Page 13 of When Worlds Collide
“Yes, but we should probably keep using condoms. If you’re not even allowed to date-”
“I am allowed to,” he grumbled, but I could tell his irritation wasn’t directed at me.
I pressed on, unable to help myself. It was like a scab I couldn’t not pick at. As if one day, I was expecting the outcome to change. “You may not have a dating ban written into your contract anymore, but how chill would everyone be if you admitted to having a girlfriend?” I lifted my head from where it had been nestled in the crook of his neck and tried to meet his eyes, but he had his head turned away.
This subject was contentious between us, although we’d never actually sat down and talked it through in such frank terms. It was just understood that idols do not date. Or, at least not publically.
Before Jihoon, I’d barely given it much consideration, but now I saw it more and more. The whole package of the ‘idol’ – be it group or solo artist – was so glamorous, so multi-faceted in their talents, but also in their sex appeal; whether it was called that or not.
One reason so many artists had no-dating clauses written into their contracts was to preserve the illusion of being single. Desirability through the appearance of availability.
I’d considered this from my side before, having to deal with the idea that my boyfriend was openly called the group’s ‘visual’. It meant that out of all the members of GVibes, he was considered to best fit conventional beauty standards. I knew it wasn't a title he enjoyed. For all his talents, it was his appearance that people commented on first. And while he was grateful for the support of the public, I knew it chipped away at him. It was a role he was assigned by his company, and it was how the public knew him.
There was a certain, unspoken assumption that a performer belonged to the public. It wasn't quite so overt as that, but it was there. It was ever-present in the online comments about being 'heartbroken' whenever dating rumours emerged. It was there in the often-ugly way anonymous, online commenters spoke about female backup dancers. It was the reason the faces of the staff members were blurred out in backstage footage – to protect them.
It was the reason that we couldn’t go public – because of the likely fallout. Fallout that honestly frightened me.
Which is why I’d never really brought it up. Even before we’d made it official – between ourselves – I’d known I’d have to be a secret. It’s just the way it was.
But perhaps I’d never really given enough consideration to how that must weigh on him.
“I’m just saying,” I continued, softer now, sensing I might have accidentally trodden onto sensitive ground.
“I get it.” He said, but his tone was distant.
I hesitated. “Is that even something you want? A family,” I clarified. “Someday?”
Jihoon’s head jerked round to look at me, the expression on his face a mix between confusion and fear all wrapped up in a startled bow.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t thought about it much.” He turned his head away, and I watched a tic flutter in his jaw. “I didn’t think that was something I’d be allowed. At least, not for a long time.”
The word ‘allowed’ hit me like a punch in the gut, and it occurred to me that it probably wasn’t something many K-Pop trainees considered, since most of them were recruited from such a young age. It begged the question, how many would change their paths, given the hindsight?
“I can’t stand the idea that what I do, my career, might be the reason we don’t work out.” He swallowed.
I froze. That was what he thought?
Although, I guess, why wouldn’t he think that? There were plenty of examples where a dating scandal had ruined more than the artist’s career.
I didn’t know what to say. I could so easily say that I would never leave him because of this, but would that be the truth? I didn't want to say something I couldn't commit to. I couldn’t erase his fears, so instead, I pressed a kiss to his chest and lay my head back down, listening to his heartbeat as it gradually evened out.
It was a couple of minutes before the silence between us seemed to stretch too thin, until I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“I didn’t mean to make this so weird,” I tried for a jokey tone to lighten the mood, but given the silence was practically a solid wall, I feared it hit pretty weakly.
Jihoon shifted underneath me, and for a second, I thought he was moving away, but he was just twisting to lie on his side facing me. The room was dark, but the ambient light from the wall of windows we’d not bothered to pull the blinds across was enough to make out his face. His eyes met mine and in the semi-darkness, we stared at each other.
Eventually, he spoke.
“It’s not that it’s weird,” he said carefully, and I could tell he was choosing his words. “I’ve never needed to think about it before. You’re my first real girlfriend.”
For a beat, the words hung between us, and I watched his face as a stream of emotions seemed to play out across it.
It was a moment before I could swallow past the lump in my throat.
“You’re my first everything, Baek Jihoon.”
He opened his eyes, shining in the dark with the light they borrowed from the Seoul skyline.
