Page 23 of Bliss & Her Idols

I painted it in order to be able to lie at nights in my nest and imagine that Jin was with me.

Painting Jin is dressed in his signature blue silk three piece suit. His waistcoat glitters with silver dragons. He’s not wearing a tie, and his shirt is open at the neck. He looks seductive with cold eyes, hair like frost, and a cool smile.

“I saw your posts about the ethical treatment by fans of the Idols.” I scrunch up my nose. “Some of the forums were getting out of control. You’re a great mod.”

“I’m trying to protect Jin from both his haters and his fans alike,” Cricket replies, sounding suddenly serious and concerned. “I hope that he doesn’t see what some are saying. You know, their fan edits where they don’t focus on his singing and dancing but fetishize him like he’s a hypersexual doll. Just this morning I took down a post that was nothing but a photo focused on Jin’s ass. The Alpha defended his post by saying that it wasno big deal because Jin is a Beta Idol. It’s like all Betas are fair game. Their objectification is normalized. Then there are actual anti-fans who dedicate themselves to following an Idol simply to hate on them. Who does that? Shouldn’t you try and support the people who you admire and not waste your life bullying and shaming someone just because they’re not your favorite?”

I raise my eyebrow.

My Cricket is smart.

In fact, I’m not certain that I understand all of those words.

Does anyone have a geek dictionary?

“Hmm,” I agree. Some ferals become mute. Clearly, Cricket hasnotreached that stage. My lips quirk into a smile. I love how talkative he is. “Tell me about this secret.”

“I’m pen pals with Jin!” Cricket chirps.

I sit bolt upright. “Get out of here.”

“Ehm, okay. Well good night then, Bee…” Cricket’s voice is resigned.

As if he expected not be believed.

“Wait, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.” I need to remember that this isn’t one of my brothers that I’m talking to. Yet I feel close enough with Cricket, as if I’ve known him forever. It hurts to imagine that he wouldn’t be there for a single night. Now that I’ve spoken to him, I know I wouldn’t survive, if this connection was taken away from me. “Sorry, that was shock. I believe you. You mean, you’ve been sending him fan mail.”

“I mean that for the last eight years, he’s been writing back.”

I glance up at my Painting Jin.

I’ve been living with the fake illusion, but Cricket has known the true Jin through letters.

My chest tightens. “You know him.”

“As friends. I never expected him to write back to me. But then, he did. I think his letters are being monitored and read through. He never says anything negative. He talks like he’s happy all the time. It’s why I don’t believe he is. I know what it’s like to pretend that everything is okay, when it really isn’t. He tells me things that are true but bland like the songs he’s practicing, the costumes he’s trying out, or the weather. Mostly, he loves hearing about what I tell him and he asks questions about that. What’s it like in the forest? What did I make for my brothers’ Christmas gifts? What are my favorite computer games? He’s clueless about anything online. It’s funny that he’s a celebrity but he’s fascinated by how I cook peanut soup.”

I laugh.

Wow, that wasn’t what I was expecting.

But then, is anything from the hours of interviews that I’ve watched with Jin real or only fake promotion?

“He’s this ethereal star on the stage.” I tilt my head. “It’s hard to think of him writing to you about peanut soup.”

“He’s areal person.” For the first time, Cricket sounds frustrated. “I’m not good at talking, I know. But please understand. Some of Jin’s letters are scripted like he has to protect himself from his staff. Yet his playful curiosity still shines through them. He’s thoughtful, kind, and humble. He never talks about his fame, only his hard work. His true beauty is his personality.”

I can’t hold back my smile.

I know that Jin is beautiful and talented.

I’ve always felt a fated connection to him.

But he still could have been a dickhead.

It’s awesome to find out that he isn’t.

“Fame is what we do to people,” I mutter.

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