Jiho

Rachel turned at the sound of her name.

“Oppa!” She beamed, sashaying her way to the group with a sway that made every single guy in her vicinity drool. I wrapped her up in a bear hug. Smoke, tinged with iris and violet, filled my nose—Le Labou Santal 33, her signature scent.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were still at that shoot in Paris?”

“I was, but when I saw you were in New York I just had to drop everything and come see you! Besides, it’s a lot faster to fly to New York from Paris than it is to fly all the way back to Seoul.”

She snapped her fingers at a passing waitress. “Hello? I’m still waiting for my drink?” Rolling her eyes, she stage-whispered, “So hard to find good help these days. Anyway, I just really, really wanted to see you!”

I threw a quick apology glance behind her back to the frazzled waitress before leading her to a seat next to me on the chaise. “I’m happy to see you too, Rach, but you know you didn’t have to do that. Your career’s important, too.”

She arched a graceful eyebrow. “You can’t really believe that. There’ll be plenty of other shoots in the future. How do you think it looks to your bajillion fans out there if I’m not here to support my superstar boyfriend at the VMA’s ? You’re in the big leagues now baby, and you bet I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”

I flushed. “It’s not just my debut. It’s CNTR’s first time in the U.S.—I’m just a part of it.”

As if by magic, a martini appeared in her outstretched hand. Extra dry, three olives, with just the lightest spritz of vermouth—Rachel was nothing if not a creature of habit. She took a sip and grimaced, “Of course, baby! But you’re the cutest one, and the most important in my book,” she gave me her trademark pout, scarlet lips pursed and big eyes sparkling in the low light. It was the pout that had made her famous worldwide, a mix of schoolgirl innocence and poisonous seduction. My heart melted.

“Listen, we’re celebrating a good rehearsal today. Why don’t you come join us?”

A flash suddenly blinded me and I stumbled backward, cursing.

“Heeey Jiho! How about a picture I can actually use, huh?” A man stuck a giant camera in my face. Before I could tell him off—or better yet, punch his lights out—Rachel flashed a wide smile at the lens and threw her arms around my neck, pulling me toward her. Our lips came together so hard that my teeth vibrated from the impact. Before I could pry her off, the flash popped.

“Good one! Thanks!” With a tip of his hat, the paparazzo disappeared into the crowd as suddenly as he’d appeared. I pushed Rachel away and wiped my mouth. A streak of her lipstick came off on my thumb. It almost looked like blood.

“Why’d you have to put on a show like that?”

“First rule of showbiz, Oppa? Always give the people what they want,” she smiled, but there wasn’t a hint of warmth in it. “Now our kiss will be all over Dispatch, and everyone will forget about that stupid barista. Out with the old, in with the new. You’re welcome.”

Rachel didn’t wait for my response, running up to Shin and jumping on him with another shrill Oppa! I followed a beat behind, a queasy knot turning in my stomach. Mr. Song probably wouldn’t care about a little PDA, and she was probably right, this was the kind of thing that would push the whole barista business to the backburner.

But why did I feel so uncomfortable about it?

***

Hana

By the time I got back to my ramshackle apartment in Astoria, it was already verging on 1 p.m. Unsurprisingly, none of my three roommates seemed out and about. Amir’s door was still shut, as was Zoë’s, meaning the three were probably still asleep. I tiptoed past their rooms trying to get to my room that I shared with Emily, a girl in my program at NYU. I hoped she was out studying—I wanted to slip in undetected.

“Hey! Stop right there, Hana Kyung!”

Busted. Emily emerged from the kitchen, brandishing a spatula covered in scrambled eggs. Bits flew off the end and stuck to the wall, adding to the mosaic of dried food stains that never seemed to quite come off, no matter how hard I scrubbed.

“You know rent’s due today, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” I laughed nervously. The living room and the bathroom were barely a couple feet apart. If I sprinted, I just might be able to make it before Emily could catch me.

“So?”

“So what?” I snapped, shuffling slowly toward the hall.

“Are you going to pay it?” She said slowly, in a tone fit for a small, dim-witted child.

“Yes, yes, my paycheck should be arriving soon so I’ll have it to you by the end of the day. But if I don’t get to the bathroom right now, we’re going to have a bigger problem on our hands.”

“Looks like you’re going to have to wait,” she smirked. I looked up just in time to see the bathroom door close, cutting off my escape route.

A scream built in my chest. This is what I was paying over five hundred dollars a month for? Three roommates that apparently didn’t understand the concept of cleaning, a tiny closet of a bathroom, a microwave that never worked, and the smell. Oh, the mysterious smell that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if the walls themselves were soaked in it.

“Screw this.” I pushed past Emily but staggered back out immediately, pinching my nose to try and protect myself from the disgusting fumes. “What the hell? What are you cooking in there?”

“It’s not me!” She jabbed her finger at the overflowing trash can. “No one takes out the damn garbage around here.”

“Why can’t you do it?” I shot back. She looked as shocked as if I’d asked her to go solve world hunger instead of walking down the hall to drop a bag into a chute.

“I’m cooking!”

“Fine! Fine, I’ll do it.”

Nose still safely plugged, I gingerly grabbed the bag and held it as far as I could in front of me. It bulged ominously. I booked it down to the garbage chute, but the overfull bag was far too big to fit into the tiny rusted opening. Frustrated, I elbowed it as hard as I could and a fountain of something thick and lumpy sprayed all down my front. I howled and stumbled backward. Large chunks of sour milk plopped onto the floor.

The scream that had been building and building inside me finally ripped from my lungs. My vision blurred and I kicked the stupid chute shut. The door, weakened from years of disrepair and misuse, shivered and the handle clanged to the ground.

A disapproving tut-tut came from behind me. The mousy landlord peered around my shoulder at the mess I’d made.

“The cost to fix that will be coming out of your rent, Ms. Kyung.”

Great.

***

Jiho

“I should get a ‘Leader of the Year’ award for this,” I muttered, wincing as I stepped into the airy, sunlit rehearsal space. All those drinks from last night were doing the mambo on my nerves, but I’d forced myself out of bed at the crack of dawn to go grab Doyoon one of his beloved artisanal coffees (although I’d made sure to go somewhere completely new this time).

The earthy smell of freshly roasted brew tickled my nose and my stomach churned something fierce. Of all the drinks to like, of course Doyoon would choose the one that smells like a chimney and tasted like the wrong end of a cigarette. Still, something about Doyoon’s expression yesterday made alarm bells go off in my head—the sooner I talked to him, the better I’d feel.

I stopped in front of his dressing room, mentally running through the bullet points in my head. I know you’ve been having a hard time lately, the rehearsals have been tough, I’m a little home sick too…

Oh, screw it. I yanked the door open with a hearty hello before stopping dead in my tracks.

The room was empty. Not the busy kind of empty that hinted their occupant might be back any moment, but the sterile kind of empty. Everything was spotless, not even a crumpled piece of paper or an old coffee cup in sight. I touched the lightbulbs in the vanity. Ice cold.

Chills ran down my spine. He couldn’t have…

The door slammed open behind me. “Jiho! Where’s Doyoon?”

The chills solidified into ice. “How would I know?”

“Doyoon left me a message he was with you,” Junghoon panted.

I gestured around the empty room mockingly, “Clearly, not true,” I said. “But if he’s not with you and not with me...then where the hell is he?”