Page 48 of When Worlds Collide
It made sense now why his aunt and uncle had gone against his parent’s wishes to bring him back to Korea to audition for ENT.
His tone was wistful as he continued. “They took me to singing lessons while I lived with them. They told me I should be the person I thought I could be.”
Jihoon paused, and a look of such intense sadness crossed his face, it was like watching clouds pass over the sun. My stomach dropped.
“Where are they now?”
He took a breath, and seemed to hold it for a heartbeat, before he sighed.
“They died. A car crash, three years ago.” The words sounded practiced, like he’d said them so many times that the shape of his lips was just muscle memory. My hand moved up to flutter over my mouth, uselessly.
“I’m so sorry, Joon.”
He shrugged, but his face did not convey the same level of indifference as the gesture.
“I bet they were so proud of you.” I swallowed thickly, blinking to clear the sudden fog in my vision.
“I like to think they were.” He smiled then, looking up at me through hair that had fallen across his eyes. “They would have liked you.”
“Me? Why?” Although the observation caught me off guard, warmth bloomed in my belly at the idea of any family approval.
“Because you’re smart, kind, brave. And because you love me. They would have loved you for loving me.”
The words seemed to hang in the stillness of the room, floating on the barest breeze like dust motes, soft and fluffy.
“I don’t know about all the nice words,” I mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “but the part about loving you is certainly true.”
Jihoon lifted my other foot up slightly, and blew across the newly painted nails. The glitter caught the rays of the sun as it streamed in through the window, even weak and dull as it was this late on a cold, December day.
“Is your grandma still in Seoul?” I asked, the barest notion crossing my mind that perhaps we could go visit her.
He pulled both of my feet forward in his lap, and began to rub them slightly, almost absent-mindedly.
“No,” he said after a moment, like he was remembering something. “When my imo and imobu died, halmeoni moved to Busan to live with my parents.” He shifted, and ran his thumbs down the soles of my feet. “She –” He blew out a harsh breath, and I watched him curiously, almost seeing the way he collected the words he wanted to say.
“Reporters followed her, after they died. They followed her because she is my halmeoni." His jaw clenched.
“Her son died, and they took pictures of her house. They found out where she lived, and when we had the funeral, they filmed out on the street.” His mouth twisted in disgust, and his thumbs begun to dig in a little too hard to be called comfortable, but I didn’t say anything. I just listened in ever-growing horror.
“They even talked to her neighbours; asking them things like, was she a good neighbour, how often did I visit, had they ever seen the other members.” He laughed, but there was nothing humorous in the sound.
“Anti-fans lined up across the street, live-streaming on their phones, and someone even ordered a funeral wreath to be placed on the street. But it was my name on it."
I gasped.
“My family can’t even die in peace, without people wanting to take pictures of us in mourning.”
I hissed in pain as his thumb nail scratched me, and immediately his grip loosened as he refocused on me.
“Fuck, I’m sorry cheonsa,” he mumbled, looking down at my feet, running his fingertips gently over them, like an apology.
“It’s fine, no harm done.” I waved away his apologies, wishing I could wave away his sorrow.
Listening to the way he described such a gross invasion of privacy was horrible. I’d had no idea…
Jihoon shook his head like he was trying to shake the bad memories out.
I reached for him, closing the distance between us with a hand on his knee, squeezing gently. “I don’t know what to say…”
