Page 57 of When Worlds Collide
“You do not get to decide our future without involving me in the conversation.” More tears fell now, and I couldn’t tell which emotion triggered them. I ignored them.
Jihoon reached for me, a hand rising as though my tears were a magnet he couldn’t not be drawn to. I batted his hand aside.
“Your life may be bigger than mine, but mine counts, too. I chose you, Jihoon. I chose you, with my eyes open. I knew who you were when we started this, and I chose you knowing what it meant, but that didn’t waive my right to be your equal.” My voice was catching now, like stray threads on splinters, cracking my words open.
“I choose you, Jihoon, and I need you to choose me too, because I need you too much. Is that clear, Baek Jihoon? I can’t leave you, because I need you. And I need you to need me, too.”
I couldn’t continue, sobs had replaced my words, and it was all I could do to pull air into my lungs through the heaves that threatened to split me apart.
But, as my words stopped, hanging in the air between us, echoing strands from a last song, he stood, knocking them to the ground, wrapping his arms around me, and holding me together before I could fall to pieces.
He held me until my legs gave out under the weight of eleven years and all the reassurances he couldn’t give me. He carried me back to bed, lying down with me in his arms, my tearssoaking his chest, and the thought that kept me crying, an unrelenting sea of bitterness and fear that coated the back of my throat, was not the fear that he did not love me – because of that I was absolutely certain – but that he still may not choose me.
Chapter 18
The next morning was… tense. I woke up, tangled in Jihoon, arms and legs thrown around each other haphazardly, making it impossible to pull myself away from him without waking him up, though I tried.
The light that trickled in through the window was weak and grey. It was still raining, and though I’d always appreciated the acoustic of a good rainstorm while safely tucked inside a building, that morning, it lent an air of claustrophobia to the apartment.
“Morning," he murmured, throwing an arm behind his head as he watched me sit up in bed.
“Hey,” I replied, somewhat awkwardly. I ran a hand down my face, cringing at the crust around my eyes. I scooted towards the edge of the bed, intending to get up and wash my face, when a pair of strong arms wound around me, holding me in place.
He placed a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Don’t go, yet,” he murmured into my neck, his breath easing across mybunched muscles, and I forced myself to relax into him. Allowed myself to relax into the warmth of his body.
We sat like that for a few moments, merging back into each other in a semblance of the people we had been last night, before…
I sighed, and my head fell forward. “We are going to need to talk about this, Joon.” I said quietly, tentatively. Apprehensively.
His arms tightened around me fractionally, before loosening again as he took a breath.
“I know.” He pressed a kiss to where my pulse thumped in my neck.
“Maybe not now, but soon. Because… because I can’t be hidden away for eleven years, and then brought out of storage. It’ll make it worse, Joon. It’ll make it all worse.”
I expected him to argue, maybe. I felt my entire body tensing under the strength of his arms, but to my surprise –
“I know,” he repeated, and he pulled his arms away from my waist, instead running both of his hands up and down my arms, the pressure gradually increasing until he was massaging me.
I flopped forwards slightly under the increasing pressure of his relaxing hands, soothing muscles that had tightened until I was limber again.
“It’s hard for me.” His voice was still laced with sleep; his accent was more pronounced, and his tone slightly rumbly. It matched the weather.
“I have thought about it,” he admitted, “going public, making a statement. Or maybe, not denying it if the story comes out.”
I forced myself to remain calm, to let him speak, but still, my hands fisted in the sheets on either side of my thighs.
Jihoon blew out a gust of air, and it’s like he had to force himself to keep talking.
“Every time I think about it, I remember other performers who admitted they were dating. It doesn’t always end well.” His fingers twitched.
I knew the kind of reaction he was talking about. I’d seen it myself. Singers, or actors being secretly photographed and having to admit that yes, they were seeing someone. I’d seen grown men bowing for forgiveness at press conferences, forced to admit they had private lives. I had some pretty strong feelings about that, but Jihoon did not need me mouthing off right now, and honestly, I didn’t think it would help my own mental peace, either.
I took a breath. “I hear you. And I’m not suggesting we go marching down Itaewon, holding hands and kissing in bus stops. But I feel like you’re not seeing all the couples who have gone public and were – eventually – accepted. I think…” I took a second to make sure what I wanted to say was also the correct thing to say. “I think you need to give more credit to your fans. I know you don’t really go online anymore, and honestly I think that’s for the best, but it also means you don’t get to see all the people who would support you.” His hands had stilled where they cupped my shoulders, and I raised one hand to put over his, squeezing gently.
“For every person who would demonise you for being a real person, in a real relationship, there are dozens who acknowledge that not only are you a grown man, but that you have the right to choose your own life.”
I let the words settle, leaning back slightly so that we were more connected. I needed to feel his warm body against mine, and I think he also needed to feel me against his.
