Page 67 of When Worlds Collide
He looked up at me and said, “Finally, someone who understands my jokes!”
“We understand them, maknae. We don’t laugh because they’re not funny.” Woojin passed by us, holding a beer in one hand, and a bottle of soju in the other. The drive-by burn was exactly the savage kind of behaviour I’d expected from Woojin and, bizarrely, confirmation of his character also served to make me feel more at ease.
“Let’s eat!” Minjae called out, loud enough for everyone to hear, once all the assorted takeout containers were unpacked. They were assembled precariously on the low coffee table thatdoubled as a dining table while seated on the floor, ‘Korean style’ – as Jihoon had called it.
The members all wasted no time, piling haphazardly around the table wherever there was room, and Jihoon had to shoehorn me in between himself and Seokmin, who grinned at me around a mouthful of fried chicken drumstick.
There didn’t seem to be any formality to it, everyone just dug in once they were seated, a couple shouting out, “Jal meokgesseumnida!” which I’d been reliably informed was the Korean equivalent of ‘bon appetite’.
Recently, I’d gotten better at recognising – if not naming – some dishes, but this was quite literally exactly what it sounded like – fried chicken, except… better.
“Holy hell,” I mumbled, “this is amazing.”
“Korean fried chicken is the best,” Jihoon nodded, eagerly taking a bite of his own.
“Try this.” Seokmin leaned over me to grab the glass of beer that had been poured for me, and topped it off with soju.
“That seems dangerous,” I commented after swallowing my mouthful of food.
“Soju and beer is what you drink with chicken,” Woojin held my gaze as he took a sip from his own glass.
“When in Korea,” I muttered, reaching for my glass, but before I could raise it to my lips, Jihoon held his hand over the top.
“It will sneak up on you.”
“Kaiya is an adult, Jihoon-hyung,” Seokmin said, knocking his hand off my glass.
I raised my eyebrow at Jihoon, but he only shrugged, drinking from his own glass.
Tentatively, I brought the glass to my lips, noting how it still fizzed slightly, even with the addition of the spirit. I couldn’t smell anything stronger than the beer, but I took a cautious sip,expecting it to taste like vodka. To my surprise, it was almost sweet. I could definitely taste it there within the beer, and the mix was unusual, but good.
“Yes?” Seokmin asked, and at my enthusiastic nod, he cheered and topped me up, which was about the last sober decision I made that night.
Once the chicken had all been devoured, the drinking had begun in earnest. I don’t know why this surprised me, but it had. Maybe I’d expected the members to be more… responsible, sensible, less like typical guys in their early 20s? Whatever assumptions I’d had, I’d been way off track as we all proceeded to consume way more alcohol than was strictly recommended by the health board.
It hadn’t stopped at the chicken, either. Once that had been cleared away – by the younger members, apparently that was a ‘them’ job – snacks had mysteriously made their way onto the table. Little chocolate sticks, seaweed crisps, fried ramen noodle bites… none of it was familiar, all of it was delightful, but most absolutely not to be mixed. I learned that the hard way when, after watching some of the others mix their snacks together, I rolled something vaguely strawberry tasting in a seaweed crisp. Vaguely, I'd been expecting something like the sweet-and-savoury combination of a chocolate pretzel. I miscalculated. The moment I bit into it, I knew I’d made a mistake. But not wanting to be rude, I forced it down. Seokmin watched in fascinated horror, but Jihoon – my true ride-or-die – had similarly rolled up his own roll-of-wrongness and, in a show of solidarity, popped it into his mouth, chewing it with far more dignity than I could have possibly managed.
Somewhat predictably, questions began to be fired at Jihoon and I. I gathered I was somewhat of a novelty, being both British (read: foreign), and the only girl any of them had ever brought round. Woojin had referred to me as ‘Jihoon’s rebellious phase’. He’d said it in the flat tone he was so famous for, making it difficult to tell if he was joking or not. Minjae had pushed him so hard he’d fallen off-balance, and had to grab onto the sofa to keep from falling over. He hadn’t spilled his beer though.
Sungmin made Jihoon retell the story of how we’d met, twice, before confirming it with me. I’d had to confess that I had, indeed, fallen flat on my face and dropped a heavy box of cables in front of their entire group. Apparently, my retelling had been the funnier version, as everyone – even the more reserved Woojin got a chuckle out of that one.
“Kaiya-noona, why Jihoon-hyung? He’s so ugly.”
I had to quickly cover my mouth to disguise the tiny bit of beer I’d spat out, while Jihoon raised his hand to Seokmin.
I’d noticed they rough-housed a lot, and though it still struck me as strange, it was yet another thing I could tick off as not being exaggerated on Lives, or any of their shows. That, and sprawling all over each other – especially when they laughed. I’d even seen – somehow, for the very first time – how Jihoon really did clap his hands like an excited seal when something made him laugh. Now I'd seen it, I wondered how I'd never noticed it before. I was delighted to see him so relaxed around his friends.
“I think he’s the most handsome man in the world,” I replied confidently, prompting differing reactions around the group; gagging from Seokmin and Sungmin, and a look of amused disgust from Woojin. Minjae, however, responded simply by bringing out his phone, quickly looking something up, before turning it round so I could see the cover of People magazine, where he’d been voted World’s Sexiest Man alive.
“Aish, put that away.” Jihoon put his hand in front of the screen, blocking my view of the artfully shirtless picture of Minjae, all while I just laughed.
“Then he fell off the stage – right onto the videographer. We have the film!” Sungmin was howling as he recounted a story from their early debut days, when Jihoon had tripped over Woojin during a complicated dance routine – which was how he’d gotten the tiny, silver scar that bisected his eyebrow.
The members had taken it upon themselves to share the most embarrassing Jihoon stories they could think of, and Jihoon had taken it all with a mix of long-suffering resignation, exasperated corrections, and flat-out denial.
The denial was my favourite – because without fail it had always met with a chorus of shouts from every member correcting him – sometimes with photographic evidence.
“Leader! Remember when Jihoon started singing in the toilet, in São Paulo?” Sungmin was clutching his sides, barely able to get the words out, while Jihoon groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
