My Summer in Seoul

I wanted to yell back, sure how was I supposed to do that when I was constantly driving them everywhere? Researching? Grabbing coffee? Making sure crazy fans didn’t murder them for a chance to touch them? Just yesterday, a Sasaeng attempted to pull Kai’s hair, nearly succeeded, and caused him to fall backward, any harder, and he would have hit the pavement and could have gotten a concussion.

It was on the news.

Along with my face as I tried to block the rest of them.

It was getting worse.

The scandal with Lucas.

Even though he’d been laying low, going to and from practices, people were demanding he leave the group.

The video wasn’t even that damning. I’d watched it a dozen times in an attempt to understand, then fell under his stupid spell again as he interviewed on YouTube pre-scandal.

Ridiculous.

The guys had three weeks left.

The countdown was on.

The practices were getting more stressful.

The guys were getting quieter.

And I had just wanted to do something nice for them.

“I’m sorry,” I said again to Rae, then started cleaning up the kitchen. He sighed and then actually did grab a burrito. Surprising me to death.

“I’m not allergic.” His brown eyes were bloodshot. He’d been up again; he was always up, always checking on everyone. “Just pay more attention, okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Okay.”

Sookie slumped in his chair; his hair was a mess, and he looked playful in his Lakers shirt and ripped jeans.

“Sorry I almost killed you.” I exhaled.

He shrugged like, hey, it’s fine when it totally wasn’t, then walked around to the fridge and grabbed a water.

I quickly went into the pantry then tossed him a protein bar. He held it up and nodded his head like thank you.

I nodded back.

He was always warm toward me, but it was almost like he would get punished for it. Not by Rae; Rae was just trying to keep the group together and was stressed as hell, and even Kai had been moderately tolerable. Jay seemed more amused by me than anything. But Lucas? Well, I was sure he had a countdown on how long before he was allowed to run me over with the van.

I checked our schedule again.

The guys had language lessons for only an hour since they were getting ready for their comeback. They had lunch right after. Vocal training followed by more dance practice, interviews, and a late dinner.

I wanted to protest on their behalf but stayed silent.

Somehow, they all understood when it was time to go, I’d go to the door, talk into my voice app, and say, “let’s go.” When I said it in Korean, it still sounded funny despite the fact that I’d heard it enough in the past few days I should have it memorized.

And off we went.

I dropped them off at their lessons.

I picked up their lunch.

I waited for them at their private vocal lessons in the van because privacy, apparently.

I was allowed in at dance practice, but I sat in the corner and studied their profiles, and sometimes I got them coffee.

And then I drove them to their interviews.

Seventeen.

Vogue Korea.

Entertainment Weekly.

Idol Magazine.

Repeat.

I was at least getting used to their routine. What I wasn’t used to was the fact that I still had angry members. Well, not angry, just… prickly, mainly Lucas, and it bothered me. I was a total people pleaser.

The day was done.

We were back at the apartments, and Solia had ordered food for everyone. I didn’t even ask what it was; I just inhaled whatever was shoved in front of me, then took a shower, grabbed a romance novel, and came out to the living room.

It was already time for curfew, but I was lonely in my room.

I had just started to read when I heard the piano again. I told my brain that we needed to stay planted on the couch.

Because interrupting what was probably Lucas again was a horrible idea.

Like the worst.

He already hated me.

But it killed me.

The music was so pretty, his voice so perfect.

I tried reading the first chapter ten times before I was standing, in my Nike hoody and gray shorts, sans makeup, and with wet hair.

I walked barefoot over to the music room, where the piano stood against the production room. I would kill to gain entrance. The more they kept me out, the more I wanted in.

I leaned against the wall so he couldn’t see me, and I listened as his voice carried in the small room, as his hands flew across the piano.

This time he was singing “When the Party’s Over” by Billie Eilish. He made it sound like something from heaven. It was always crazy to me how these guys could sing in perfect English.

I hugged my book as he sang the first verse.

It hurt.

It physically hurt to hear his pain.

“I could lie, say I like it…” He began the first part of the chorus, and I was lost to the music, lost to the emotion behind it.