Page 25 of A World Apart
“Now try,” he said, interrupting my reverie as he looked up at me.
The trouble with closely inspecting something is that you sometimes get closer to it than you mean to.
Which is why, when Jihoon lifted his head, my face was mere inches from his own. Certainly, close enough to see the way his eyes widened in surprise, close enough to see the way his mouth fell open slightly. Close enough to notice when his eyes dipped down to my lips, his pupils dilating.
Close enough to know I was dancing dangerously close to a boundary I wasn’t sure I could cross.
With effort, I leaned back, dipping my chin to focus instead on the way my hand now held the chopsticks.
I cleared my throat and gave them a few experimental clacks.
“Hey! That’s much better!” I exclaimed.
Jihoon blinked several times before he said, “Good.”
It took real effort on my part to keep the disappointment off my face when he scooted his chair back to his side of the table
We made small talk as we ate. Safe subjects like foods we did or didn’t like – he hated shellfish, I hate mushrooms − what song was his favourite to perform − a song from their second album, ‘Earthquake’ −, which was my favourite to listen to − it had been ‘Stardust’, but now it was ‘Broken Promise’ −, countries we’d been to, which ones we’d like to − both of us had too many mention on our list of ones we’d like to visit, although he thoroughly trumped me on countries he had been to. GVibes had toured all over the world, whereas I had seen but a small fraction.
There was an expectation that GVibes would announce a world tour soon; it had been a couple of years since their last one. When I asked Jihoon about it, he ducked his head.
“I’m not allowed to talk about anything that isn’t public,” he said softly, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips. The reminder of who sat across the table from me sent a flush to my cheeks, and I felt embarrassed for even asking.
“It must be so hard to travel around so much and do such big shows,” I offered quickly, hoping to fill the awkwardness.
Jihoon lifted his head, chewing thoughtfully before responding.
“It is hard,” he admitted. “We go to sleep in one country and wake up in another. Sometimes, we forget where we are when it’s just show after show.”
He paused, his gaze drifting momentarily before it locked back on me.
“But it’s also fun,” he continued, and I watched in wonder as a small, genuine smile tugged up the corner of his mouth.
“We get energy from our fans. When we’re up there on stage, we want to do our very best for them. So, we forget about all the airports and how much our bodies hurt, because we have our fans − and they have us.”
I studied his face carefully as he spoke, looking for any hint that his words were rehearsed, but he meant every word. His fans truly mattered to him, to the group. It made me pause, my admiration for him growing as I saw yet another layer of the man I was beginning to suspect he was, not just the idol.
I just couldn’t imagine that life. The mind truly boggled at the amount of effort and dedication and talent that his every-day called for.
“Your life is crazy,” I remarked, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Yes.” He laughed.
We fell silent for a while, concentrating on our food, when Jihoon suddenly asked, “How old are you?” I blinked. While not a weird question, it was unusual to just come out and ask, but then I remembered that in Korea, age was an important factor.
“22,” I replied.
He nodded. “I’m your elder, then,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“How old are you?” I asked, putting down my utensils. He cocked his head to the side, a small smile pulling the corners of his lips up. “I’m used to people knowing such little things about me. It’s… nice, to start fresh.” His eyes crinkled at the side, and he fell silent again. I could only imagine how bizarre it must be to have so many people know so much about you and for you to know nothing about them, like you’d always be playing catch up.
“I’m 25 in Korean age.” He finally said, glancing up at me as he wiped his mouth on a napkin.
“Is that different from the rest of the world?” I asked, frowning.
He nodded, a serious expression on his face, “We say that a child is age one from the day they are born. So, in Korea, I am 25 −”
“And you’re 24 in western culture?” I finished for him, and he nodded.
