Chapter 2
TWO
KIJA
“Let’s do this!”
Jase looks at me expectantly, apparently waiting for me to respond in some affirmative kind of way.
So I punch my fist in the air and give him as energetic a “Woo!” as I can muster before coffee.
I can’t say I’m exactly thrilled at the idea of spending my one free day this week hopping around Seoul trying to find Jase an apartment, but I do want to help him as much as I can.
“There we go,” he says, pausing to glance at his watch. “Should we drive or take the subway?”
I shrug. “Are you planning on buying a car?”
“Right. Subway it is.”
Jase confidently takes off down the sidewalk without me as I wait for him to realize he’s going the wrong direction to get to the station.
He’s almost halfway to the next block before he notices I’m not with him.
Coming to a halt, he swivels his head in confusion, then finally catches sight of me.
I wave, then see him figure it out in real time as he jogs back to me.
“We’re just gonna go this way,” he mumbles as he passes by, now actually headed toward the subway.
I try not to laugh, but judging by the glare Jase shoots over his shoulder, I’m not successful.
There are times that I wonder what he and Nikko must be like when it’s just the two of them.
They are among the best people I know—unfailingly kind and thoughtful—but also not always entirely aware of what’s going on around them.
When we find ourselves on the train fifteen minutes later, quietly sipping our hastily procured flat whites, I almost feel like we’ve gone back in time.
The two tallest guys in the car, trying to stay out of everyone’s way.
The big difference now though, is that our day is just starting, instead of being on our way home after being out all night at a bar or club.
In all the times Jase and I had talked about his potential return to Seoul, never would I have imagined it would be because he was dating an idol.
I knew he hadn’t paid much attention to k-pop as a genre before even when he lived here.
He was into American alt rock, and he’d introduced me to many of his favorites, some of which I still listen to on the regular.
And if I had been asked to pick which of my friends would be least likely to somehow get involved with the industry in any way, shape, or form, Jase would have been the one I’d have chosen.
But maybe his generally quiet, unassuming vibe is actually what makes it work so well.
Even the relatively small number of times I’ve seen him and Nikko together, it’s obvious they fit somehow.
The six years between them doesn’t seem like a big deal, nor does the fact that they exist in two completely separate worlds.
When Nikko is around Jase, all of those things disappear, and there’s a part of me that feels lucky to be able to witness it.
The idol lifestyle is so tightly controlled and unfair in a lot of ways, and the slight rebellious streak I have always celebrates when one of them finds a way to fuck the system.
Nikko having to hide so much about who he is as a person feels a little less terrible when I see him walk into my best friend’s arms and know that he’s safe there.
I care about all of the groups I work with, but like Grace, I have always had a particular fondness for RYSING.
They’re good people in the difficult position of being insanely famous, but they handle it better than most and still manage to have incredible humor and humility.
It’s impressive and makes their success all the more deserved, as far as I’m concerned.
Jase elbows me just before the train comes gliding to a stop, and we spill out with the rest of the passengers getting ready to go about their day.
I think he’s got apartments lined up in literally every part of the city, so I guess it makes sense we’re starting way the hell over here by the university.
I expected that he would want to stay somewhere close to Task Force’s building and Nikko’s place, but I know budget is one of his main concerns.
As good as his gig with the company turned out to be for his relationship, I think the salary offer he ultimately ended up with was a direct reflection of their thinly veiled displeasure about him and Nikko.
While it wasn’t the worst offer I’ve seen, it very much could have been better, and I intend to do what I can to help him renegotiate soon, once he’s more settled and his benefit to the trainees is evident.
Dasom is waiting for us outside the first complex, a portfolio tucked snug under one arm while she uses the other hand to brush her long, wavy hair out of her face as the slight breeze ruffles it. She smiles when she sees us approaching and I give her a little nod of acknowledgement.
Jase stops a few feet away from the door and looks at Dasom and then at me. “You dated her, didn’t you?”
“Why would you assume that?” I ask. He’s not wrong, but I still want to know how he made that leap.
“You have a type,” he says, rolling his eyes. “And that type is standing there with a set of keys in her hand to an apartment that I asked to look at.”
I chuckle a bit. “We went out a few times. She’s lovely. But she is also married to the guy she was seeing before me and then got back together with after our third date or something like that.”
He ponders for a moment before adding, “That also seems like your type. The ones that don’t last very long. But you don’t seem to mind.”
“I don’t. Why be serious if I don’t have to be?” I don’t wait for him to answer before moving in to give Dasom a light, respectfully distanced hug. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, as well, Kija,” she says, then turns her attention to Jase. “The real estate market in Seoul is highly competitive and hard to navigate, but lucky for you, I am the best.”
Jase looks a little taken aback by her bluntness as she spins on her heel to turn away from us. But then he shakes his head, muttering, “So your type.”
???
“We’re having a good time as roomies, right?” Jase asks, defeat evident all over his features. Even his hair seems to have given up, falling mop-like in his face.
I pat him on the back as we follow Dasom and begin to descend the staircase of what I believe is the twelfth building we’ve visited today.
Thankfully it’s also the last one on the list he made.
“I told you there was no hurry. I don’t want you moving somewhere you hate just because you feel like you need to give me my space back. ”
He gives me a weak smile, then grabs the railing as he traipses down the steps. “I figured that trying to find a place would be rough, but I wasn’t expecting this.”
“It’s fine. I promise. Noel basically has me trained at this point anyway. I’d hate for all her hard work to go to waste,” I laugh. “Plus, I’ve got your boyfriend’s strawberry soju tainting my refrigerator, so you can’t leave ’til that’s gone.”
“You know that’s the best flavor. Don’t even start,” he argues.
Finally back on the sidewalk, I’m glad he didn’t like that place—the walk in and out with multiple flights of narrow stairs and no elevator was ridiculous. I say goodbye to Dasom again as she flags a taxi, then ask Jase, “You want to grab something to eat?”
“Sure,” he says, eyes fixed on his phone. He’s been texting with Nikko all day, keeping him updated on our progress—or lack thereof.
I glance around for the options near us, figuring food and a drink or two will probably perk him back up. Of course there are about five barbecue places in the immediate area, so I steer him toward the nearest one.
Jase is still tapping away, totally wrapped up in his conversation, so I find a table and push him into a seat.
He looks up, startled, like he just realized we’ve had a complete change of scenery.
“Sorry,” he says, putting his phone face down to the side.
“My mom has been driving me crazy with questions about everything.”
“Oh? I thought you were talking to Nikko.” I turn my attention to the server when he appears, requesting beer and pork belly to throw on the grill while Jase adds on a few sides.
He grabs chopsticks to twiddle with while he talks.
“I was earlier, but he had something to do, so we were just going to catch up later.” He spins one between his fingers, having to stop and catch it as it nearly flies away.
“She called when we were at the place with the weird closet, and I told her I was looking at apartments and I’d call her tomorrow or something, but she took that as an invitation to start an inquisition. ”
“Moms are like that,” I laugh. If given the opportunity, I think my own mother would call several times a day to check if I’ve been eating well and to see if I’ve met a woman to marry and start giving her grandchildren with.
Honestly, she’d probably do that every hour, on the hour, if she thought she could get away with it.
“It’s weird, though. Mine isn’t. Or wasn’t?
I think I’ve talked to her more since telling her I was moving back here than I did in the last five years before.
You know, we were never that close, but then I decided to leave again and now she wants to talk all the time.
I think my dad might be making her crazy, though,” he says, then reaches for his drink as soon as it arrives with the food, gulping most of it down in one go.
“And how do you feel about this newfound involvement?” I ask, grabbing the pork belly slices with tongs and tossing them on the grill.