Chapter 44
“Your real name,” Jiyeon clarified. “It’s not Eric. I’ve always thought you looked more like an Allen, or a Bruce.”
Eunjae found her hand under the table. “Bruce. Yeah, I see it.”
“It’s not Bruce,” said Eric. “How is this relevant?”
“I think you should answer her question.”
“You’re supposed to be nice. Isn’t this out of character for you?”
“I’m usually nice,” Eunjae agreed, “and you should answer her question.”
Brothers weighed in. What was this guy’s problem?
She’d asked a fair question, and it wasn’t even on the extreme end of the difficulty scale.
Ooh, had Eric forgotten his own name? Could he perhaps have selective amnesia?
They’d played that card already, how boring if they did it again.
Hey Chief, what if we put him in a coma for some variety—
Caving under the pressure of too much animosity from too many brothers, Eric muttered, “Trevor. That’s my real name.”
“Trevor Allen Wong,” Denny intoned, reciting the contents of a dossier stored in his head.
“Stanford University, graduated with honors. Internships at Emerald Entertainment and Prism Strategic Management. Offered a permanent position at Prism two years ago, promoted last year. Speaks four languages.” He rolled his eyes.
“Another one wasted on the entertainment industry.”
"Chief, when was he born?"
"Yeah, what year? Tell us."
Denny's mouth twitched. "1999."
"Ha!" said Namgyu. High fives all around.
Brothers surrounded Trevor's chair, proclaiming that he could call them 'hyung.
' He was younger than every member of Apollo.
Everybody was 'hyung' to him. He should show proper respect for his seniors.
With immense glee, Nicky declared the establishment of 'an unbroken circle of trust.' The Prism handbook: the gift that kept on giving.
"Not me," Jesse screeched, arms flailing. "He can't call me hyung! Trevor, when in 1999? Before August, right? Please, please, please be born before August—"
The Captain confirmed that Trevor's birthday was in May, thus sparing Jesse from having to confront the inevitability of old age. Jiyeon turned to smile at Eunjae. “I knew there was an Allen in there somewhere.”
“You both have weird superpowers,” Ezra remarked, unimpressed as usual. As for Max, he wanted a refund. Trevor? This guy didn’t even look like a goddamn Trevor. He had to be lying.
He wasn’t lying, and Jiyeon’s question had cracked something open, revealing a gap in Eric’s defenses. No, Trevor. This was Trevor, not a faceless enemy concealed by algorithms and glowing screens. Nor was it an army of Prism henchmen with the same name, parroting the same corporate gospel.
She went for it. “Trevor, you said this was your dream. You wanted to work with Apollo. That’s a brand, but it’s also nine people. Real people, with families and friends. You’re a real person, too. Maybe Eric doesn’t care about their feelings, but I think you do.”
Trevor stared at his coffee mug. “Eric is me. I did all of those things.”
“Oh, sure,” Jiyeon replied. “Emma is me, but she’s not all of me, just like Eric isn’t all of you. You don’t have to be famous to have different versions of yourself. Who are you, when it’s just you? ‘Cause I think there’s more to the story.”
“Hope you like disappointment,” muttered Max. “He’s a jackass. That’s the story.”
“No. He’s a fan, and Sunshines don’t love you for being a brand.
They don’t come to your concerts and play your music at their weddings ‘cause they care about a product. They care about Apollo, and that’s the nine of you.
” Jiyeon retrieved the coffee pot, pulled a mug from the shelf, and poured Trevor a fresh cup.
“You care,” she said, “so give the story back to them. That’s all we’re asking. ”
Trevor put his head down on the table. He stayed that way for a while.
They heard the happy chatter of volunteers coming and going, preparing for lunch, hollering about paint rollers.
Raucous laughter filtered through the walls as the audience took over Emma’s podcast episode.
Eunjae closed his eyes for a moment and thought that it would be okay, regardless of everything hanging in the balance.
He’d spent a long time feeling alone, even in a bus packed with brothers, even on stage in a sold-out arena. He didn’t feel like that anymore.
He held on to this optimism until Trevor finally lifted his head and said, “I can cancel the rest of the campaign. There’s no easy fix for what’s already out there, though. It’s too late for that.” He checked his watch, then the kitchen clock. “Yeah… definitely too late.”
“Too late for what?” Kazu demanded. “Ya, call your mom. When I tell her about everything you’ve done—”
Nicky had it pulled up in record time. “It’s bad, Ari.”
“Hyung,” said Max, grabbing Eunjae by the shoulder and shaking him. “This is America. For fuck’s sake, let’s sue him.”
Eunjae didn’t hear anything more. A video looped on the screen, identical to the eight seconds of footage that Eric had shown him before.
Here he was at the wedding, reaching for Jiyeon’s hand.
But that was only the first eight seconds; the rest of the video focused on the elastic band glimpsed just under the cuff of his suit jacket, faded black, printed with flowers that used to be red.
They’d spliced in a few clips of Emma Han wearing the same hair tie on her wrist, presenting posts from 2023, 2022, 2021.
He might have taken it better if Prism had stopped there.
They didn’t. Below the embedded video were still shots of Jiyeon and Arthur on set, and a picture of them exiting the arrivals terminal at LAX.
Eunjae knew who to thank for that one. Seeing nothing but bright, blazing red, he blew through the comments.
>> guys, emma went to that wedding w her EX BF
>> literally it’s a pic of them leaving the airport together
>> omg no wonder ari’s been so sad!!!!
>> this bitch flirted with him at the wedding but went home with another guy
>> She broke Ari’s heart
>> I’m not even a fan but that’s outrageous
>> did u see that ari’s mom unfollowed her on instagram?? bet this is why!
>> EMERALD OUR BOYS NEED HELP
>> THEY HAVE THE SHITTIEST TASTE IN WOMEN
Eunjae made himself read these words again and again. But that was Jiyeon's warm hand on his cheek, calling him back. Calling him home.
“Eunjae,” she said, softly. “This went up about twenty minutes ago.
Emerald will respond for you, right? I know it's not even 4:00 in the morning there, but it won't be long before they see it. I can tell Colette to deny the claims. That way both sides are saying the same thing. Should I have her wait for the agency, though?”
Colette was her agent. She was asking him when to issue an official denial. His response was automatic, instinctual. “I don't want to deny it,” Eunjae told her. “Not the part about you and me.”
She lowered her hand, surprised. “We’re done hiding?”
Jiyeon’s level of surprise was nothing compared to his own; there was a part of Eunjae who couldn’t believe he’d reached this point. “If it’s okay with you. I know I’m asking a lot.”
It had never been normal, for them. That was something Eunjae had failed to give her, although he’d tried, and this would put any notion of normal well beyond their reach. They might regret it. If she didn’t want to, if she wanted to keep things as they were—
“Okay,” said Jiyeon. “Let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?”
Her smile was the sunrise. “I’m sure.”
Brothers went off, their reactions as explosive as fireworks. Again, he heard none of it. Eunjae went straight to the camera roll on his phone. He knew exactly which pictures he wanted to post.
They'd both been hoping for the right timing. But even though they'd lost the ability to decide when, it wasn't too late to decide how. They could overwrite Prism’s version of the story with something better. Something good.
“You don’t have to post,” Trevor informed him. “A denial from Emerald should be enough to bury it, and then you just need write a standard apology. ‘Sorry for causing concern.’ You know how it goes.”
He didn’t even look up. “I won’t apologize. Not for this.”
“We’ll be fine, Trevor.” Jiyeon pushed a Wanna Waffle loyalty card across the table. “Come back sometime. We’ll save a spot for you.”
“That… sounded kind of scary…”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t talk to her.”
“She was talking to me—”
“And you’re grateful.”
“I take it back,” Jiyeon said, wryly. “You made him pretty mad. Try us in about ten years.”
Eunjae did look up, then. “Don’t.”
In the end, they used the same three pictures, stepping outside to take the third together.
The light was better behind the shop. Eunjae and Jiyeon stood on the back stoop as the post went live, going over the statement he was sending to the agency.
Despite being fired the previous night, Apollo’s manager had kindly agreed to handle the rest.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Jiyeon said. “Later, what if we did one more post?”
They’d planned it out by the time Ezra came to find them.
Leila was with him, imperious in a trench and dark glasses.
That was enough of a jolt, but then Simon hurried around the corner from the parking lot.
He reached them just as Leila said, “I’m here for Ezra. He’ll miss the rest of the week, too.”
“Mum, why? I don’t want to miss—”
“Last minute casting call. A friend told me about it. It’s the perfect opportunity, but we’ll have to get you some decent headshots by tomorrow morning. Unless you want to take them for us, Ari? You’ve got at least one of those fancy cameras with you, surely.”
His mother threw that out like a dare. Her words erased color and light, leaving Eunjae with a world rendered in bleak monochrome.
He understood that this was Leila’s parting shot.
The choices he’d made over the last twenty-four hours placed him beyond redemption.
She’d given him up as a lost cause once and for all, but Leila had two sons, and she would try again.
“There’s an acting workshop two weeks from now,” she continued, straightening the collar on Ezra’s rugby shirt. “I’ll talk to Blackridge. He might even miss the rest of the year, if things go well.”
A casting call. Acting lessons. What next? An agent, print ads, a commercial? Jiyeon crossed her arms. “Do you even like acting?” she asked Ezra. “You’ve never mentioned it.”
“Does he have much of a choice? He can’t count on his brother to support him forever, especially not now.” Cold laughter. “I’m not even sure how Ari plans to support himself. If this is all he’ll ever be—”
“Then I’ll be happy,” Eunjae finished for her.
It wasn’t too late. He could stop this right now. He wasn’t a helpless kid, and he wasn’t like his father, lacking the courage to fight back. Eunjae could win a different future for Ezra. Don’t you see? he wanted to shout. Don’t you see that I can’t let this happen again—