Page 53 of A World Apart
“Truly, a feast for kings,” I said appreciatively, giving him a little clap. He laughed and handed me one of the paper-wrapped burgers.
We were silent for a time as we ate, only murmuring in appreciation here and there. Then we were fighting over the hot sauce, each trying to dip a chip in at the same time and laughing when neither of us managed to get any, only bruising our chips in the endeavour.
Eventually, stomachs full, we scrunched up our wrappers and leant back on the sand, content. Jihoon twisted the caps off the beers and handed one to me.
“I’m not actually sure we’re allowed to drink on the beach,” I admitted, taking a swig.
Jihoon shrugged. “They’re non-alcoholic,” he said, taking a deep pull from his own bottle. I coughed, surprised, and had to swallow quickly to avoid choking before looking down at my bottle and seeing that indeed, they were non-alcoholic.I burst out laughing, giggles that had my shoulders heaving and I looked over at Jihoon to see that he was chuckling, but far more demurely than I was currently capable of.
As my giggles subsided, I said “I didn’t know you’d be so funny.” I meant it as an off-hand comment, but Jihoon looked over at me in a way that made me think I’d said something wrong. He pulled his legs up to his chest and draped his arms over his knees, facing forward once more.
“Did you know much about me, before?” he asked, taking a sip from his bottle.
Sensing my misstep, I thought about my reply. “Not really,” I admitted, pulling off my shades and sliding them into my pocket. “I mean, obviously I knew who you were, but not the details, y’know?” I finally caught his eye and I could see he was listening to me. “I don’t know when your birthday is, I don’t know what your favourite food is, I don’t know your secret fears, and I don’t know what made you want to be an idol.” I dropped my head, smiling a little.
“I’m sure that makes me a bad fan. I just like the music.” I shrugged and turned back away to look at the sea. The waves really were getting closer now.
Jihoon was silent for a moment. “Sometimes it’s hard to know who wants to know you and who wants to know the idol. Most people want to know the group version of me.
"When I was a trainee, there was a girl I knew from school,” he paused, taking a sip from his bottle. “I really liked her, and I thought she liked me too.”
When he didn’t continue, I said, “What happened?”
“She kept asking to meet the other members, my hyungs. But we were always so busy training. When I told her I couldn’t, she got mad and threatened to sell pictures to Dispatch.”
I gasped, “She was going to sell you out like that?” At his nod, I exclaimed loudly, “What a rat!”
Jihoon barked out a laugh. “Yes.”
“I’m so sorry that happened. Making real friends is hard enough in real life. I can only imagine how hard it must be as an idol.” He nodded again.
“Tell me how you met your friend − Becka.” He surprised me with the question, but then it’s as good a segue as any from a subject that’s clearly a little sore, althoughI couldn’t help the curiosity about how he made any ‘normal’ friends. But perhaps that was a conversation for another day.
If we ever got another day, I reminded myself, the pang of regret hitting me deep in my chest.
I distracted myself from that acute pain by sharing the story of Kaiya and Becka. I told him how we’d met in London at University when she’d done a year in the UK. I told him all about Becka’s messy breakup, which had led to her having a spare room in her apartment and seeing as how I was freshly graduated and jobless, I’d taken her up on the offer to come to LA and work for Pisces.
“But I only have a Visa until next March. One year,” I sighed, “after that I have to go home.”
“The studio can’t keep you?”
I scoffed. “They barely hire me as it is. Becka’s dad knows my boss, Jeremy, and managed to get him to take me on as a paid intern because of all the strikes. Normally Pisces doesn’t hire interns, so my Visa is only temporary.”
“But it’s ok, it’s always nice to go home. I miss my folks.” I mused, kicking my feet in the sand.
“Your parents, they live in England?”
“Yep. Married for nearly 20 years.”
“What are their names?”
“Valerie and Ernest.” I took a drink, but not before I saw the way his brows creased. I smiled, understanding his expression.
“My mum met my dad, Ernest, when I was two.”
I saw him struggling to think of the words to say before he said them. “He’s not your…”
“My biological dad?” I supplied. “No.”
