CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JASE
“ T his is dumb,” I tell Noel as she growls and yanks at what used to be a butterfly—but now looks more like a very traumatized dragonfly—that I’m holding onto by one frayed antenna. She drops the toy, and I swear she looks offended. “Not you. Or tug-o-war. Obviously.”
Kija’s question had bounced around in my head for 30-plus hours, ricocheting like a pinball. What was I going to do about it? I was torn between thinking I needed to put up a fight and thinking I should stay away because that was what he wanted.
Noel grabs her victim again and trots off, presumably to gnaw its other eye out in peace somewhere, leaving me to slump against the ottoman. For the sake of my own sanity, I had to make a decision. The real problem was both a lack of time, resources, and ideas. I only had one, and I wasn’t sure it was all that good.
Four days from now, RYSING will begin their last three-day tour stop in the States. In a moment of insomnia-induced weakness in the wee hours of this morning, I’d looked up tickets for the concerts, thinking maybe I’d go to the show and just hope for the best once I got there. Maybe I could reach out and see if he’d respond. After seeing that the only available seats were resale and cost more than double my mortgage, I ruled out the idea of seeing them live again. Maybe just being in the same city would be enough?
The looming uncertainty made me feel a whole different kind of crazy, like it would make me some kind of sasaeng—just a stalker lurking about in hopes of catching a glimpse of my favorite idol.
I realize there is maybe one other option, but I don’t like it for several reasons. I know I could call Kija. I probably should call Kija. He’s my best friend, so I should keep him informed of the sad state of my life currently. But something about contacting him to exploit the connections he has makes me feel bad. I certainly have never done it before, as my understanding of what he actually does for Task Force is still fuzzy at best, but I know he has access to the information and people that I need right now. Aside from essentially using him, I also know I would be signing up for a lifetime’s worth of teasing for the level of desperation I’ve reached.
Glancing at the clock, I quickly determine that it’s about 6 a.m. tomorrow in Seoul. While I would normally consider that too early to be on the phone, it’s basically his fault I’ve been in a snit about this instead of just continuing to wallow, so a wake-up call it is.
I find his contact and poke at the screen harder than necessary, like I’ve decided to shift all my frustration onto him and make this his fault. As soon as I hear Kija pick up, I greet him with, “You asshole.”
“Hello to you, too, Jase.” He chuckles, sounding remarkably awake, which is suspicious.
“What are you doing up so early?” I ask, frowning because this somehow disappoints me.
“Waiting for you. Took you longer than I expected, though. I’ve already been out to get an iced americano,” he tells me, shaking the apparently now-empty cup for me to hear.
I huff indignantly. How dare he be so intuitive. “You knew I was going to call.”
“Of course I did,” he says casually. “How many times do I have to remind you that I know you really, really well?”
“At least one more, apparently,” I grumble, then get up because now I want coffee, too. “Okay, so here I am. You’ve lured me in. Now what?”
Kija snorts. “You tell me. You’re the one who finally caught up and figured out you’re in love. Why aren’t you hiding in his hotel room right now while they’re out filming FLY?”
I had no idea they were filming FLY here in the States. Not that there was a reason—or had been a chance—for me to know. I wonder where they are and what they’re shooting. Being in America should make for an interesting episode. But that’s not the point.
“Several reasons. One, I don’t even know where he is. Two, I wasn’t invited to city hop with them,” I pause, exhaling slowly and then taking a deep breath because I hate what I’m about to say. “And three, I haven’t talked to him in almost two weeks. I guess we… aren’t together?”
There’s a clatter, and it sounds like Kija must have squeezed the plastic coffee cup too hard and sent ice cubes flying or something. “Wait, what? I thought he flew you out to see him a couple of weeks ago? What the hell happened?”
“I wish I knew. I went, and it was amazing for a while. I thought everything was pretty perfect and then suddenly it just… wasn’t. He literally said, ‘Thanks for everything,’ and then followed it with, ‘We’re done here.’” Saying it out loud is not any easier than thinking it. And it doesn’t make me feel any better to have shared it with someone else.
Kija’s silence also does not help.
I wait as long as I can stand. “Kija, say something.”
“Fuck.”
“Not what I was hoping for,” I tell him. “But yeah.”
“Just like that? Out of nowhere?” Kija prods, as though I left out some key plot points in the story.
Popping the top to an iced coffee in a can I found in the fridge, I shrug, as if he can see me. “We had a date night in our hotel room. I got flowers and dessert, and it was all kinds of cute and romantic. Everything was great when we went to bed. We woke up, took a shower together, and by the time I was done drying my hair it was like I was with a different person. He wouldn’t look at me, didn’t want to talk, and then when it was time for me to leave, he told me it was too hard and I needed to go. So I did.”
Kija lets out a low whistle. “Damn. I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” I sigh. “For a while, I think I was crazy enough to believe we could have made it work.”
“You’re not crazy,” Kija argues. He’s quiet again for a moment, then says, “I’m not making excuses for him. But trying to look at things from his perspective. This is huge. Starting a relationship like this would be a really big deal. That group has been his whole life for the last—what?—six years? Task Force has three-to-five year dating bans written into their contracts, so that they can’t even entertain the idea of being with someone without some kind of penalty. Some idols try anyway, but a lot of them, especially when they’re starting out, don’t have the time, energy, or resources to sneak around.”
He pauses, like he’s letting this sink in for me, and I’m glad, because it is a lot to process. I appreciate his perspective because he’s got so much insight that I don’t. I had not considered that not only would this be difficult for Nikko, but also scary. He was so brave with me, so willing to be open, that I never stopped to think how much he might actually be afraid of.
“Talk to me, Jase,” Kija prompts when I’ve been quiet too long. “Getting more in your head about this is not going to help anyone, but especially not me since I’m the one who’s going to have to pull you out.”
I take a sip, tasting more aluminum can than the caramel cold brew I was promised. “You’re right; I hadn’t considered any of that, really. I know it’s all new but I didn’t think about… I remember him saying now that it was so nice to have someone to talk to outside of the bubble he’s in. So this thing with me is like a whole different world in so many ways.”
“Yes,” Kija agrees. “He knows how to be an idol. He’s been well trained for that. He has no idea how to be a boyfriend or handle a relationship like you both obviously want, because he’s never had the chance. Think about the first guy you were serious about…”
Scoffing, I cut him off. “I’d rather not.”
“—and what a disaster that was,” he continues as if I hadn’t even interrupted. “I wasn’t there for it, but I heard enough. You were in a really normal situation with a shitty guy. It took you a while to figure all of that out. Nikko—and you—are both in a difficult situation with a great guy. You’re not going to get it right on the first try.”
“Thank you, Dr. Kim,” I grumble, then chug the rest of my disappointing drink. “You are annoyingly astute sometimes.”
“You really are frustrated; you’re bringing out the fancy words I have to guess by context clues and your level of indignation,” he laughs.
“ Astute is not a fancy word.”
“If English isn’t your first language it is. Which you should know, as a language tutor .”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that one,” I concede. “Since you’re so wise—there’s your context clue—tell me what to do.”
“Oh good, I was right.” He sounds pleased, but then takes one of those breaths that says, how do I put this? “I think you need to show him you’re serious. That you’re willing to do what it takes to make this work, if that’s what you want. Tell him you’re in love with him. He’s the one who needs to know, not me.”
After rinsing out the can for recycling, I step on it. Crushing it under my foot is far more satisfying than the beverage was. “But how? It’s not like I can just show up and be all, ‘Hey, Nikko, I love you, let’s talk about this.’”
“Why not?”
I want to strangle him through the phone. “Why not? Why not ? Security, for one. Literally everything else, for another.”
“I’m rolling my eyes right now, just so you’re aware,” he informs me, as if I hadn’t guessed that already. “You know where he is. So get yourself together and go.”
“Kija…”
“Jase…”
“You’re doing the thing again,” I grumble.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re waiting for me to crack, and we both know it.”
“Can you do it a little faster? I’ve got shit to do this morning,” he says. “And I’ll have more things to do if you’d just ask me.”
I groan, and I can hear him start to laugh. “I don’t want to, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Please stop taking yourself so seriously,” Kija requests. “I’m going to help you, but I need to hear the words.”
Taking a deep breath—while clenching my fist in aggravation—I prepare myself to grovel. “Kija, I am asking you to help me. I can get there; I just can’t get close to him. Can you tell me what hotel they’ll be at, or, I don’t know… anything that will put me in front of him long enough to profess my love and devotion?”
“There we go. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He teases and I can hear him tapping away at a keyboard. “I’m going to do better than just give you a name. I’m going to request a room for myself and be suddenly unavailable to use it, but they don’t need to know that. You get a flight, and I’ll let you know when to be there and where to go. And I will let him know you’re waiting for him. Whatever happens after that is up to you, so don’t fuck it up.”
I’m so relieved I kind of want to cry. At least I have another chance. “Thank you, Kija, seriously.”
“You’re welcome. I definitely did not see myself playing matchmaker, but clearly I have. Maybe I’ll have to add ‘stealth romance coordinator’ to my increasingly impressive resume,” he comments as he continues typing.
“I’ll write you an excellent letter of recommendation if this works out,” I promise.
“Make it work, Jase.”
? ?? ??
I’m not sure I’ve ever been more nervous in my life. My stomach is in knots, and my heart seems hellbent on escaping from my rib cage. Even the first time we met in person didn’t seem this bad. But there’s so much more at stake now. If he won’t talk to me or doesn’t give me a chance, I’m going to spend a very long and uncomfortable flight back home trying to figure out how to go on with the man I am very much in love with right there in my face all the time.
Is this why celebrities only seem to date each other? Because normal people just can’t handle the fallout? The idea of going about the rest of my life without him in it while seeing and hearing him absolutely everywhere makes me a little bit nauseous.
My hands are sweaty. I keep wiping them on the weird upholstery of this imitation mid-century chair in the hotel room. This is another one of those places I’d never stay on my own, and I still haven’t figured out who’s paying for this room, but I’ll let Kija deal with that. I can always add it to the list of things I owe him for.
I don’t know what to do with myself while I wait. The last few days have been another whirlwind of making arrangements and packing and finding someone to watch Noel. The last dog sitter was out of town, her doggy day camp didn’t have any available boarding reservations, and I hated the idea of leaving her with a total stranger.
In what was either a stroke of genius or a very bad decision, Noel is now spending a few days with “Uncle Tyler and Aunt Jessi.” I had tried to force a smile as Jessi referred to herself and Tyler as that repeatedly, as I was grateful they agreed to help, but also deeply uncomfortable with that. When I’d called them, Tyler had been all too happy to agree to let Noel hang out with them, hoping it would change Jessi’s mind about wanting a baby and maybe they could just get a dog instead. As long as they take care of her, I’m good—they can save the rest of their issues for the marriage counselor they’re going to need soon.
Deciding I can’t just sit here anymore, I take the elevator down to the mini-market in the lobby to buy myself a wildly overpriced soda and take a little walk around the outdoor space I spotted on the way in. There’s a pavilion with string lights, a fire pit, and some very low-to-the-ground couches that look like a great backdrop for a social media post, but I can’t actually picture anyone using it as intended.
Right now, I can’t really imagine anything past tonight—what might happen either way. He could refuse to see me, and I spend one horrible night in this swanky hotel then go home miserable. Or maybe he’s willing to hear me out. Maybe I’ll be able to wrap my arms around him again, even fall asleep beside him.
I shake my head, chastising myself. I can’t think like that. Whatever happens, happens. And it’s up to him. Checking my watch again, something inside me lurches, anxious. I should go back to the room, wait it out there.
As soon as I close and lock my door, my phone alerts me to a new text, and I fumble trying to yank it out of my pocket. It’s Kija.
“He knows you’re there and where you are. Good luck.”
The room seems to tilt, and I sit down on the edge of the mattress.
Is this the now or never everyone talks about?
Even though I practiced a thousand things I wanted to say to him, I can’t remember any of them. I honestly don’t know what I’ll do when he shows up. If he shows up. Whatever feels right in the moment, I guess.
Each minute seems to crawl by slower than the one before it.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Twelve.
Sixteen.
With my head in my hands, I’m trying to remind myself to just breathe. He’s been performing. He may want to shower. Or change clothes. He could be talking to Lalo about what he should do. He could have just gone to bed.
Maybe he’s not coming.
Maybe I’m here for nothing.
I might be waiting for something that just isn’t going to happen.
All of the maybes send my thoughts back to Nikko telling me that every time they sing ‘ maybe ’ on stage, he thinks of me.
I can see it in your eyes
maybe you feel the same
I know I feel it in your touch
maybe you want me like I want you
I hear it in your voice
maybe that’s why every word
sounds so true, so sweet
maybe we’re meant to be
The lyrics still make me swoon. Maybe even more now than they did before, because it feels like they were written about us.
Twenty two minutes.
There’s a knock at the door.