CHAPTER EIGHT
JASE
“ J ase!”
Even though I’ve been trying to prepare myself for what seems like hours, I’m still startled when Nikko appears on-screen.
I’ve seen him everywhere for the past week—all the videos, articles, websites, the stack of teen magazines I bought at the bookstore without ever making eye contact with the clerk—but it doesn’t lessen the effect of him being right in front of me.
He looks even better than I remembered. Like all those days of not seeing him face-to-high-def-digitized-face had somehow made the details of his features hazy in my mind. Which sounds ridiculous, even as I think it. But there he is, with his dark eyes all lit up like he’s glad to see me, and his smile is just... devastating.
“Hi, Nikko.” The words come out quieter than I mean for them to, sounding low and intimate. Maybe they are.
“I might have forgotten all my English if it had been much longer,” he says, his tone teasing. But then his whole expression shifts, and he looks softer, sweeter. “I am happy to see you.”
“Same. And I’m sorry. It’s been a weird week,” I tell him. It’s the truth, but not the whole truth, and it feels wrong. I still have no idea how I’m going to tell him, but I know I have to.
“It is okay. You are always working with me. I need to do that for you, too.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it’s just that simple. “Is it still weird?”
Is it weird that I’ve seen him dive off a pirate ship holding a plastic parrot? That I’ve watched multiple videos with clips of him eating and sleeping and sneezing but I’ve never witnessed him do any of those in real life? That I’ve seen him cry at awards shows when he and the rest of the members are surprised by a win? That I know one of his “brothers” admitted to “borrowing” his underwear when they were too lazy to wash their own?
“A little,” I say and at least that’s honest. “It’ll get better, I think.”
He’s gazing at me, and it’s not quite the Look of Concern, but it’s definitely adjacent. “How are you? What have you been up to?”
“I am fine. Lots going on. But I like that, most of the time.” He grabs a water bottle and takes a sip.
Instantly, I’m thinking of the compilation I saw of Nikko drinking out of water bottles on stage in a way that was oddly sensual, chasing the other guys around to douse them, and occasionally pouring the contents over his own head like a literal wet dream before chucking it into the audience for a bunch of rabid fans to fight over. This does not help make things less weird for me.
“Jase?” Nikko’s brow is furrowed, like it might not be the first time he’s said my name.
God, this is worse than I imagined. “Yeah? Sorry. I guess I glitched a little.” I try to laugh it off, but I can tell he’s not having it.
“Are you okay?”
“Yep.” I snap my fingers as quietly as possible, trying to get Noel’s attention from where she’s dozing by the window, stretched out in a sunny spot. When she looks at me, but refuses to budge and come to my rescue by giving Nikko something else to focus on, I feel like I’m at a loss. So I go back to the beginning, asking a question I haven’t had to bring up since our earliest chats, because there hasn’t been an awkward lull in conversation since then. “So, what should we talk about today?”
Nikko legitimately frowns. “What is wrong? Did I do something?”
“What? No. You’re fine.” I could not make this more uncomfortable if I was actually trying. The last thing I want is for Nikko to feel bad. I had thought I was back to good, having realized that what I liked about Nikko was more important than anything else. But having him in front of me is clearly showing me I was not as successful as I had originally thought.
“I can go. If you need to do… if you need time,” he says, hesitantly. “I do not want to stop you. From doing anything.”
I shake my head and have to force myself not to reach toward the screen as though I could physically keep him from going somewhere if he was going to leave. I have to get my shit together. “No, Nikko. This is exactly where I want to be.”
He’s looking down, fidgeting, like he used to do early on when he was nervous.
It’s like I’ve undone months of progress and the easy connection we had in less than ten minutes. But it’s not just the time we’ve been in this session. It’s also the days we weren’t speaking. I hate how it feels, and that I don’t know what to say or how to say it. But I need to fix it.
“This is not right,” Nikko murmurs. He glances back up at me. “Something is wrong.”
I take a deep breath. I’ve got to do it. “Nikko…” He meets my eyes through the screen and it makes my heart hurt, how it looks like he’s bracing himself for the worst. “I’m sorry. I said things were weird and they have been. But that’s on me, not you.”
“Explain, please.”
Scrubbing my hand over my face, I try to recall the thousand ways I imagined saying this to him, and none of them come back. Not that I thought any of them had been especially good attempts, but now, it’s like I don’t have any words at all. I can feel the heaviness of the silence as it stretches between us.
He squirms, and I know I’m just making this impossibly bad for both of us. I can’t stand it anymore.
“I just found out who you are,” I blurt, immediately regretting that I’ve made it sound like he’s some sort of felon or villain who’s trying to hide his true identity. “I mean, I know what you do. That you’re famous.”
Nikko’s expression gives nothing away, but his eyes seem sad in a way they hadn’t before. “Ah.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know if that was supposed to be a secret or not. I had no idea when we started talking, but I found out by total accident, and I kind of freaked out because I didn’t know if I was allowed to know or not. Or if you’d want me to. And then I felt guilty, and that’s why I canceled our last call.” I stop to get some air after spilling all of that out, but the truth doesn’t make it any easier to inhale.
He doesn’t say anything else, but he’s got his chin propped up on his hand, looking down at his keyboard, away from me. This might actually feel worse than all of the uneasiness before I said anything. Maybe I should just be glad he didn’t slam the computer closed or stomp off.
I can hear him breathing, just barely, and see the flutter of his eyelashes, but that’s all he’s giving me. I wait as long as I can before the non-response is so loud that it’s almost oppressive.
“Nikko? If this is a problem, I can go. I’ll end the call and that can… we can be done.” There’s a wobble in my voice, and I don’t even try to hide it. The idea of not speaking to him again is so awful, I hadn’t even dared consider it before. But now, it seems like a real possibility. I clear my throat, and that makes him look back in my direction. “I just need you to know, everything you’ve said is safe with me. Please don’t ever worry about that.”
If that’s one of the last things he hears me say, I want it to be that I would never betray the trust he’s placed in me.
Something like panic flickers across his features. “I did not think that,” he says, but it sounds like he’s doing just that. Like he’s wary of me, when he wasn’t before.
“I’m sorry, Nikko. I didn’t mean to make it... like this. I was talking to some students at school, and they happen to be huge fans. They were showing me videos and talking about biases, and then there were pictures, and I was so surprised to see you. But I didn’t tell them anything. Obviously. I wouldn’t. I won’t.” I’m rambling again. I’m nervous, and I can’t tell anything about what’s going on in his mind while I keep word vomiting.
I make myself stay quiet and wait him out.
“I believe you,” he whispers finally. There’s another long pause, but eventually he continues. “I was shocked. That you did not seem to know. But I liked it.”
This only leads me to believe that he does not like that I do know now. Maybe he’s having the same kind of trouble I did—having to shift his perceptions of Jase-who-didn’t-know into Jase-who-does-know. I want to tell him that nothing has to change, but I’m not sure I can, because it feels like something has shifted already. I’m off-kilter. He is, too. I have no idea how to make it right.
I’m about to open my mouth to apologize again—as if that would help somehow—when he looks at me, directly and intensely, catching my gaze and holding eye contact. It seems more aggressive than anything he’s done in the past, like what he’s about to say will be what determines how or if we can move forward from this. “Does it matter?”
“No,” I answer quickly, because it doesn’t—not now. But I want to tell him the rest of the truth, too. “It did. For a day or two. But that was for me, trying to adjust to the idea.”
“Did you?” He bites his lip, apprehensive.
“I’m trying,” I tell him. “Maybe it’s stupid, because you’re not different. You’re still you. And I knew there was a lot of stuff about you I didn’t know, and that we didn’t talk about. Which is fine. I understand why you didn’t want to. Or didn’t feel like you could. Or whatever reason you had. I don’t want you to. No, that’s not what I mean. I just...I wouldn’t ask you to. Not because I don’t care. I do care. I want you to tell me things. But only what you want to.”
“Jase.”
I’m grateful he interrupts me, saving me from myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been this big of a disaster around someone. It’s just becoming very obvious to me that I am so much more invested in this—whatever it is that we share here in this virtual space—than I had realized. And I already thought I was in pretty deep.
“Yeah?”
Nikko tilts his head a little, which makes him seem younger, like a curious kid. “Can we keep talking?”
Suddenly hopeful, I straighten up, looking directly back at him. “Like, now? Or in general?”
“Both?” There’s a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re okay? With that? You want that?” I’m ready to throw prayers to any minor deity I can name, requesting that he does, indeed, want that.
“I liked that you did not know. I do not have friends like that. Everyone I know is part of this.” He twiddles with one of his earrings for a moment. “But I want to talk to you. I have said that before. It is still true.”
“I want that, too,” I admit. I think my cheeks might be a little warm. Probably more than a little pink.
“It is easier, maybe. Now that you know. I do not have to be so careful with my words,” he muses.
I chuckle. “I knew you weren’t always trying to figure out the right English word, but I didn’t know what it was you were looking for. It makes sense now, though.”
“I did not want to say too much.” He sighs, then grins at me. “I think this is better. I can tell you whatever I want to.”
I nearly shout that I want him to tell me everything, but I already have emotional whiplash from everything that has happened since we’ve been on this call, so I keep that to myself for the moment. “I’d like that.”
“Did you want to stop talking to me?” he asks suddenly.
“No. Not at all. But I would have, if you were uncomfortable with this—with me knowing.” I debate whether or not I should for about a half a second, before I tell him, “I would have hated that, though. If I wasn’t going to see you again.”
I’m not sure I can accurately describe the way his entire person seems to morph with what I said, but it tells me immediately that telling him was the right thing to do. I’d put my whole heart on the line for him to look at me with those soft, starry eyes and expression that’s kind of dreamy.
“Every day we did not talk, I missed you,” he says, and I think, not for the first time, that I wish I could kiss him.
“Me, too.” I feel bashful, but he’s being brave in what he’s admitting, so I can be, too. “I still saw you, though…”
He raises an eyebrow. “How?”
“I, uh, maybe watched some videos,” I confess. I don’t necessarily think I need to say that “some” doesn’t even begin to cover the actual number that I have seen, but that will stay between me and my YouTube account.
“Videos? What kind?” As if he doesn’t know.
I shrug, trying to be casual. “Music videos. Some fan made stuff. Maybe an episode or two of FLY…”
He covers his face as he laughs. “Oh. Oh no. Why would you do that?”
“Because I wanted to learn!” He stops laughing, like he’s surprised. So I keep going. “I wanted to know more about your group. More about you.”
The blush is instant, spreading from the tips of his ears to his throat. It’s adorable. He’s beautiful.
“What did you find out about me?” There’s a hint of anxiety in his question. Like he’s worried I’ve seen something I didn’t like, or that might change the way I think about him.
“Well, first, I discovered that you have a lot of very passionate fans who dedicate a lot of time to curating collections of clips about extremely specific things about all of you,” I say and he’s smiling again.
“They are amazing. They are so good at what they create. I love to see them. We all do.” He prompts me for more. “What else?”
“I don’t think I understand any of your music videos,” I admit. Every single one I watched left me with more questions than answers, the concepts way too abstract for me.
Nikko laughs loudly, his head thrown back. When he takes a breath, he leans in close to the screen, speaking conspiratorially. “I do not think I do either.”
I find this hilarious, but it also makes me feel significantly better. While he’s right there, I tell him something else true. “I also learned that you’re incredibly talented.”
He pulls back, putting space between himself and the computer as he tugs the collar of his shirt up to hide behind. It’s ridiculously cute.
“And, perhaps most importantly, you make a great pirate.”
He groans, but lets the shirt slip back into place. “That was a fun day. But I did not like the bird.”
“I don’t know,” I say, grinning. “I enjoyed the parrot. I thought you really made it work.”
Nikko rolls his eyes. “Ryo named it Pasta. I think he brought it to the dorm with him.”
I might cackle a little bit at that—the mental image I have of the tacky plastic parrot, now named Pasta, apparently, hanging around the dorm where these six 20-something guys live. I’d seen pictures of their living space in a video, and I do not recall it looking particularly hospitable to any kind of additional residents, even of the faux-feathered variety. The easy way he mentions Ryo now is nice. It feels like he’s more comfortable, because he doesn’t have to worry about slipping and mentioning details he didn’t mean to. Maybe this is a good thing after all. Maybe the best thing that could have happened, even.
That reminds me of something I have been wanting to ask him, since I couldn’t figure it out based on anything I’ve seen online. “Okay, I have to ask this because I keep wondering. Which of the guys is the zombie fan?”
“Tang!” He laughs again, and I love the sound of it so much. “He likes those movies. And talking about what would happen if there was a…” He trails off and I recognize that look, but this time I think he actually is missing a word and not trying to debate about what he can and cannot say.
“Apocalypse?” I guess.
“Yes! That.” Even while he’s shaking his head like he thinks his friend—his brother—is crazy, his fondness is still so apparent. But then he’s serious again, gazing at me through the screen, but it’s so intense I can feel it like some kind of physical sensation. “I am happy I can say things now. I want to be able to do that.”
“I want that, too,” I reply, without even thinking about it. An automatic response that echoes the relief I feel, as it seems we are back to normal, but a new and improved version. It’s more than I could have hoped for. “I want to know.”
Nikko smiles at me, a gradual upturn of his lips that makes his whole face glow and my heart trip over itself. “I will tellyou.”