Jiho

Another day, another grueling rehearsal. The closer the VMA’s got, the worse we seemed to get. ZT was fumbling moves we’d learned in middle school, LEO was mixing up the cues, and even golden boy Shin was singing flat. Each time we had to restart our set, my throat constricted a little more, with Mr. Song’s warnings ringing in my ears.

I sighed as the limo drew up to the curb outside our rehearsal space. It swerved twice to avoid a couple particularly determined fans.

“Good lord, do they ever leave?” Shin peered out the tinted windows at the street packed with screaming fans.

“What’s your problem, Shin? Can’t handle all the cuties out there?” LEO grinned, rolling his window down to blow a kiss to the crowd. A girl holding a “Marry me, Jiho!” sign swooned, nearly falling backward into a circle of her friends.

“Ah. Hurts when women aren’t loyal, huh hyung?” LEO winked at me.

“Shut up LEO-sekiya. It’s time to go.”

I plastered on my giga-watt smile, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the crowd. The screaming hit a fever pitch and our bodyguards strained to keep the moving mass of bodies away. We managed to slip through the crush like minnows in a stream, stopping here and there to sign a couple autographs and take a few selfies. I made sure to take my time. After yesterday, I needed all the positive PR I could get. Still, I couldn’t help but make sure to take a selfie with the girl who’d fainted, winking at LEO.

Then, I saw a fountain a few meters away and a flash of inspiration struck me. I waded through the mass of fans, hopped up on the ledge and clapped my hands. Every eye turned. The screaming died. A sea of phones rippled from below, waiting for my next move.

“Everyone! Thank you so much for coming out and supporting us. We love you! Saranghae! We’re nothing without you!”

A roar of approval rose, so loud the stones seemed to shake. Emboldened, I continued, “We’re doing everything we can to make sure our show is spectacular. More than anything, we want to make you proud. I don’t want to let a single one of you down.”

“You sure let us down yesterday!” A girl in a ponytail shouted from my left. She was carrying a sign like some of the other fans, but hers made my heart sink: “Baristas are people too!” The people around her carried similar ones: “Jiho miwuh/We hate you Jiho,” “Fame isn’t everything,” and “Oppa, why?” All of them were wearing ponytails.

“Shut up!” screamed a girl covered head-to-toe in CNTR merch. “Anyone can have a bad day! You’re just jealous!”

The leader of the ponytails launched herself at her before she could finish, closely followed into the fray by her friends nearby. The CNTR girl howled in pain as she slapped the offender away, one hand clasped to her bleeding cheek.

Chaos. Instantly, the orderly crowd of adoring fans devolved into mayhem, each side intent on destroying the other. I peered helplessly over the whirlwind of fists to see where my crew had gone. Hopefully they’re safe.

A large hand pulled me backward into a protective human barrier made up of my security team. We shuffled together toward the entrance of our rehearsal space, but I grasped at one of them, shaking my head desperately.

“We can’t go inside yet! My group is still out there!”

“Everyone’s inside, sir, waiting for you!”

They all but threw me inside the theater where, true to their word, the rest of CNTR was waiting for me in the lobby. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding.

“Thank god you guys are okay.”

“We made it inside right when it started getting crazy. The security guys really know their stuff. But you were in the thick of it—are you okay?” Shin gave a pointed glance at my T-shirt. To my surprise, it could barely be called a T-shirt anymore—the whole thing had been ripped to shreds.

“I’m fine, just a couple of overexcited fans, no big deal.”

“Sure, no big deal.” Doyoon scoffed, rolling his eyes. Before anyone could respond, he stalked off down the hall to the stage where our choreographer was waiting.

“That was weird,” Shin remarked, running a hand through his short blond hair. “But he has a point. Jiho’s alive and well, and we really have to go practice now.”

We all followed Doyoon to the back, ZT stage-whispering, “I heard the choreographer’s pissed at us. One of the assistants overheard him talking about how he’s going to put oxygen in our water to get us to perform better or something.”

Shin stretched, his graceful hands easily touching his toes before sliding into a perfect downward dog. “If you need a little pick-me-up, I have a new energy drink coming out soon. It’s not like that Red Bull stuff—it’s got all the electrolytes and stuff you need to actually function better. I’ll send a case over to your place.”

LEO snorted, “Jesus. I don’t get why you’re so proud of this stuff. It’s not like you did anything other than put your face on it!”

Their argument was loud enough for me to sit down next to Doyoon while he stretched in silence in the corner of the theater.

“Hey,” I cleared my throat. I’d never been good at this kind of touchy-feely talk. “I never asked you if you were okay?”

Doyoon muttered a quiet, “I’m fine,” his eyes never leaving the ground.

“You got to admit that wasn’t very believable.”

“Just…” Doyoon finally turned to look at me but he was a million kilometers away, staring at something in the distance I couldn’t see. “Have you ever thought of walking away from all of this?”

He gestured toward the wrestling Shin and LEO, the choreographer whose face was steadily turning as red as an apple, and at the bustling assistants nearby. “The money, the fame, the fans, the music. Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it?”

I didn’t tell him that sometimes I still felt the gnawing pit of hunger deep in my belly, with only expired food from Dad’s run-down gas station store to fill it. I didn’t tell him that I thought of debt collectors often, big men with tattoos and scars and the pungent aroma of soju floating around them like a miasma. Maybe if I had, I could have stopped what happened next.

But instead, like an idiot, I asked him, “What do you mean? How could it not be worth it?”

Doyoon opened his mouth, but the choreographer’s yell of frustration interrupted whatever he was going to say.

“Come on, he might actually kill us if we don’t start dancing right now,” he said wryly, and I nodded.

***

Hana

Brunch with the Chos was always the same. Eunji’s mother would never fail to comment on how skinny I’d gotten before unveiling a mouthwatering spread of homemade Korean delicacies—bulgogi, crispy seafood pancakes, sushi rolls or gimbab, broiled fish with scales so crispy they crackled at the slightest touch, spicy rice cakes, and a veritable banquet of side dishes.

After we all ate our fill and Eunji’s mother had served dessert—fresh Korean pears cut into perfect slices and little butter cookies, arranged just so—was the part that I always dreaded most. The inevitable moment when Eunji’s parents would launch in a tirade of all their daughter’s shortcomings. They begged me for guidance, my intervention, anything to bring Eunji back to the light.

“I mean, honestly! Who goes to school for fashion? If you want any sort of future, you’ve got to go to study something legitimate. Just look at Hana!” Eunji’s father harrumphed, shoving a whole pear slice into his mouth.

“You know what, dear, you really should go and visit your grandma in Seoul. Your poor halmeoni is probably dying to see you,” her mother implored.

Eunji snorted, “What, so someone else can tell me how disappointed they are that I’m wasting my life doing what I love when I could be a doctor or a lawyer instead? Thanks, but no thanks.”

Her mother turned her pleading eyes to me and I winced, shrugging helplessly.

“Whatever, guys. Thanks for brunch but Hana has to go study, okay? I’m going to see her out!” Eunji all but ran out of the house, pulling me along with her.

“You know, you can stand to be nicer to them. It’s nice that they love you and worry about you like that.”

“Listen, Hana, I get that you miss your parents like crazy, okay? And I know I can seem ungrateful. But I love fashion like you love dancing, it’s what gives my life meaning,” Eunji said. “When I see someone’s eyes light up after I’ve styled them, or I’m making an outfit that only existed in my dreams come to life beneath my fingertips—that’s when I feel alive. I can’t just give that up without even trying.”

I pulled her into a bear hug before she could dissolve into tears. “I know, Jiji. I’m proud of you.”

She gave me a sad little smile. “You know, you could chase your dreams with me. Really commit to dance, once and for all. It’s not too late!”

“You know I can’t do that. I love it, but I can’t make a living out of it.” I looked back at the house, where Eunji’s parents were watching us from the window. “I’m all I’ve got now. I’ve got to be realistic about this.”

***

Jiho

I slammed a shot glass onto the glossy VIP table, nearly spilling its contents all over LEO’s blazer.

“Watch it! This is Alexander McQueen,” he hissed, snatching it up to make sure his precious jacket was safe.

“At least I’m drinking. At a club. Where we are currently at,” I nudged the book on ZT’s lap. ZT swatted me away, rearranging the pages so he could see more in the low light.

“Seriously, man. How are you reading right now, with all these hot girls everywhere?” LEO eyed two leggy blondes dressed in tight tube skirts that left nothing to the imagination.

“Leave me alone! I’m just prepping for my next career move, dude.”

“I totally get it,” Shin nodded sagely. “That’s why I’m launching my new cologne label next month.”

We all burst out in laughter.

“Who wants to smell like you?” LEO cackled.

“Aw, give him a break. Maybe some of our preteen fans’ll be interested,” I grinned.

“Ha-ha. Laugh it up while you can, boys, because in a couple years when I’m at the top, running my own empire, you’ll be the ones begging me for a job.”

“Maybe I should start thinking about my next move, too,” LEO mused. “What about modeling? I think I’d be great for soju, whaddaya think?”

He posed with one of the half-drunk bottles off our table, a goofy grin plastered on his face as he gave the soju a big thumbs-up.

“Considering you’re too young to drink, you might want to try it with Chilsung Cider first.”

I grabbed my soju back from him and the rest of the guys oohed.

“As for the rest of us, why don’t we go a little crazy tonight?” Everyone—including LEO with a bottle of nonalcoholic cider—held up their bottles, “To the VMA’s—may we kill it on stage and show the other bands what a real performance looks like! Gumbae!”

We all chugged our drinks dry. When ZT turned to ask a waitress for another round, I took the chance to whisper to Doyoon under my breath, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“You haven’t said a single word all night. I really want to talk about what you said—”

A sudden hush fell over the bar. Almost all the men near the entrance had stopped talking, a couple even got up to have a proper look at the person who was causing all the commotion up front. Doyoon’s mouth fell open.

“Hyung, look.”

“What?” I asked irritably, swiveling around to try and spot what was going on.

Then I saw her. Hair as dark and luscious as night, a body that could stop traffic, eyes that seemed to swallow you in their depths and wicked lips to match. She’d paired her priceless limited edition Jimmy Choos with a shlubby Gucci sweatshirt, creating an aura of wealth that was as effortless as it was potent.

Wait a minute… I knew her.

“Rachel?”