“Jihoon, no.” I lean in to give him some comfort. “You should talk to the rest of the band about this. Does Newlight accept every song you and Daehyun write for StarLune?”
“No.” His answer is reluctant.
“Not every song is going to work. Sure, fans might be more willing to listen, but they wouldn’t remain if you started producing garbage.”
“Starrys are very loyal,” he says doubtfully.
“Because you deliver.”
He brightens a bit, then fades. “If Newlight wants only Daehyun’s sound, and no one will take my songs when they don’t know it’s me, what do I do? Who am I if I’m not Min and a songwriter for StarLune?”
I tuck his arm in mine. “You’re also Jihoon, and you’ll keep trying until you make it happen.”
He smiles then, a real smile, and pulls me close. “Thank you, Ari.”
Forty
We keep walking up the increasingly steep trail, and tension continues to build between us like a wall. There’s a flat rock up ahead that’s a bit off the main path. I lead him over and sit.
“Are you tired?” he asks.
“Sit beside me.” He does, and I take his hand and put it between my hands and then my knees to keep it warm. “Tell me what else you’re thinking.”
“There’s nothing else.” He tries to tug his hand away, but I’m an expert at recognizing signs of avoiding feelings. That Jihoon is balking means it’s big, and I wonder how to get him to open up. I depend on him to take the lead on these things.
“We never talked about how this will look when I go back to Toronto,” I say, taking a shot. “We haven’t had the talk about the future.”
He pulls away slightly, and I know I’ve hit it. “Have you changed your mind?” I ask carefully.
The few seconds it takes for him to respond nearly kill me. “No.” When he finally answers, the confidence in his voice lets me relax a bit, and the wall dissolves. He looks up. “I was worried you had.”
The relief I feel is all-encompassing. “No way.”
He laughs and leans his head against mine. “I still have our walking trip to Spain booked in the calendar for next year,” he says.
“That’s amazing, but I’d also like some shorter-term plans.”
“How long until I see you again?” he asks as he looks out at the trees.
I look at my watch as if that will help. It doesn’t. He smiles and holds his own wrist out to show his matching Cartier. “It’s the first time I’ve worn it since Toronto,” he says.
This time, it’s me who gets a thrill at us matching. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek through the masks. “Plans,” I remind him.
“I won’t be able to come back to Canada for a while,” he says.
“I understand. Will you be happy?”
“Away from you?”
I give him a shove soft enough for him to know it’s only affection. “Being so busy and adding to your collection of little hotel soaps.”
He makes a face. “I bring my own. Those are too harsh for my delicate celebrity idol skin.”
“My question was not really about soaps.”
“I don’t know.” He frowns and fixes his hat. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
“I thought you went with heart over head,” I say.
