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One of the company heads has a nice apartment up north in Pyeongchang-dong, the kind with a stylish, slim pool and a long slab of lush green grass in the back. Why anyone would bother to live so far away from work is a mystery to me, but I suppose if I had the seemingly inexhaustible income that he does, I’d do it, too.
You’re welcome, by the way.
I push myself further into the pool, feeling the warm water swell around the top of my chest. The water is lit from within, an ethereal blue, like something out of the Maldives. I can see the moon shimmering in the reflection of the pool and wobbling on the top of my pink cocktail.
I’ve worked hard to get here, to be in this very spot, but I still feel I have every right to be cynical – once you’re in the “cool kids crew” with the elites, you’ve got the next few years laid out before you. The next 3 or 4 massive comebacks, international brand deals, perhaps even a solo. I’m happy to be here, floating in this heavenly pool.
But it was my dancing, my singing, my starving body that gave the guy all that cash.
There are a handful of other idols milling about the pool, dancing casually on the grass, or chatting on one of the many chaise lounges scattered about the house and back porch. Minji slides back into the pool beside me, her slippery body pressing up against mine. “Hey,” she murmurs, into my ear. I can hear her voice, giddy under the influence. “Those BOYNEXTDOOR boys finally showed up.”
They weren’t late on purpose – they’d just returned from a schedule overseas. If they were supposed to have been ‘fashionably late’, they would likely be blacklisted from many of these parties. That would be quite the scar on apparently fresh and blooming careers. They’re lucky all six of them were invited to one of these – Minji and I were the only girls from our group allowed to come along – but their whole group was surfing a huge surge of popularity that could not be ignored.
I crane my neck, careful not to slosh my fruity pink mixture into the crystalline pool. The six boys are walking into the party, greeting everyone with kind bows and glimmering smiles. I see a few of them get handed colourful drinks, the older few sipping on them eagerly. My gaze catches on one of them, his long hair swishing in and out of his eyes as he greets everyone.
“God,” Minji mutters, her breath sucking in. Her eyes are trained on a stringy boy with a thick head of dark hair, kittenish features gracing his face. “That one sure is something,” she says, twirling one of her curls out of her face. We’d spent hours in front of the mirror, ensuring our hair, make up and bikinis were perfect. Effortless on the surface, as if we were naturally this stunning and chic. I watch the curl get drenched by her wet finger and cringe a little bit.
While she balks at the boy I think is named Taesan, my eyes stay glued to the long haired one. Leehan.
His face is positively glowing, like he was made to be here. Instead of a years long battle like it had felt for me, it was like he was put on this Earth to be at an industry party. He settled in so neatly, his stunning features complimenting those of everyone around him. Like placing the final puzzle piece, or when your stylist finally gets a pair of shoes that fits comfortably. Satisfying.
Eventually, the boys all split off, chatting to different handsome strangers, different important men. I try not to watch Leehan walk off, melt out of my sight. I turn my attention back to my drink, take another sip. I can finally feel the effects of it, my vision curling in at the corners a little.
Minji finishes hers only a moment before I finish mine. “Do you want a refill?” She asks, eyes on the bar that had been set up along the side of the back garden. Three of the BOYNEXTDOOR boys are hovering around by the bar, laughing amongst themselves. I can see Minji’s eyes trained on Taesan, as if he were a bright blue bullseye.
“Sure,” I say, handing her my glass. As she leaves, I let my attention drift back to the water, watching as the light ripples on the surface of the aquamarine. I dip my finger just in front of me, watching the moon warp and wrap itself around my digit.
A short time passes without Minji’s return, and I assume someone has stolen her away for some reason or other. I glance toward the bar, see her covering her laugh with her hand and try to decipher who she is chatting with, when someone suddenly slips into the pool beside me.
“I heard you needed a refill,” a silky voice murmurs in my ear.
I whip my head back around. Leehan.
His wide, bright eyes are shining, the blue reflection of the pool shimmering within. His brows are lifted, his smile gentle, framing a soft chuckle. He’s holding two drinks in his hand, one a greenish colour, and the other one pink. He holds the pink one out for me.
My breath catches, and in the effort of levelling it back out, I laugh softly. “Oh.” I take the cup from his hands, sipping from the straw. I feel his eyes on me, trying not to watch my lips. “How did you know?”
He leans his back against the lip of the pool, taking a sip from his own drink. The reflections of light shimmer over his golden skin.
His head rolls back toward me, “Minji, right, is her name?” He asks, nodding toward the bar. “I reckon Taesan’s got a bit of a thing for her,” he chuckles. “I didn’t think she was going to deliver this to you anytime soon, so I thought I would do the honours,” he grins, innocent and pure.
“You’re just a delivery boy, then?” I ask, stirring the drink with my straw. I feel a self-preserving urge to check whether or not he was just doing a favour for his friend, being a good wingman.
He shakes his head with another light-hearted chuckle. They seem to just tumble out of him. “Well, I was hoping you’d let me stick around for a bit,” he says, sliding ever-so-slightly closer to me, a small swell of water rising on my shoulder.
He sticks his drink out, and I clink our glasses together. The sound rings out over the pool; there are less people in the water, now. “That would be wonderful,” I say, watching his eyes as we both take a sip of our drinks, our gazes catching.
+
An hour or so passes, and Leehan and I have climbed out of the water, only our feet dangling inside. Conversation is easy between us, a game of throw and catch.
In the back of my head, I can almost hear my manager nagging at me – you should network more, you’re supposed to speak to that one guy about a Tiffany brand deal!! – but I can’t seem to concentrate on anything that should be more important than this moment; my thigh up against Leehan’s, our second or third drink together slowly vanishing.
He has dragged his wet hands through his hair enough times that his hair is damp, and all pushed back, like he stepped out of a surfing magazine from the early noughties. So much of him is magnetic, inexplicably drawing me in towards him. His never-ending giggles, his shining eyes, his plush-looking lips.
Distantly, I can feel the party drifting back outside, more and more attendees heading out to the lawn as the alcohol takes over. Groups of people dance together, laughing, cheering and singing along to the music. I feel myself drawing back into my body, the pink drinks swirling inside of me, Leehan and I on the brink of everyone’s consciousness.
We share a glance, brief and silent. I wonder if he can sense my discomfort. If he, too, feels the spotlight of the pool, drawing eyes to us.
He grasps my elbow gently, cupping my arm in his palm. “Too many people,” he chuckles, tugging on my arm. He pulls me up from the edge of the pool, and I feel a rush of cool air as my legs come out of the water.
As he pulls me away, I grasp for my coverall and throw it over my shoulders. Leehan weaves us through the lawn and toward the side of the house.
There is a thin gap between the building and the backyard fence, only a metre or so wide. The thin alleyway is dark, but as we edge further and further away from the party, it becomes drenched in the orange streetlight outside.
The two of us are hidden in the dark, the side of Leehan’s face glowing neon orange – the slim line of his nose, the plush of his cheeks. His hand falls from my elbow, sliding slowly down my arm until his hand is clasped over mine. My heart leaps up into my throat, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.
I lean against the side of the house, free hand coming to my chest, trying to balance my breathing out again. I can feel him catching his breath, too, laboured as it fans out over my shoulder. Our eyes meet for a second, and we laugh together.
Leehan leans over me, his other hand pressing against the wall, just centimetres from my neck. “Sorry,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the top my hand.
I’m not quite sure what he’s apologising for, quite impressed that he practically scooped me out of the pool and pulled us into privacy, possibly without even being noticed. Is he apologising for jumping the gun, stealing me away without my explicit permission?
“No, it’s okay,” I assure him, a smile stretching my lips. “I wanted out of there.”
He smiles, his lovely boxy smile making my breath catch once more. He leans closer to me, his head dropping down, so his eyes are level with mine. I realise if I lean a tiny bit closer, our noses could touch. “I just wanted to...” He trails off, his eyes flickering away from mine, down to my lips. He’s watching me carefully, analysing my reactions. “... be alone.”
I swallow, but I can’t keep my words down. “Me, too...”
The hand that barricaded me against him comes down to cup my chin, his thumb gently pressing directly underneath my lips. I watch his tongue dart out, wet the soft pink around his mouth. His head cocked to the side, wordlessly asking for permission, wordlessly asking for me .
I nod, feeling my head move only slightly, my silent approval. The brief silence, our eyes locked on one another’s – it feels like the split second before the start of a stage performance; nerves that twist your gut, adrenaline and anticipation and anxiety, your body ready to burst as soon as the in-ear monitor whistles.
That cheeky smile of his pops back up on his lips – our whistle. He leans forward, capturing my lips in his smile. I feel the plush pink of his lips press up against me, the warmth of his body melting around me. He tastes of salty water and sweet, musky, melon liqueur.
Our lips move together in a rhythm that we develop in an instant. His hand moves up the side of my face, his fingertips inching into my hair. In this moment, we are one – wrapped around each other, hidden in the foliage, bathed in the voyeuristic streetlight.
I feel as though I’m swimming again, the warm water pulling me under its swell, my held breath pinching my lungs. My eyes squeeze shut, and I let myself sink into his embrace, letting the world around me dissolve out of focus.
I’m not sure for how long we are wound together, but it feels all too soon when I distantly hear someone calling his name, warped in our periphery. The sound yanks us both out from the depths, and I feel the air fill my lungs quickly as we pull apart. Leehan’s lips are glistening under the little-available light, the remains of our touch.
His eyes are dark, looking into mine. I almost gulp. I had yet to see this side of him – not so cheeky and pure, but rather hot, desperate, almost yearning. Our silence pulls taut between us, and his forehead drops to mine.
“Is that my cue?” He whispers, smoothing my hair back into place with his fingers.
My hands lift to his elbows instinctively, a wordless effort in telling him not to go. He slips out of my grasp, nonetheless. I take a step to follow him but am reminded of where we are, as he slips in through a door on the side of the house, the sound of the party tumbling out into the alley.
I wait a moment, standing alone in the dark, trying to regain my composure.
Trying to figure out how to step back into the party as if nothing had happened, as if I wasn’t a totally different girl than the one who had turned up.
+
When I finally fall into my bed, I feel my head spin and sink, spin and sink.
Moments from the night keep flickering through my head, flashes of aquamarine water and skin glowing orange. Leehan’s relaxed smile, the tips of his fringe damp with water, his hearty laugh. His fingers brushing over my shoulder, tucking my hair behind my ear, and floating near the jut of my hip. His voice lined with laughter, his silky tone, his velvet whisper in my ear.
I toss and turn in my sheets, my mind bogged down with the thought of him against my skin. Every position I try is uncomfortable; my hands feel empty, my hips cold. It might be hours before I finally fall asleep, the blanket curled up in my fists.
Thoughts of Leehan rock back and forth in my mind, like a boat bobbing on the shore, swaying me to sleep.
+
It is several weeks before I see Leehan again.
The sun is setting over Seoul, fringing the skyline in a shimmering gold. The pink dusk sky is the perfect backdrop for an event like this.
As I step out of the car, the static rush of screaming fans washes over me, pulling me to attention. I find my footing in my heels, quickly smoothing the creases out of my dress over my hips. Minji and the other girls step out with me, bright white bulbs flashing a hundred times a minute. My eyes glaze over, trying not to squint into the lights.
We have been nominated for Song of the Year, along with Best Group. Though I lack some confidence that we will win, I’m still honoured to be here. All the hard work – the endless choreography practice, the strained voice, the secrecy – this , this is what makes it worth it.
I have the most glorious gown on – a long black gown that drapes nicely over my hips, showing a modest portion of my chest and not hiding my figure. A big tulle bow balances gracefully on my shoulder, and in the corner of my vision I can see it bob along with me as we traipse the red carpet.
The carpet trails along the outside of the arena, rows of fans and photographers calling out for our attention as we walk, pause, wave, walk, pause, wave. The red path continues into the building, through privacy doors and then out onto the dining floor. There are almost a hundred tables dotted along the floor, outlining the stage and the nosebleed.
A large handful of other celebrities have already arrived, sitting at their tables and clinking their half-filled champagne flutes together. Our table is somewhere near the middle, and a polite girl with rosy cheeks and a hint of a stutter guides us through the crowds. As I sit, my eyes scan the room – there are a few girls I am friendly with already here, dolled up and sparkling in their ballgowns and coordinated outfits.
I step out of my seat, taking my champagne in hand, and hover around the tables, chatting with friends I almost never get to see. We fawn over each other, complimenting hair and make-up, pretending it was all each other’s work.
As I reconnect with the girls, the venue becomes increasingly packed. More idols and other celebrities have started taking their places at the tables, their staff and ensembles filling the space. Fans begin filing into the cascading seats around the inside wall of the stadium, looking down on us with excited chatter.
I always feel a little bit like a little fish in an aquarium, their hands pressed up against the glass, and me, trapped and flapping through the crowded tank.
There is soon talk that the event will be starting shortly, and I realise I should return to my table. Craning my neck, I scan the room to try and find where my table was. In the excitement, I had floated around the room without thinking, and now find myself in the ebb and flow of an ever-increasing crowd.
Awkwardly, I press myself through the horde, searching for my girls, for Minji’s bright pink hair. I keep getting pushed about, wobbling on my heels. Desperation increasing, I look for a gap in the crowd instead, a piece of driftwood to float on, give myself a better view.
I stumble toward the stage, hoping a staff member in their pressed white shirts and little black bowties and wired headsets will pass and toss me a lifebuoy.
As I push myself to the outskirts of the crowd, someone suddenly stands out from their chair, and I bump ungracefully into their side. The floor lurches toward my eyes.
Just as I’m about to meet the ground, someone’s arms slide under my own and clutch at my waist, pulling me to my feet.
Embarrassed, I feel the tips of my ears burn hot and pray that my make up is thick enough to cover the blush I can feel heating my entire face. I mumble out a quick thank you, too mortified to lift my head and meet the eye of my saviour.
“No worries,” they say.
My heart stills – I recognise that voice.
Silky and smooth, a teasing lilt to the words. My head whips around, mouth agape. Leehan laughs and waves at me. “Hello,” he grins, “Long time, no see.”
I chuckle awkwardly, trying to shake the shame off, tucking my hair behind my ear. I go to step away, recollect myself and continue my search for my table, when he starts talking again.
“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
I spend a moment to take him in, his body towering over mine, almost wrapping around me like a glove. He wears what at first appears to be a crisp, black suit, hugging the shape of his body. Upon closer inspection, it is adorned with various decorative elements, including a bedazzled pin and a few purposefully frayed rips. He wears a neat black tie, the knot of it square at the base of his throat. He has a piercing along the shell of his ear, hiding in his hair.
I nod, “Me, too.”
We hadn’t exchanged numbers that night – after he’d ducked back into the house, I had only caught glimpses of him for the rest of the night, our eyes meeting across the room several times. Not having another moment together, we hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, either.
He shrugs a little, fixing his posture, and he’s suddenly a few inches taller than me again. Memories of him bent over and leaning into me keep flickering through my mind, interfering with my ability to think straight.
I realise suddenly that he has asked me another question when his head drops slightly, and his face snaps into my line of vision. He repeats himself, “You looked like you were in a rush, are you okay?”
I feel silly. “I can’t find my table,” I say, my voice meek.
Leehan cranes his neck slightly, and searches over the crowd of slightly shorter people. He squints, adjusting his vision like a zoom lens, and then his eyes brighten. He lifts a finger, “Over there?” he asks.
My gaze follows his finger, and I see Minji and the rest of the girls looking around the room, glasses in hand. I nod fervently, relief flushing through me at the sight of them.
“I’ll guide the way,” he says, beginning to walk away.
I stick close to his back, a loyal puppy stepping behind her owner’s ankles. For a moment, I wish he took my hand – but I remember this fishbowl we’re swimming in and feel that thought fizzle to ash.
The crowd seems to part like the Red Sea as Leehan guides me through. I hear whispers as we pass, people muttering to each other about how handsome he is. Some people greet him as he passes, and he smoothly replies, an easy smile on his lips. The pressure of events like this – interacting with mere acquaintances, keeping up appearances, all under the stares of a million strangers – seems to come so naturally to him.
At last, we make it back to my table, and I see the girls visibly relax and settle into their seats when I step out from behind Leehan’s broad shoulders. I watch Minji’s eyes flicker between us, her champagne glass resting against her lips but she’s not sipping.
Relieved to finally have made it back to the table, I sink into my seat. Leehan’s hand hovers above my head and I think he might pet at my hair, but it falls to the back of my chair. His eyes watch me, surveying me. “I’ll see you later, then?” He asks, once he decides I must be settled.
“Yes,” I say, looking up at him. “Of course.” I watch him nod, bowing briefly to my girls, before turning around and walking away. I keep my eye on him, watching his form disappear into the crowd.
I feel there is so much on the tip of my tongue, so much I wanted to say to him, my jaw feels heavy.
Minji leans over, the tulle ruched over her chest scratching at my shoulder. “What was that?” She asks, and I can feel her eyes looking into the spot in the crowd that Leehan had melted into.
I wave my hand at her, dismissive. Even I am not sure – but whatever it is, I want to keep it with myself, safe and precious in my heart. Something inside of me tells me that if I speak it aloud, into the universe, something will get in the way.
Shortly after, a countdown appears on the jumbotron, and the audience erupts into screams. The lights slowly dim over us, and I submerge myself into the night, ready for what is ahead.
Various groups appear on stage, performing a bunch of different songs, all in their glamorous outfits. A lot of the stages are dedicated to wrapping up this year in music, throwbacks to songs trending in January, and the songs of the summer. I dance along to some of the songs, knowing my face could appear on the jumbotron at any second, but also just enjoying myself.
Soon enough, the awards ceremony itself begins, and I feel Minji’s hand clutch at mine under the table. She chews on her lip nervously, listening to the emcees on the stage. I don’t really know why she’s so stressed about winning or losing, but I suppose that I’ve been a little bit distracted with other things to even care about awards like this. They’re almost arbitrary.
As they announce our group name, I see the camera slide over us, and our faces flash up on the jumbotron. I pose, and briefly wonder if Leehan is watching me.
We don’t end up winning either category we were nominated for, and even though the girl’s give their most graceful ‘loser’ faces, I can tell they’re all a bit upset. I’m a little upset, too, of course. But mostly at myself for getting so sidetracked with something – someone – else, for not putting them first.
BOYNEXTDOOR don’t win the category they were nominated for either. I see Jaehyun nod graciously on the jumbotron, but I don’t catch Leehan’s face at all. I wonder if he is upset, like my girls were, or if he is as distracted as I am.
The night draws on, and I realise I need to go to the bathroom; I’ve been sipping quickly at the bottomless, expensive champagne, my guilt dissolving with each additional glass. I also want to check my makeup, make sure my forehead isn’t so oily it’s become an extra spotlight.
After checking if any of the other girls want to go with me, I scurry off alone to a staff member to escort me. In the stadium, the bathrooms behind the stage are relegated for all the celebrities and their entourages. They’re situated in the middle of a long, curved hall, which is guarded on either side by bodyguards.
I use the toilet quickly and fix my make-up, tapping powder into my brow. I adjust my dress, pulling it up over my chest and checking my figure in the mirror. Alone in the quiet, I can take a deep breath, the roar of the crowd just a distant whoosh from deep inside the hall. Enjoying this moment alone, away from the girls and my lingering guilt, Leehan floats back up to the surface of my mind, bobbing like a buoy on my attention.
Shaking the thought of him off, I pack my powder back into my clutch and step back out into the hall. I take only a step or two, when I notice a figure standing just a few metres from the entrance.
It is as if I summoned him – Leehan is leaning against the wall, his fingers tapping at his phone. When he hears me step out of the bathroom, his head lolls toward me, and a smile pulls onto his lips.
“What…” I start, trying to swallow back my stutters. “What are you doing here?” I ask, as if this isn’t the only way to the bathroom.
He pushes himself off the wall to stand. “I saw you leave your table. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, tugging gently on the piercing on his ear. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
Did he think I was upset about losing? If he thinks I am torn up about the awards, did that mean that he was upset too? “I’m sorry for you, too.”
“I’m not too fussed,” he says, waving a hand through the air. “Always next year. Always bigger and better things.”
A laugh tumbles out of me, his response remarkably blasé. “That’s a mighty positive outlook, Leehan,” I tell him, and he grins at me.
“To be honest, I’m a bit distracted, lately,” he turns his phone over and over in his hands. “Other things I’m aiming for, I guess.”
Taken aback, I’m reminded of the party, him taking my arm and pulling me away from the crowd, wondering if he could read me or if we were just in tune with one another. Are we riding a similar wavelength? Am I always on the periphery of his mind, the way he surfs on the edge of mine?
I feel myself lean closer to him. “Such as?” I venture to ask.
He holds his phone out towards me, the screen open on the dial pad. I look between him and the phone, for a long enough time that he wags the phone gently in my face. I take it from him, trying to recall my secret phone number. It might possibly be the first time I’ve handed it out to someone, everyone who needs to reach me given my number by my manager.
I press the call button, just to be sure, and luckily my clutch starts vibrating. Quickly reaching in, I grab my phone and save his contact.
There’s a long pause in our conversation, and he inches closer toward me. “I saw you on the screen,” he says, almost a whisper. His eyes drop to the floor for a moment, “You look really beautiful, tonight.” His hand lifts, and his fingers play with the tulle bow on my shoulder.
Stammering out a thank you, I watch the smile on his lips.
“I was hoping I’d get to say it to you,” he says.
There is not a soul in the hall, everyone out on the floor watching whatever the next performance was. The bodyguards on either side of the hall are on the fringe of my mind. Hidden out of sight, I try to push them out of my thoughts. Leehan and I are drawing nearer and nearer to each other, as if some external forces were pushing us together, and I’m nearly nestled in his chest.
Feeling the heat of his body, his legs pressed up against mine, his breath on my neck; I feel I’m right back to that night. Can almost smell the chlorine on our skin, taste the melon on his tongue. The scenes from that night have been on repeat on my mind for the last however-many weeks, my brain like a scratched DVD.
How long have I waited to see him again? How many sleepless nights have I spent, head buried in my pillow, fruitlessly trying to sleep, feeling the ghost of his fingers in my hair? How long has he danced on the outskirts of my thoughts, living in the vignette of my mind? I feel the words rise to my tongue, and I can’t stop them from spilling out, “I wanted to see you,” I tell him, looking up into his eyes.
He blinks down at me, his lashes fluttering over his cheeks. “Tonight?” He asks. His hand comes up to my hair, the tips of his fingers brushing over the curl of my ear.
There’s air in my throat, my nerves bubbling up inside of me. I gulp, but it doesn’t stop my words from popping out, “All the time.”
I watch his eyes search mine, boring deep into me. They flicker ever so slightly, trying to figure me out, see if we’re on the same page. It strikes me just how in-sync we seem to be. How so few words, so few interactions can happen between us, but we are somehow connected.
Two magnets forced together, a stray star pulling towards the Earth’s atmosphere, the Sun and the Moon forever chasing after one another.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, so close that his breath fans over his lips.
His eyes are big and round, staring into mine. “Please,” I murmur, and he instantly pulls me into him.
One hand in my hair, he guides our lips together. His other hand rests on the bottom of my back, pulling my body towards his. Our hips meet gently, and I feel his warmth all along my front. He’s careful with me – careful not to mess with my hair, kisses me gently enough to keep my lipstick intact. Compared with our first kiss, these are a series of gentle pecks, as he focuses on the feeling of our bodies pressed up against each other.
I’m not sure what is more intoxicating – his touch all along my front, or the bottomless champagne. What I know for sure is that no fancy champagne will ever be this dizzying.
We kiss for only a few seconds, the sound of footsteps tapping down the hall and approaching us. I hear two male voices, chatting amongst themselves about the award ceremony, complimenting a few of the performances. Leehan stills, lingering on my lips for just long enough that I notice, before he peels away from me. Feeling instantly the loss of his touch, my skin feels prickly and cold.
Suddenly we don the appearance of two strangers – acquaintances, maybe – who happened to be in the same place at the same time. Just as we had been the night of the party; two distant colleagues, two people invited to the same party.
The two men appear around the curve of the hall, barely registering us as they disappear into the bathroom, their voices fading away. Leehan runs a hand through his perfectly made-up hair, and I watch it shift from its precise position, looking a little more dishevelled.
When our eyes meet after a moment, he huffs out an embarrassed laugh, hiding his face behind his large hands.
There is so much on the tip of my tongue, so much I want to say to him. But with loitering ears, I swallow it all back, the words bubbling about with the champagne in my belly. “I should head back to my girls,” is all I can say, feeling my heart swell in my chest.
Leehan nods briefly, lips pressed into a thin line on his chin. “Sure, me too. Not to my girls, obviously,” he says, swaying awkwardly on his feet.
I hold my clutch up. “You’ll call me?”
“Of course.”
+
For the rest of the night, my hands feel empty, constantly grasping at air. My lips purse around nothing, pinching my lipstick awkwardly and I have to keep retouching it.
I keep catching him in the corner of my eye. Chatting with big names, patting his members on the back, taking sips of his drinks. We hover near each other, never close but never far.
Two planets in orbit – passing but never touching.
+
Text messages filter in slowly. He first texts me a few days after the awards show, our replies separated by timestamps sometimes hours or days apart. Over a few weeks, the texts grow in frequency, long strings of chevron messages. My pleasant surprise wanes into an eager waiting; between schedules and during commutes feeling phantom vibrations in my pocket, checking my screen over and over for his name.
We talk about everything and nothing. The more I learn about him, the more I fall into him; the more we text, the more I want from him.
The idea of meeting up has been spun over and over again, worn so thin it is almost as meaningless as a hello or goodbye. Both of our schedules are far too busy at the moment for anything of the sort to happen. It is merely a wish, our text messages punctuated with ‘I want to see you’ and ‘if I were there’.
I am sat waiting for my turn of being photographed, my girls and I modelling for the next issue of Dazed . Make up, hair, and styling done, I wait still in my chair, anxious not to ruin the hard work of the team. Turning my phone over and over in my hand, I wait and wait and wait, desperate for something interesting to focus on. Wonder, as briefly as I can manage, when Leehan will respond to my latest text.
Just as I'm trying to squish the thought down, my phone buzzes in my hand. Instantly, I turn it over, my veins buzzing.
Minji’s name flashes on the screen, and dismay curls itself through the core of my chest.
MINJI: How much longer do you reckon we're stuck here for?
MINJI: Jesus, could you look any more disappointed that it was me texting you? SORRY :(
Looking across the room, I catch her eye, wincing. She is sat on the other end of the dressing room, legs crossed over one another and high-heeled shoe tapping in the air temperamentally. Sorry , I mouth, but she just shakes her head and turns away.
Our manager has organised for us to have the night off, the group of us going out for dinner in a private booth, and Minji has been looking forward to it for several days. More than anyone else, she has been particularly excited about this, skin grey and puffy with stress and the mundanity of our repetitive schedules. This photoshoot is just another thing to check off her list, another thing standing in the way of a stress-free, fun-filled night out. The longer it stretches on, the more it eats into our free time.
MINJI: Don’t worry babes.
MINJI: I’m sure he will message soon :)
Something about her knowing, bringing him up on her own – it's like she invited him into the conversation, into my thoughts, without me doing so. As if I’d been given permission, I let myself think about him, wonder what he is doing right now. He told me he and the boys were having a meeting with their company to discuss the beginning stages of their next comeback.
I wonder if he’s thinking of me.
Eventually, a short, pink-faced man with an earpiece calls for me to follow him to the studio. My scene is gorgeous – a lush green turf dotted with delicate, pastel flowers. The set is adorned with a smoky glow, the lights infiltrating the fog in a gentle pink haze.
The photographer has me lay in the grass, and with a stylist’s help, they arrange my hair and wind it through the foliage, press bundles of flowers up against my cheeks. I feel like a porcelain doll as they poke and prod, admiring me with soft coos and awes.
I pose diligently, following their directions. Endless compliments rush out of the staffs’ mouths, washing over me. My mind is swimming, thoughts of Leehan drifting by me, and the words of the staff are almost enough to keep me floating on the surface, but they fall just short. Through the haze, I imagine Leehan is the one behind the camera, doting on me, praising me.
Thoughts of him carry me through the task, the minutes trickling by.
After my shoot wraps up, they shuffle the girls and I back into the dressing rooms and fit us into new, coordinating outfits for a group shoot. We giggle and gossip behind the curtains, chatting away. I slip into my new look quickly and step out from behind the curtain. One of the stylists is immediately by my side, propelled towards me, pinning pieces of fabric into place and fitting the garments properly.
I wait in silence, letting her jostle me slightly, and pick my phone up from the bench. There are three unread notifications in line on my screen.
LEEHAN: How is your day?
LEEHAN: What do you think of this?
LEEHAN: Voice Memo
It takes everything in me to stop a grin from cracking onto my lips. I purse them tightly, all the excitement locked up inside of me with nowhere to go, my muscles tensing. The tips of my ears heat up, turning pink, hopefully the only indication of the joy racing through me.
The stylist smooths her hands done my sides and nods with finality.
“May I run to the bathroom?” I ask, tucking my phone into the sleeve of the jacket she’s dressed me in.
Her eyes scan me up and down, assessing what damage a bathroom trip could do to her work. After a moment, she nods, dismissing me.
I slip out the door, scurrying down the hall, my phone burning a hole in my sleeve. Heading for the bathroom, I stop just short of the door, the chatty conversation of two women inside spilling out into the corridor.
So eager to play this voice message, I almost push the door open regardless of the two strangers inside, but reel myself back in. It’s mine . He sent it to me . Never mind the risk of the contents being spread, gossip rippling out to a scandal – my mind leaps straight to keeping it all to myself.
Looking around, I spy a small storage closet at the end of the hall. Tiptoeing as quietly as possible, I head directly for the lone door. Twisting the handle, it fortunately winds open easily. Taking one final scan of the hall, I duck into the darkness.
The room is narrow and short, shelves lined with stacks of old fashion magazines, covered in a thin layer of dust. Carefully, I kick an old mop bucket out of my way, wincing as the base squeals against the tiled floor. Propping myself up on a wiry storage crate, I sit and open my phone.
Since his first three messages, he has sent an additional one. A cute sticker of a bear, head tilted quizzically with question marks appearing above his head. An impatient note, he’s been waiting for my response.
I quickly press play on the voice memo, pressing the speaker right up to my ear. As the phone meets my ear, the screen cuts off, and I’m shrouded in darkness.
Leehan coughs, tinny through the speaker. Throat cleared, he begins to sing.
The song winds around me, wraps me up. I can picture him in front of my eyes, the silk of his voice against my ear. A cappella, his pure vocals against the empty room; it’s like a concert just for me.
The lyrics are tender and lovely. Wracking my brain, I try to place this song, wonder if I have ever heard it before. At about sixty seconds, the voice memo cuts off, slicing one of Leehan’s gorgeous notes in half. I quickly play it again, and again.
YOU: That was amazing.
YOU: What song is that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.
Our chatroom is my drug. Immediately after I send my messages, it’s as if suffering through a withdrawal, wondering when he’ll reply again, when I’ll get my next hit.
To my giddy surprise, he opens my messages straight away.
LEEHAN: I wrote it.
LEEHAN: For you.
Immediately, I listen to it again. My heart feels as if it is shimmering, the orange sun on the coast.
YOU: It’s beautiful.
YOU: I love it.
LEEHAN: I miss you.
YOU: I miss you, too.
LEEHAN: Guess what? :)
YOU: What?
LEEHAN: I have the night off!
YOU: Oh~ That’s nice.
YOU: How did you score that?
LEEHAN: We’ve all had to record something to show Zico-Hyung for our next album.
LEEHAN: I was first in and I’m done.
LEEHAN: So now I have free time :)
I sigh, wishing I, too, had time off. Since we exchanged numbers, neither of us has had even a second free at the same time. If it weren’t for dinner with the girls tonight, I might be freed up, too.
Could I skip it? Would that make me a terrible person? A terrible friend? Minji has been looking forward to this dinner for ages, and I know the other girls are excited to let loose a little, too. I turn the idea over and over in my head, weighing the deficits of each choice.
LEEHAN: What are you doing tonight?
I swallow. My chest aches, the weight of this decision heavy and tugging on my gut.
I see the girls every day; we share a bathroom, eat breakfast together, sleep in each other’s sheets. We’re one in the same, together so long we move as one whole unit instead of individual girls.
On the other hand, Leehan and I are trains on two different tracks. Always parallel and moving forward, our rails never destined to meet.
Tonight, this could be my change to get him alone. To pull the rail switch.
YOU: I’m supposed to go to dinner with the girls.
My fingers hover over the keypad, possessed by the yearning inside of me.
YOU: I’d rather see you.
My message is read instantly, again. My heart races, waiting for his response, beating rapidly in the back of my throat.
LEEHAN: Come over?
LEEHAN: I’m not sure what time the boys will get home, though.
I know my girls will be out late, dancing the night away in their private booth, alcohol pouring as if it were free. Whenever we’ve all gone out together, I’ve watched the sun rise on the drive home.
But how am I to pass on tonight without raising eyebrows, without the girls casting me bitter looks? Perhaps, If I feign illness, would they go without me, without feeling scornful for my ditching?
Scheming, I type out my reply.
YOU: My dorm will be empty.
Without waiting for his confirmation, and without smoothing out my gameplan, I send him our apartment address. Once he reads it, he sends me a thumbs-up and a heart.
With his agreeance, it’s like I suddenly come to – I suddenly feel that I’ve been in this little closet for too long, time pressing all around me.
Standing, I reach for the door handle and twist it ever so slowly and peek out into the corridor. The hall is completely empty, and I slip out and pull the door shut as quickly as possible, hurrying down the hall. My body wants to break into a run, and it takes everything in me to hold back my limbs and appear casual.
Minji’s eyes fall on me as soon as I enter back into the dressing room. “You okay?” She asks, he head cocking to the side, her pink bangs swaying in front of her eyes. She presses the back of her pale knuckles to my cheeks, and I feel them cling slightly to my clammy skin. “You look all flushed.”
Planting the first seeds, I seize this opportunity. “Feel like shit,” I mumble, shrugging.
She nods softly, “You were in the bathroom for ages,” she says, rubbing my back. She gently pushes me forward with the group as we are ushered back to the studio. Guilt sits as heavy as a stone in the pit of my stomach, and almost makes me feel as sick as I’m pretending to be.
We reach the set and are arranged like little dolls, then begin shooting. I go through the motions, posing myself and following the directions of the photographers. I put my arms around the girls, press my cheeks up against theirs, force a laugh from my lungs when the team ask for a smile.
Physically, I’m performing perfectly in front of the camera, but mentally, I’m miles away, counting down the seconds until I see Leehan again.
+
We pile into the sleek black van, and I crouch into my seat in the far back. The girls excitedly chatter about what they’ll eat off tonight’s luxurious menu, what songs they’ll sing in the booth. I press my face against the window, pulling my cap over my face.
From the middle row, Minji rolls her head over the back seat. “How you doin’?” She asks, reaching a hand over and rubbing at my knee.
The other girls turn their heads to me, interest piquing.
I just shake my head and turn further away, tucking myself into the crevice of the seats, watching the buildings on the other side of the river pull behind us. I hate lying to them, so I choose to not say anything at all.
Minji turns back over the seat, and the other girls pull in towards her, muttering under their breaths. She tells them I’ve been feeling sick for the whole shoot, but I catch her watching me out of the corner of her eye.
Once we’ve returned to the dorm, everyone hurries upstairs and begins to get ready. I sit on the edge of my bed, pulling my cap and hoodie off and discarding them on the floor. I hear one of the girls turn music on, the bass thumping through the apartment, as Minji joins me in our bedroom, sashaying through the doorway.
She heads for the closet, pulling it open and scouring through the seemingly endless variety of clothes for her night of fun. She has an insurmountable, enviable clothing collection. I watch her from my bed, as she picks through glittery, sheer and sleek tops. I can feel her ignoring me, feel the distance between us.
Minji sucks in a sharp breath. “This isn’t about Leehan, is it?” She asks, not even looking at me. “Are you ditching us?”
I sit up a little bit straighter. Did she see through me? Was I so transparent?
Swallowing, I manage to let a few words stumble out. “What? What do you mean?”
Minji plucks a gorgeous blue and white number from the coat hanger and holds it up in front of herself in the mirror. Seemingly satisfied, she comes and plops beside me on the bed.
Rubbing my back, she sighs. “He didn’t reply to you, did he?” I squint, trying to understand what she’s ascertained from my behaviour. Last she knew, I was waiting desperately for Leehan’s text message. “Don’t be mopey, come out with us!” She whines, shaking my shoulder.
I feel relief wash over me, the truth undiscovered.
If she has chosen to believe that I’m hurt by Leehan’s supposed unreliability, then I will let her believe so. It is the easiest course of action and doesn’t require me to stack up lies in thin layers. I make a mental apology to Leehan for throwing him under the bus.
“You’ll be happier if you come, I promise. It’s girl time, forget him,” she chides. She turns away from me and pulls her hoodie off, slipping the blue shirt on. It hugs her in the right places.
I laugh, watching her adjust it over her chest. “I’d rather mope, to be honest.” She quirks an eyebrow at me, so I slide under the covers, hiding away from her gaze like a kid hides from bogeymen. “Besides, I do feel a little bit sick, anyway.”
Minji clicks her teeth at me, but turns to her dresser and starts her make up routine without another word. I watch her get ready, listening to the other girls milling around the apartment, singing along to music and complimenting one another. It does seem fun, but I’m so much more preoccupied watching the hands wind around on the clock to feel any regret in my decision.
Eventually, all the girls are dolled up and hovering about the living room, waiting to be picked up by our driver. Each girl gives me a cuddle and a peck on the cheek, wishing me to feel better during the night. I watch them from the front door, as they all clamber into the elevator and disappear behind the heavy metal doors.
I wait for the floor counter to decrease by only one floor, and dash back inside. My heart is beating in my mouth, my hands wet with anticipation. Hurrying, I pick up the clothes spread around Minji and I’s bedroom and tidy up the common areas.
Once I’ve tidied, I stand in front of the mirror, inspecting myself. Not having seen Leehan for weeks, these simple grey sweatpants and haphazard ponytail are not going to cut it.
I peel off my sweatpants and sweater and begin digging through my portion of the wardrobe. I swipe through the pitiable collection of clothes. Nothing seems appropriate – I need to wear something cute enough to impress him, but not so fancy or grand that I look like I’m trying too hard.
I slide over to Minji’s side, picking through the options. Looking through her clothes is like shopping at a boutique, tonnes of cute pieces that look cohesive yet unique. Spying a shade of blush pink, I pull out a cable knit sweater, adorned with little black bows along the front. Pulling it over my head, I try it on.
Comfy and cute – it is the perfect fit. I tug on some simple black jeans to match, styling my hair and putting some make up on.
Finally pleased with the way I look, I take a seat on the couch by the front door, chewing on my fingernail as I wait. I watch in unbearable silence, the minute hand of the clock ticking away.
My phone vibrates, the reverberations cutting through the quiet air. Fingers shaking, I open the message.
LEEHAN: Hey, I’m here! :)
I type the building code in and hit send, watching the unread notification disappear immediately. Pacing the room, I try to get the anxiety to slough off my shoulders with each step, calm myself down before he arrives. I can already feel my cheeks hot and pink under the light layer of makeup.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings, the tone bouncing off the walls of the empty apartment. Sucking in a deep breath, trying to level myself out, I head to the door and pull it open.
Leehan stands in the hall, his light brown hair mussed under the hood of a thick hoodie. His eyes stare out at me through the strands of his messy fringe, and his face instantly splits into a grin. Silent as I usher him in, he carefully toes his sneakers off at the entrance, setting them neatly to the side.
The door swings shut behind him, and a pregnant silence hangs between us for the second it takes for the automatic lock to slide into place. He is staring into me, our gaze hooked on one another.
Only a second after the lock clicks, Leehan lunges forward, wrapping his arms tightly around me. Resting his chin on my head, he scoops me up and holds me against him, swaying us gently.
Finally. How many weeks had we waited to see each other again? How long had it been since we first met? In this silent apartment, not another soul around – it is our first moment of total privacy.
His breath rustles through the hair on the crown of my head, his Adam’s apple bobs against my forehead, his fingers tighten ever so slightly on my hips. All these little sensations all at once, it’s almost overwhelming. Zero to one hundred, the feeling of getting sucked into the passenger seat, wanting to go with the flow but not knowing how.
Leehan pulls away from me, giggling softly as our eyes meet. “I missed you,” he grins, ruffling my hair. His hands fall down the side of my face, cupping my cheeks in his palms. I don’t need to tell him I’ve missed him – he knows. He pulls my face toward his, capturing my lips in a gentle, chaste kiss.
I feel him about to peel away from me again, but I can’t let him. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I pull him closer into me. He breathes deeply, sighing into our kiss, understanding me immediately.
Not parting from me, he walks me backward, carefully pressing my back up against the wall. His tall frame pins me up against him, and I feel his warmth all over my front. I feel the anxiety freezing inside my stomach melt away.
The moment I’ve spent weeks dreaming about finally having arrived. The nights spent alone in my bed, rearranging myself in between the sheets, trying to find a comfortable position, one without the imagined comfort of Leehan nestled up against me. Hundreds of text messages, swapping clandestine invites, manifesting moments exactly like this.
I can’t believe I finally have him.
It’s euphoric – fireworks at New Year’s, the end of one chapter, the start of another.
+
If Minji notices her pink sweater strewn on the floor of our bedroom, she doesn’t say anything.
Leehan and I slip into a routine – every once in a while (not often enough to set off alarm bells, but often enough that my yearning is never so deep that it rots my core) one of us will ditch an arbitrary schedule or dance practice to meet up. We can’t always meet in either of our dorms, so sometimes we don thick coats, masks, and caps, and go for walks through the damp, dark back alleys of the city.
Holding hands, kissing under streetlights, and laughing foolishly; we are young and passionate. Sometimes, I can fool myself into thinking we are just normal people – not in hiding, not deceiving our friends and colleagues. So bittersweet are those moments under such a false reality.
I love being in this bubble. It is so sacred, this little secret of ours. I relish in the adrenaline, slipping out of the dorm in the dead of night, the girls’ brows furrowing when I tell them I’m exhausted the next morning. Every moment spent with him, I spend in an elated haze, floating hand-in-hand.
On the other hand, I find myself wishing people knew about us – I want to brag about this love, so vivid and alive. Show off this pretty boy, have his image tethered to me forevermore. Stop hiding in the dark under thick coats and anonymising masks. We find ourselves pushing our luck – meeting when others are around, kissing in the broad, open streets, making phone calls and using codewords like middle schoolers.
Of course, just as fairytales warned us as children, we should be careful what we wish for.
After all, all good things must come to an end.
+
Someone aggressively shakes at my shoulder, jostling me from sleep.
My manager yanks me out of bed, hauling me by my arm out the door. My still-sleeping legs are dragging across the floor, my socked feet desperately trying to help me up. He shoves me against the wall, spitting curses through his buckteeth, smashing his fist against the wall.
Minji and the girls are spread over the living room, in various states of cowering. Manager hurls his unlocked phone at me. It lands only a few centimetres from my head, clattering to the hardwood. Sprawled across the floor, I grasp for it.
Through my blinking, bleary eyes, I see it. There’s a grainy picture plastered all over social media. You can’t scroll through Twitter or even check your Naver Mail without seeing fat red circles and my name in bold.
Someone had taken a picture one night a few weeks ago, sold it to Dispatch for a buck or two. Leehan and I in flagrante delicto, our hoodies peeled back, our lips connected. We’re tucked into a thin side-street, strung with leafy foliage, half-way concealed.
I throw the phone back to the floor, a thin crack along the screen deepening.
My heart is a sharp stone in my throat.
He spits words hot as fire, hissing and vaporising at my feet. How dare you not tell me , and you know this could ruin your career , and what were you thinking ?!
I try listen to my manager’s barrage of accusations, questions, and snide remarks. But all that is in my mind is Leehan, a lighthouse on the rocky shore, a beacon on the other side of the choppy ocean.
I wonder if he’s having insults hurled at him, if his members are crouching over him, taking the blows on his behalf.
I catch Minji’s eye, but look away almost instantly, her wavering expression unbearable – tilting between concern, our manager’s fists swinging wildly, and betrayal, because I never told her the truth.
Eventually, manager picks his phone up from the ground, unbothered by the crack in his screen, the least of his worries at the moment. He leaves, muttering something about talking to the company and trying to sort out my fuck-up, slamming the front door on his way out so hard I hear something fall to the ground and shatter.
The girls are frozen in their places, their pitying gazes boring a dozen holes into my skin.
I crawl back to my room, trying to muster up the strength and yet stumbling on my way. I reach my arms under the still-warm duvet, searching for my phone.
LEEHAN: 12 missed calls
LEEHAN: 25 unread messages
I don’t contact him, don’t even read the messages or dial for voicemail. Thoughts of what he might say swirl through my head, dizzying, and I press my forehead into the mattress.
He could break it off, say it’s for the best. He could tell me how much he loves me, how the universe built us to fit together perfectly, but fate has torn us apart. He could tell me he can’t believe he threw away his career for me.
I don’t know which one would hurt more.
Minji hovers by the door of our bedroom, toeing the line between worlds. She doesn’t say anything for a long time, chewing on the end of her nail extensions. After a while, she sits beside me on the bed, the weight of her body making my head droop into her thigh. Her palm rests on my head, warm and gentle.
“You didn’t tell me,” She whispers, and I hear the thread of pain in her voice, tugging at her words.
Up until now, I haven’t cried – shock numbing me deep in my core – but hearing her voice, lined with sadness, the dam breaks. Hot tears run over my cheeks, melt into the sheets and make them stick to my chin. I sniffle, pressing my wet cheeks into her legs.
“I couldn’t,” I whisper, a sob hiccoughing out of me. “We couldn’t tell anyone.”
She nods, smoothing my hair over the crown of my head. “I know,” she says, because she does, but it doesn’t mean that it hurts any less.
We all know the rules – damned if we do, damned if we don’t. I’ll betray them by keeping it secret, and I’ll betray him by telling them.
Minji stays petting my head for minutes until it’s time for them all to leave. We have a dance practice scheduled, but the manager told Minji he’s not even sure he can look at my face, so I decide to stay home. She tucks me under the blankets, a pitcher of water on the bedside table. She tells me to rest, try not to think about it.
How can I not think about it? My name is being plastered on every news article, a unique hashtag rising to the top of the Twitter charts. Hundreds of thousands of comments, I read as many as I can find until my phone runs flat in my hands.
I push my head into the pillow, trying to smother the angst swelling and seizing inside of me. My brain refuses to fall silent as I lay, wallowing between the sheets, slanderous comments pinging around in my skull like pinballs.
It could have been only minutes, or several hours, but after some time, I feel the gentle tug of sleep pulling me under. Just as my eyes begin to flutter shut, I hear the doorbell ring.
It’s probably the wrong apartment, maybe the wrong floor. Everyone who needs access to the apartment has the door code. Tucking myself deeper into the cocoon of blankets, I wait for the tune to stop playing from the living room. Just as abruptly as the jingle ends, it kicks back up again, echoing through the empty living room.
Waiting, it runs to completion again, and immediately starts once more, this time accompanied by violent banging on the door.
My stomach drops, gut heavy with anxiety. Had a disgruntled fan found me? Had a reporter with a connection figured out our address? Had the paparazzi who snapped the photo of Leehan and I followed me home, waiting for the right moment to pounce?
Tiptoeing, I carefully make my way to the intercom, careful not to make my footsteps heard. Desperate fists still pound at the heavy door, and I can feel my heart inching up my throat, almost in the back of my throat.
Peeking at the screen, a familiar head of long brunet hair stands before the camera.
Leehan.
The jingle ends and his image cuts to black. Instantly, it flickers back on again, the doorbell tune replaying, Leehan’s finger poised at the button.
I run to the front door, yanking it open. His fist banging at the door falls through the now empty space, with such misplaced strength he almost falls forward. The urge to throw myself into his arms is so severe I have to restrain myself, gripping onto the door handle so tightly my knuckles turn white.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, ushering him in. He hovers awkwardly in the hall, eyeing the surroundings before ducking inside. I push the door shut behind him. “Are you not in any trouble?”
He doesn’t take off his shoes, just stands in the entry way. Without the tiny port of the intercom, I can get a good look at him. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, two pink lines running down his cheeks. His shaggy, greasy hair pokes out from underneath a slightly stained hoodie.
“Of course, I’m in trouble,” he scoffs. He tugs on a clump of hair that has fallen over his eyes, twisting it between his fingers. His eyes dart around the room, “Is no one here?”
I nod. “They all left without me. I don’t think anyone wants to see me, right now.”
“Me, either.”
A deep silence droops between us, the only sound the thin rush of traffic, a gentle hum in the distance.
“I’m sorry it had to turn out like this,” he murmurs, sniffling. His words are uneven, squeaking out of his hoarse throat. Seeing his swollen eyes, hearing his thinning voice, and the finality of his apology – my eyes first prick with tears before they overwhelm me. Sobs wrack through my body, hiding my face in my hands.
I hear him before I feel him – step toward me and wrap his heavy arms around me. His head nestles into the crook of my neck, his warm, damp cheek pressed into the junction of my shoulder. His breath fans over me, for the first time in a way that is not erotic or exciting, rather stuttering and nervous.
“I won’t let this be the end,” he murmurs, his lips fluttering ever so slightly against my skin.
My voice wrings out of me in a pathetic whimper, nasally and wet. “I don’t want it to be.”
“Come on,” he whispers into my ear. “Let’s go.”
He pulls away from me, his palms still wrapped around my hips. “Go?” I ask, incredulous. “Go where ?”
Leehan sighs, shrugging. “I don’t know! Anywhere!” He toes off his shoes and runs to mine and Minji’s bedroom, sifting through my portion of the closet. I scurry behind him, my mind whirling. He tugs a thick hoodie from my wardrobe and throws it at me, and I tug it on without questioning him.
All I can think is – I'm already in trouble. Everyone is already pissed at me. No one wants to see me. Wherever we go, this couldn’t possibly get any worse.
Once the hoodie is on, he looks me over briefly, assessing how anonymous I look. I could do with a mask or a pair of sunglasses, but I feel in his impatient swaying that there is little time owed to us. With a satisfied nod, he holds out his hand, open palm waiting for mine. I slip my hand in his, and together we dart for the front door.
In the basement, as we come out from the foyer, a sleek blue car is parked just meters from the entryway. The windows are tinted so dark that I screw up my eyes, trying to peer inside, but am only met with my squinting reflection. Leehan pulls a fob from his pocket and the car beeps, lights flashing momentarily. He opens the right-hand door, ushering me in with his hand, hot on the top of my hip.
Once I’ve slid in, he shuts the door behind me and heads for the driver’s side, his head pointed down at the ground. Within seconds, Leehan has expertly manoeuvred the car out of the garage and into the city streets.
Everything is happening so fast, my mind whirls. I’m not sure where we are headed, and I don’t ask. I put my trust in him, let him coast us somewhere rural, somewhere secluded.
As we peel away from the ash-grey of the city, the muted pinks of dusk slowly melt into a violet night sky. The yellow lights of endless housing towers and office buildings in overdrive fizzle out into the occasional streetlight, dotting the way with a circle of light every few seconds.
We drive and drive and drive, the kilometres stretching out between us and the real world. Between the two of us and the shitstorm brewing back in Seoul. Leehan’s hands switch between the wheel, the gear stick, and my thigh, caressing the inside of my leg gently. The car is warm, the corners of the windscreen fogging up slightly.
We drive until the road runs out, and the sandy banks of the seashore pull into view. The moon is a bright hole in the midnight sky, illuminating the ocean in silver ripples. Platinum sand stretches far out either side of us, the beach deserted except for the two of us.
Leehan toes his shoes off, stepping out onto the sand. Looking back, he extends one hand out for me, his fingers beckoning me closer. Hand in hand, we walk to the water’s edge, watch it surge forward and sink back, let it run over our feet. As the water rushes back from the shore, it feels as though it is trying to pull me in, the sand slipping out from beneath the soles of my feet.
Shifting occasionally, I have to keep finding my balance lest the foundation rushes out from under me and I get sucked into the depths. Leehan giggles as we keep shifting our feet back and forth along the shore, splashing the silvering water at one another. As we continue this strange dance, I am struck by a funny thought.
Do I stay where I am, plant my feet and pray that the sand isn’t sucked out from under me? Do I sit and wait for the jury of the general public, let them decide whether or not they’ll still love me?
Or do I shift? Do I move, hand in hand with Leehan, onto safer, stronger ground?
We have come full-circle – Leehan’s damp and stringy hair splayed over his forehead, his body gleaming in the darkness. His deep, longing stare watches me, calculates my expression. Wet palms cup around my cheeks, pulling me gently into his lips, his contented smile wrapping around mine.
If I had known that first night would set off the dominoes that led us to today, would I have let him hand me a drink, slip into the water beside me? Would I have still followed him down the side of the house? Would I have let him wrap his hands around me, feel his hot skin upon my own?
Watching him now, I think I know I would do it.
No matter what they say, it might be worth it, for once.