet masks to alleviate the physical effects of Hana’s jet lag and my residual hangover. The Han River looks gray and sad under a cloudy late-afternoon sky, and my tension rachets up with each minute that passes.
When the door finally opens, it’s a surprise even though I’ve been waiting for it. Jihoon comes in first and drops his bag on the floor before kicking off his shoes and crossing the room in long strides to wrap me in a hug that feels like home. He keeps his arm around me as Kit comes over to greet Hana with a smile and a tight embrace while watching me with distrust over her shoulder. It gives his face an interesting expression, and I make sure to give him a big toothy grin to be a jerk, even though his contempt is well-earned after what I did to Jihoon at the airport in Toronto. He shuts his eyes.
Any worries I had about Jihoon’s welcome and what it would be like to see him after the café talk melt away as he keeps me tucked in tight. Both men are coiffed and made up and look more like models than flesh and blood, but they pepper Hana with enthusiastic questions about the flight, the drive from the airport, and if we’re hungry.
“You only have dehydrated pucks,” says Hana. “That’s not food.”
“Easily rectified.” Kit pulls out his phone and puts in a sushi order before heading off to take a shower.
Jihoon runs his hand down my arm. “Let me change.”
Alone again, Hana and I fall into a weary silence. “After I eat, I need to sleep,” she says.
“Jihoon says they need to leave again anyway.” He showed me their schedule, and it was packed from morning to night withinterviews, show appearances, practices, and rehearsals. The new album and the concert are keeping them busy.
She doesn’t answer, but her head nods down onto her chest. With Jihoon here, some of my stress has transformed into exhaustion, and I relax on the couch beside her, barely registering the dip of the cushions when Jihoon comes back to burrow into my side. It’s restful to have him here, not doing anything but breathing.
Conversation over dinner is a mess of Hana and I trying to keep our eyes open and both men’s phones flashing with notifications every few seconds. The two of them do their best to keep to English but occasionally drop back into Korean when a message comes through.
“You should rest,” Jihoon says as they get ready to go. He’s barefaced and dressed in gigantic maroon sweats that hang off his lean frame. Kit is already at the door pulling on his shoes. “We’ll be late, but I’ll text.”
He doesn’t kiss me goodbye, which I do my best to not read anything into. Hana barely waits for the door to close before she stumbles down the hall, muttering about jet lag. I turn out the lights and linger in the living room, comfy in an oversize chair. The city is on display, and too lazy to go to bed, I watch the lights flicker on and off as people go about their business. Finally I drift off, head resting on the side of the chair and hands tucked in my lap.
“Ari?” A gentle touch on my shoulder wakes me up. Coming out of a deep sleep means I’m not sure exactly where I am, but Jihoon is sitting on the floor beside me.
“Hi.”
Now he smiles, but he looks weary. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
I sit up straight and rub my eyes. “What time is it?”
“Past two.” He leans against my knee, and I run my hand through his hair. “Why are you not in bed?”
“You gave me my own room.” In my half-awake state, it’s easier to say what’s bothering me. “Is it because you want your space?”
Jihoon looks up at me and blinks. “I was being respectful. I know you don’t like to be woken up, and I have to leave early.”
That’s thoughtful and he’s right, I do hate waking up. I can make some sacrifices, though. “We don’t have much time.”
Perceptive as he is, he reads between the lines to what I want to say. “I want to see you when I can, too.” He urges me up and leads me to his room.
It’s bigger than the one he gave me but has the impersonal air of a hotel. I climb on the bed and look around. “You didn’t decorate much.”
“I’m not here enough to bother.” He says it indifferently as he sorts through some bottles on the desk.
This time, instead of letting it go, I take a page from the Book of Jihoon and simply ask what I want to know. “Why is it not worth the bother to make it homey?”
Jihoon stops, and I watch his face in the mirror as his eyes move over the room. “Your place in Toronto,” he finally says. “You had some photos up and little figurines on the desk that you liked.”
“They’re ceramic birds,” I say. “Two in a cage, one in flight. Hana gave them to me.”
He sits down on the bed beside me. “When we were younger, Newlight did a lot of filming in our rooms. Fans would dissect everything they saw, so there were no secrets. We learned to hide anything truly personal.”
