Now I know why, he was off chasing his dreams and working hard, and he probably didn’t have time for daily social media posts. It also wasn’t like I understood Korean at the time, so I had no hope of finding him that way, either.

  I walk along the fortress wall, taking my time, enjoying the nippiness of the cool air letting my mind wander to Jaeyong again. I wonder what he could be doing, if he’s sleeping well, if he’s eating well, if he’s taking care of himself, or does his chest feel as hollow as mine? Does he sleep but still feel exhausted in the mornings, is all the food he eats now flavorless?

  Or is it just me?

  I asked for this, I did.

  I head back to my empty apartment, setting down my groceries and the knickknacks I picked up on my solo trip around Seoul, the couple shoes I picked up in black ’cause I thought they were cute, and I think Jaeyong would like this pair. That’s a thing here—so many couples’ holidays, couples’ t-shirts and clothing and shoes, hell, there are couples’ rings.

  But it would be nice, while Jaeyong and I aren’t really talking, to look down at something I’m wearing—whether it’s a ring, or a pair of shoes, or a t-shirt—that we had bought for each other, making us feel more connected somehow, even when we’re not around one another.

  I know this is only the beginning.

  There’s still a three weeks until comeback, and Jaeyong’s gotta be working hard, so hard. He doesn’t really like to talk about the ins and outs of his day—photoshoots and fittings and stylings and maybe remote interviews for international countries because Jaeyong is fluent in English and French, even if he’s rusty and he has to bear the brunt of all those questions, those expectations.

  And now I can’t help but feel like I’m making it worse for him.

  Wouldn’t it be better, though, if he had one less thing to worry about?

  Since when am I a thing?

  You know what I mean.

  I don’t know what I want, and that’s the problem.

  Comeback season will be upon us soon, and I’ve only ever seen a couple from a fan’s point of view—the weekly performances on music shows, the rankings of the album or title track being squabbled over, another benchmark that Trickshot and other idols must achieve.

  There’s performance after performance after performance; there’s gonna be live streams for the general audience where the new album will be introduced, and a tour will probably be announced, and then Jaeyong won’t be in Seoul anymore, travelling the world with his members, and I’m going to be left behind.

  And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? You’re afraid of being left behind again, like the last time, and it’ll take forever for Jaeyong to come back into your life.

  I was thirteen when Jaeyong left for Seoul, only thirteen years old—gangly and uncertain, and the world felt so small, constricting me, tight against my skin.

  My mom and I weren’t friends —still aren’t—and it felt like Jaeyong was my only real friend in the entire world. It broke my little heart when he left, and I floundered for a good portion of the ninth grade, trying to figure myself out without him, trying to be my own person without his support, his laugh, his dumb manga that he would lend me, giving me an escape when the fighting got bad at home.

  What if that happens again?

  What if he decides that his dream is worth more than me?

  I COOK SOMETHING TO eat, bake some chocolate chip cookies too, because I’ve been training hard over the past couple of weeks, spending longer and longer hours at the gym, supersets galore, just to make my body tired enough to somehow trick my brain into doing the same thing so I can get a good night’s rest.

  The worry comes out in my dreams, though, the niggling sensation of something bad is going to happen that chases me into consciousness every morning, and I hurriedly check Naver on my phone for any kinds of articles that might say something, anything about Trickshot’s comeback, about the health and safety of the members.

  Sasaengs are no joke, the kind of delusional fan that wants their favourite idol’s attention by any means necessary, be it good or bad. There are stories, maybe some are exaggerated, maybe some are not, but it’s still scary, when another human being feels entitled to more than you can possibly give and they don’t necessarily have to be a fan to act in that way.

  I don’t even know if the death threats are getting worse or if Jaeyong is taking more and more precautions—if they’re keeping him under wraps in the company building, keeping him busy with work, with recording, with filming, with everything it takes to be an idol.

  Fuck, I wonder how he’s doing, I really, really do.

  I want to ask him, make sure he’s feeling ok, make sure he’s sleeping, but that would be cruel, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?

  In the end, I make the decision for myself when my phone gets a notification that Trickshot’s having a surprise live stream.

  My heart gives a painful kick in my chest, and there’s already an invisible band around my lungs, squeezing them down as I exhale on a shaky breath.

  I swipe open the notification, head into the app, and get in on the live stream, the camera showing nothing but an empty, white room—like it hasn’t been decorated yet, unfinished.

  There’s an empty chair right in front of the streaming camera, and the numbers of viewers coming in just goes up and up and up. There’s quickly ten million people watching an empty freaking chair and the live chat is a mixture of languages all over the world, more and more messages coming in too fast for me to read them in English, French, Korean, Spanish, what could be Portuguese, Russian, and those are just the languages I can recognize by sight—there’s a ton of others that I can only guess at.

  I quickly cast the stream to my TV from my laptop, pulling a pillow into my arms and holding it close as I wait for that chair to become occupied, the chat getting increasingly more excited as fans around the globe start making guesses about who will come into the room and start talking to us.

  The door to the room opens, another chair being rolled in by Hoseung, the eldest, sitting down in the vacant chair in front of the camera.

  He’s dressed casually, but the jeans and plain white t-shirt are probably designer and cost more than my entire wardrobe. He’s got loop earrings in each of the three piercings along his lobes, and his face is devoid of makeup, his dark hair pushed back from his forehead, eyebrows on display. He’s handsome, there’s no doubt about it, but he’s not Jaeyong.

  I let out a sigh and wait for Hoseung to say something.

  “Ah, yes, hello, everyone! It’s been a long time!”

  The chat goes wild, saying hello in what feels like tens and tens of different languages, emojis abounding.

  Hoseung’s smile seems genuine as he leans closer to the camera, probably looking at the viewfinder or some sort of other device that’ll let him read the comments. “Oh, hello, hello! There are so many of you here. Wow, ten million? How did that happen? I’m so happy to see all of you, really, really.” Hoseung doesn’t really look alarmed, just surprised to the point of bolting. “Yes, the other chair is for another member that will be here shortly. He’s just washing up after practice, you know...we work hard during practice.” Hoseung grins, and the shippers go crazy in the chat.

  “Cha, so it hasn’t been that long since we saw you all last,” Hoseung says, nodding to himself, fiddling with the camera and its filters. He chooses one that makes him look all blushy, and runs through the rest until he gives up finally, but I’m still watching the door behind him, feeling like I know who’s going to be coming to his live stream.

  The bromance between Hoseung and Jaeyong is very real, enough that people ship them together. I can see it, too, chemistry is chemistry, but it makes me feel weird sometimes to make assumptions about others’ sexuality—it’s one of the most irrelevant things about a person.

  “The months have flown by, and we’re going to be coming back soon, to our Trixies, with a new album and concept that I think you will love.” Hoseung grins and shakes his head, laughing.

  “I, of course, cannot give you any spoilers for the upcoming events, but please, look forward to it. The company will be able to provide dates for the release of the new album and the announcements will be on our website, too, soon.” Hoseung nods, then leans in close again, squinting at the screen to read some comments.

  “Oh, yes, I have eaten, have you? What did you eat? Oh, deep fried squid? Gimbap? Tteokbokki? Ah, these are all food I can’t have right now, but please enjoy them for me as well. Ah!” Hoseung turns around as the door to the room opens, and Jaeyong comes inside, taking his seat beside his hyung.

  My heart clenches at the sight of him, at his bedraggled hair that still seems to make him look effortlessly gorgeous, the kind of look no one else can achieve, even if they tried really, really hard. He doesn’t...he doesn’t look good though, no matter if his hair looks phenomenal. In fact, he looks like shit and I can tell ’cause he’s not wearing any makeup.

  Jaeyong’s eyes look swollen, and those under-eye bags are the size of Jupiter. His face looks a little puffy, sleep-swollen, and he rubs his hand over his mouth, his lips cracked and dry.

  If I let out a whimper in the emptiness of my apartment, and it’s totally fine since no one else can hear it.

  “Hello, everyone,” Jaeyong says, voice rough, like he’s about to come down with something nasty. He holds up his phone to wave with, shaking it from side to side, and my heart nearly makes an emergency evac out of my throat when it lights up and for a split second, it could’ve been Jaeyong and I in a picture together saved as his background photo.

  Shit, shit, fuck. FUCK.

  “Oh? My background picture?” he asks, leaning in and over Hoseung to read the comments, eyes all squinty, his white t-shirt that I know for a fact he used to fill out more fully, a little loose in some places, the wide neck showing off a glimpse of the sharp wings of his collarbones. It makes my stomach clench, how bad he looks, and I made him that way.

  Maybe he’s actually sick? Maybe there’s something else that’s wrong?

  I should just text him, call him, ask him.

  I can see him on my TV, he’s literally in my living room but basically on the other side of the city, still so far away.

  What bullshit is that? We were an ocean apart and now you can’t go to the other side of town? Really, Raleigh, really?

  “It’s my mom and I,” he says, holding up his phone again, a picture of Jaeyong and his mom quick and gone as a flash. I know that picture, though, I took that picture. “Did hyung talk about our comeback, did he spoil it for us?”

  “Hey, show some respect! When have I ever spoiled anything?”

  Jaeyong lifts his hand, starts counting off the times, and they both start laughing, Jaeyong’s sounding forced.

  When I glance over at the chat, it’s to find a lot of fans asking why Jaeyong looks so horrible. I mean, yeah, I want to know, too, obviously.

  “Oh, I’m okay, I’m okay. Everything’s fine,” Jaeyong says, waving both hands at the camera, a puppet with strings being pulled this way and that. “I have really bad allergies, and it’s making sleeping difficult.”

  Bull fucking shit. I call bull fucking shit!

  I’m picking up my phone before thinking about it, pulling up our own private chat.

  Me: Allergies? Allergies!?!?

  I send it before I can really think about it, Jaeyong seemingly distracted when his phone vibrates seconds and seconds later, and he looks down at it, eyebrows popping high on his forehead, hidden underneath his floppy hair. My thumbs dance along my phone screen when he doesn’t answer.

  Me: Really, you’re going with allergies?

  I clench my teeth tight, fire building in my stomach and clawing its way up my throat, making me shake in place. I hold my phone tight enough to make my palm ache.

  I glare at the TV, willing him to look up into the camera, as if that’ll make him see me, see that I’m here, waiting for him to answer me. Jaeyong makes a show of standing up and putting his phone in the pocket of his jeans, and I swear to God, pressure builds in my head, and starts to throb like my head’s gonna pop right off.

  So he wants to play that game, huh?

  I deserve it, I do, but this isn’t a game where he foregoes all kinds of self-care all because I’m not freaking sure if I can be an idol’s girlfriend.

  I go into the chat, about writing something up, my username a character in a book that Jaeyong has never read, just one single comment in literal thousands, impossible for him to see, but I do it anyway.

  I type out the words: I’M SORRY.

  As expected, neither Hoseung or Jaeyong see it, and the chat keeps moving forward, comment after comment after comment, faster than the eye can track.

  I keep watching, Jaeyong fidgeting in his seat, but I don’t send him any more messages, don’t want to distract him while he’s in front of the camera.

  I watch as Hoseung takes the reins of the conversation, and before I know it, forty-five minutes have passed and I’ve watched two of the guys of Trickshot hardly say anything at all, joking around (as much Jaeyong participates after all), and it’s making me even more miserable than just being on my own all day long.

  Aria: Yo, Raleigh!

  Aria: It’s been a thousand years! What’s up? How are you? How does Seoul keep treating you? I miss youuuuuu!!!!

  Aria: I have news to tell you!

  Aria: Raleigh?

  Aria: Raleigh, you there?

  Me: Hey, Aria. Wanna try calling me? I’m awake, and I’d like to talk.

  Aria: Of course! Talk soon!

  I seriously need all of the advice that I can get, and if Aria’s willing to listen, then so be it.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “I’ve got a hypothetical situation I’d like to run by you,” I say, rustling the sheets in bed, dying from embarrassment. Imagine calling up my old roommate for advice when we’re fourteen hours apart, imagine how desperate I am that I’m trying to get this to work.

  Imagine.

  “Yeah, okay, shoot. Lay it on me, I can handle it,” Aria says, her voice so calm and sure that if I close my eyes, I can imagine us back in our old shitty little kitchen that barely held the three of us (Aria, Maddie and me) while we cooked together—one of us chopping, one of us cooking, the other plating and cleaning up as we went. I miss them, I miss her and Maddie both. Hell, they’d get a kick out of Seoul, and Maddie would lose her mind at all the soccer I get to watch here; it’s not as popular as in England, but still.

  “So...remember that conversation we had about the guy you were seeing?” I can picture Aria nodding, taking a seat, focusing. That’s how she dealt with everything, processing it at her own pace, stewing in it before just shooting out an answer. Maddie was the blabbermouth between the three of us, with me caught somewhere playing monkey in the middle.

  “Oh, yeah. Ayden. He’s my boyfriend now, officially.” There’s a squeak to Aria’s voice and it makes me grin at my ceiling, sitting up to punch at the pillows of the couch underneath me before plonking back down. “We got it all straightened out, well, I did. I was being chicken shit.”

  “How did that go?”

  Aria clears her throat. “It’s kinda a long story? I mean, it’s not that long, but I made it a little worse, I think.” She pulls in a deep breath, then her breath whistles out on a sigh. “I overthink everything, you know that, and I overanalyze, and I set these stupid high expectations on how everything in my life is supposed to go. I’ve got a script written out for every situation, but the thing is, no one else has the script.”

  “Okay, sure,” I say, not really getting it but still trying to let it all sink in, wriggling on my couch, trying to get comfy.

  “Ayden’s an actor, yeah? And he’s not mega famous like if he was in The Avengers, but people know him, specifically, the fandom knows him. There have been incidents of stalkers, too, and invasions of privacy but it’s his job, and while it sucks all around and we both take precautions, it still isn’t the greatest, being scrutinized like that.”

  “Okaaaaaaaayyyyy,” I say, drawing the word out.

  “I know, I know. But I’m just setting it all up for you. You know that I’m not...I’ve had boyfriends before, and I always had expectations of them, kinda always comparing them to this perfect boyfriend in my head, which sounds a little off now that I’m saying it out loud, but it’s what I did.”

  “Yeah, no, I get it. I do.”

  Aria laughs. “Thanks for that. I found myself always comparing the person I was dating at the time to another set of standards, and it slowly dawned on me, well not that slowly, that I was comparing them to a fictional character on a TV show, namely the TV show that Ayden works on, namely the character that Ayden plays.”

  “Aria Larsen, did you keep this all a secret from me and Maddie?! You’re dating the man of your fangirl dreams right now? What?!” I screech, sitting up too fast so it feels like all the blood drains from my brain making me a teeny tiny bit woozy. “Are you fucking kidding me? I knew the guy was hot, but I didn’t know that your brain said he’s the one for me.”

  “Hey,” Aria whines, and it makes me want to kick something. “Come on. Don’t be like that. It’s private, and Ayden likes keeping his life very private and I actually didn’t say anything to you, I was keeping it all vague and shit, but then Maddie had to go and figure me out. It’s not my fault, I just wanted to keep it to myself for however long I could.”

  I huff out an incredulous laugh. “Should we end the friendship now?” I squeak, even though I’m only fifteen percent serious. “Aria...I get Maddie always has one thing on the brain, okay two things: soccer and food, but you couldn’t talk to me about it more?”