Jihoon’s laugh is so biting, I blink in surprise. “I suppose that only works when your heart isn’t split exactly in half.” Then he shakes his head. “I’ll be happy knowing you’re comfortable, and to be comfortable, you need a plan. Let’s do one.”
We sit and talk like two admin assistants booking their C-suite bosses. We talk about his schedule. We talk about calls and short visits. We look at calendars and his touring plans, with no dates in North America for the foreseeable future, and I tell him what kind of workload I have as I try to make partner. Like children, we even come up with a secret sign for him to use in his video chats.
All that is easy. What comes next is harder. “Have you thought about the future after StarLune?” I ask. His contract with Newlight is another four years.
Jihoon shifts over, and I close the rest of the distance. “I’m not going to sign again.”
“What?”
“I’m getting old,” he says simply. “I don’t want to be learning choreo when I’m thirty-two, and I don’t want to disappoint the fans if I need to slow down. I don’t want to be on these schedules. I want to make my own. I want to dress myself for events in clothes that don’t have to match four other men.”
“Your music?”
“That’s the only thing I want besides you. I would get out now if I could do it without letting the others down.”
A few months ago, I would have told Jihoon that you need to watch out for yourself first, but now I don’t know if I believe that. The strength he gets from his relationships with the band and the support they share is astonishing. “Have you talked to the others?”
He shakes his head. “I will, but I only decided a while ago. You were a catalyst for thoughts I was too scared to let surface. I can’t be the one to split up StarLune, but the days are becoming a struggle. I need to grow. It’s like an itch I can’t get, but it’s all I can think about.”
We sit quietly as I scroll through my calendar. “This is going to be hard,” I admit. “Really hard. Your life is next-level.”
“You’re scared, even now.”
That makes me pull back. “There’s a lot to be worried about.”
“Yes, but I’m less worried when I know we’re doing it together. We need to depend on each other.”
“That’s not what I do.” I rub at my face under the mask. “That’s the hard part. You have Kit and the rest to help you. I don’t do that. I’m not used to it.”
Jihoon turns me around to see my face. “What are you really frightened of here, Ari? Is it my career? The distance? The fame?”
“I’m afraid you’ll leave.” I can’t even look at him. “That you’ll wake up one day and look around and realize that it’s too hard and that will be it.”
He pulls his mask down to look at me. “Do you work hard at being a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“I work hard, too. All the time, every day. I’m not afraid of work. I know it’s hard for you. We’ll be apart, but you won’t be alone. I promise.”
He tugs my mask down, shushing my protest with a finger on my lips before he lowers his hands. “No one is around, and I need to see you when I say this. You are worth the work. We are worth the effort. I can’t speak for your feelings, so I’ll speak about my own. No one makes me feel alive like you do. Millions of people see me, but no one makes me feel as seen as you.”
I risk looking in his eyes, and it’s intense. He said no one saw him, but I feel the same way. He’s not glancing over my shoulder or fidgeting with his phone. All his focus is on this moment, him and me and what we can be together.
I believe him. This is worth it. “Okay,” I say.
His face relaxes into a smile. “Okay.”
We sit on the rock for another minute, wrung out by the discussion, but Jihoon’s words warm me from the inside. Then I get antsy. I want to walk. I want to talk. I want to… His phone buzzes.
Jihoon checks it and raises an eyebrow. “The apartment is empty.”
“It is?” I pull my mask back up and so does he.
“Mmm, yes. We could head back.”
I give a mock gasp. “And miss hiking to the top of a mountain?”
“The mountain will always be there, but hyeong will eventually come home.”
