Chapter 10
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LUX
“You’re coming with me.”
A shiver had run down my spine at the firm tone of his voice. The determined look on his face, his handsome features made sharper by the conviction in his expression, had me ready to go to my knees.
Of course I was going with him.
Where else would I be?
Even though Kija had originally tried to say that it would be better if I stayed at home, close to Nikko and Jase and the rest of the members as the news about him and Chaeji seemed to consume every Seoul-based news outlet, I was prepared to fight him.
I understand he wanted me to feel safe and comforted, but I could not be either of those things without him.
Sneaking away like this had always seemed like some sort of impossible dream with our packed schedule and the constant vigilance of the company, keeping an eye on our every move, even on our breaks.
But somehow, suddenly, my schedule was clear, and Grace was assuring me that my absence would go unnoticed.
I don’t know what she did or how she did it, but I trust her.
She’s been on my side since the beginning.
As I tuck my face into Kija’s shoulder to keep the wind from whipping my hair across my cheeks, I feel his arms tighten around me. It’s protective and a little bit possessive, the way he’s shielding me from not only the rest of the passengers on the ferry but also the rest of the world.
I’m more than content to let him hold me—happy just to be close to him—until he nudges me to turn around. I start to grumble until I realize he’s directing my attention to the horizon and the hazy outline of Jeju Island.
Growing up, Jeju had always seemed a mythical place to me, somewhere people who could afford it went on long holidays, and that was never my family.
I didn’t realize it was also home to a tight-knit community of residents who lived there year-round, until I had gotten to go once with the group to film some episodes of FLY.
I had also been legitimately surprised to find out Kija had been born and raised there, until he moved to Seoul for university.
With land becoming clearer, the nerves I’d had on the drive from Seoul to Mokpo return.
Even after nearly four hours on the road with Kija reassuring me that his parents know I will be joining him and they knew we are together, I’m still anxious.
I want them—no, I need them—to like me, to approve of me, so badly it makes me sick to think about any alternative.
“Stop worrying,” Kija tells me, pressing a kiss to my temple because he knows exactly what I need. “They’re going to adore you, I promise.”
His parents know about me.
Of all the unexpected things today has brought me, learning that Kija’s parents are aware that he has a partner who is a man and are apparently unbothered by the idea has been the biggest one by far.
When he told me about the chat they’d had when he had asked about coming to visit with his partner, his mom’s excitement about him finally having someone he wanted to bring home was greater than the fact the person was not a woman like they had always expected.
I can’t imagine telling my own parents I’m bringing my boyfriend home. Their general disdain over knowing that I am gay is enough—having to be confronted by it with a significant other would probably be too much for them.
Kija drops a kiss to the top of my head, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You want to go back inside and get ready to find the car?”
I nod and take his hand when he offers it to me, sticking close to him as we leave the ferry’s upper deck and descend the staircases to where we left the car nearly four hours ago.
It’s been a long day of traveling between the drive and the boat ride, and I’m tired, my body restless from the lack of real activity.
We could have taken a flight and gotten to Jeju in about an hour, but planes mean airports—and people watching us.
Nobody expects to see an idol on a ferry full of families headed for vacation.
Hiding in plain sight seems to be the way we operate for now.
I might not like it, but if this is the way I can be with him, I’ll take it.
We’re back in his car and driving off the boat before I know it, just another vehicle in a long line. Kija reaches over to rest his hand on my thigh as we roll off onto the dock, and I smile immediately at the warmth of his touch.
The drive to his family’s home only takes about twenty-five minutes, giving me just enough time to catch glimpses of the area where he spent his childhood as we go. I can see the sea almost the entire time, and it makes me wonder what it would have been like to grow up somewhere so lovely.
“This is it. First eighteen years of my life, right here,” Kija comments as he parks in front of a house that looks like something I would have dreamed up in a fantasy about Kija and I far in the future, together, married if it were possible, a couple of kids running around in the well-manicured lawn.
“I like it a lot more now than I did then.”
I look at him curiously. “What is there not to like?”
He gets out of the car and comes around to open my door.
The chivalry that comes so easily to him never ceases to amaze me.
“It seemed so basic, I think, when I was younger. It’s an older house, and all my friends were moving into these new houses that were being built to make everything look more modern and appeal to tourists.
I felt like it wasn’t good enough, I guess.
Now I see it for what it is—sturdy, cozy, welcoming, full of love and happy memories. Everything a home should be.”
I’m hit with a wave of complicated feelings as I follow him to the door, reflecting on what he said.
I’m so happy that he feels this way about the place his parents live, but sad for myself that I didn’t know what any of that meant until I met the members of RYSING.
Until I started to really feel it when I’d spend nights with Kija.
The front door swings open, and Kija’s parents come running out, looking eager to see their son and who is with him.
It’s immediately obvious who he gets his good looks from—his father is handsome in an intimidating sort of way, his features more severe than Kija’s but so similar.
And his mother might be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
She’s softer and looks sweet somehow, but could easily be a model.
Kija turns to me as they approach, setting our bags down to pull me into a hug.
“You’re already their favorite person,” he murmurs, the dry press of a soft kiss against my forehead.
The delighted gasp from beside us makes me laugh in Kija’s arms and he chuckles in response. “You’re not subtle, eomma.”
“I have been waiting for this day for years!” she exclaims. “Let go of him. Let us meet him.”
Any fear that I had seems to vanish as I look over to see his parents—his mother beaming at us with her hands clasped together over her heart, his father with a bemused grin on his face.
“Hello,” I whisper as I step back to give myself room and bow to them so deeply I’m nearly folded in half, my face close to my knees. My respect for these people, for the man they raised, is so intense and overwhelming, going fully to the ground to show them crosses my mind.
“Sun, come back up,” Kija coaxes, his voice full of fondness. Once I’m upright again, he says, “Eomma, appa, I’d like you to meet Yung-Sun. My boyfriend.”
There’s a chance my heart will explode any moment.
Being introduced to his parents as his boyfriend thrills me so deeply and intensely that I can’t even describe it, but seeing both of them smile back at me, wide and bright, almost brings me to tears.
When his mother reaches to pull me into a hug, I have to bite my lip to stifle whatever embarrassing sound is trying to escape, from all these emotions I’m feeling at once.
She squeezes me tightly, then his father pats me on the shoulder. Kija waits until she releases me and says, “Sun-ah, these are my parents. Kim Sangcheol, my father, and Soohee, my mother.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, still quieter than I’d like, still unsure because I realize that I have no idea how to address them.
Soohee slips her arm through mine and begins walking toward the house, and as though she can read my mind, tells me, “You can call me eomma. And my husband will be appa. If that’s okay with you.”
I have to blink away the tears that gather in my eyes immediately.
I had hoped that they would like me, but this easy acceptance they seem to have of me and my relationship with their son is nearly too much.
“Yes. Thank you, eomeonim.” I use a more formal version of mother, partially because we just met but also because I feel like she deserves all the reverence I can give her.
“Go easy on him, eomma,” Kija calls from where he’s still standing with his dad.
“He’s mine now!” Soohee yells back, and I decide she might be my new best friend.
??? ??
“We called him Gyuli when he was little,” Sangcheol says, tipping his head and coffee mug toward his son with a sly grin.
“Okay, we really don’t need to do this,” Kija protests yet again.
“You can keep some things to yourself. Just nice little parental memories that stay with you.”
Sangcheol scoffs. “Oh, that’s not even embarrassing, son. We could do much worse.”
“I want to hear all of it! Everything!” I giggle, giddy with the access to all this new information—and maybe a little too much wine.
Sitting around the table with Kija and his parents for the last couple of hours has been enlightening and endearing.
I love them all more with every story they tell. “Why Gyuli?”
“We would tease him that he was going to turn into a tangerine because he ate so many of them!” Soohee cackles, clearly remembering something.
“He stole a whole giant box of them off our neighbor’s porch one year and ate almost all of it in one go.
He had a stomachache for days and kept saying he thought he was dying.
Just laid around moaning and groaning, but wouldn’t tell us what had happened until a couple of days later because he was afraid of getting in trouble. ”
“To be fair, the neighbor did refer to him as ‘gyul dodug’ until he died a few years ago,” Sangcheol snickers. “Never by his name after the incident.”
I look at Kija, who is shaking his head in disbelief. “Tangerine thief,” I tease.
“You take one box of tangerines to enjoy while sitting with a tree, and it haunts you for life,” he complains. “I swear they were the best ones I ever had, though.”
His parents laugh again, the sound of the three of them almost like a magical harmony. I excuse myself from the table to sneak to the restroom and take a minute to pinch myself maybe, because all of this is too good, almost too much.
Before I am out of earshot, I catch Soohee sighing, “I’m so happy for you, Kija. He’s good for you.” I freeze, desperate to hear what comes next.
“I think so, too, eomma,” Kija replies, and then there’s a pause.
Sangcheol clears his throat. “I like him a lot.”
The sound of sniffling echoes down the hall, like maybe someone else is crying, too. I know my own cheeks are damp, the tears that have been threatening to escape all day finally spilling over from the sheer relief and joy I’m feeling.
“So now what?” Soohee asks.
“I figure out how to keep him.”
I’m practically swooning as I lean gently against the wall, needing to catch my breath as if I’ve been on stage for a long show.
I want to burst back into the room, to tell him, “I’m already yours. I’ve always been yours and I will always be yours. ”
But it will still be true tomorrow or next week or five years from now.
So I can wait to tell him when the time is right.