Page 23 of Damian & Jun: Episodes 1-4
“Junseo,” Jun’s father said, “this is Bak Gyeong. You will do as he tells you.”
Then his father and Bak Gyeong stood around talking and signing things on the desk, and when they had gone through all the papers, Jun’s father held out his hand and shook Bak’s hand. He turned and walked out of the room without looking back.
Jun stared after him and then up at Bak.
Bak stared back and then did that thing that adults did sometimes with their lips that was supposed to be a smile but looked more like they had eaten something not quite good but were happy about it. “Welcome to BBB3, Gang Junseo. You’re our youngest trainee.”
“Where did my dad go?”
“Back to his life. Maybe someday he’ll come back and see you—if you’re good enough. It’s a shame you don’t speak your paternal language. Think of how painful it must be for him that you can’t even talk to him in the proper words. What kind of son is that?”
Jun thought about that. “So, I have to speak Korean for him to come back?”
“That and many more things. Come. I’ll show you the dormitory. Tomorrow, you start lessons. Singing, dancing, language. You have a lot to learn.”
“Who’s going to teach me?” It was supposed to have been his dad, but evidently, he couldn’t give Jun this part of Jun’s self that belonged to him any more than his mother could.
“Think of me as your Uncle Bak.” Bak squeezed Jun’s shoulder and grabbed his suitcase, lifting it easily. “If I can’t teach you, I’ll find someone who can.”
“Promise?” Jun looked up at the man. At least he didn’t smell like he’d spilled on himself while cooking.
Bak grinned widely, and for once, an adult that day looked actually pleased. “Oh, I promise.”
Present Day: Jun
On the floor of his freshly tossed room, Jun hung his head between his knees. Bak had kept his promise, he supposed. At least a promise. But so many others he hadn’t kept at all. Or had he? It was hard to remember or even figure out anymore. So many times, he’d been absolutely sure Bak had said that one thing would happen, but Bak and others had sworn Jun had misunderstood, inferred, or layered his own meaning on Bak’s words.
At some point, maybe it didn’t matter. Except that there was this general feeling of slowly going insane, of being out of touch with any sort of touchstone reality that he could grab and know was real.
Jun’s hands trailed down to his waist. On a very strong, thin chain, tucked in his pants, his mother’s jade Buddha, wrapped in paper scraps and stuffed inside a tiny bag, rested against his hip. No one knew about it outside of Yohei, not even Damian. He had a hundred different ways he’d learned to wear it or transfer it from one place to another on his body. The only time he’d let go of it had been during his tour in the military, and then Yohei had kept it in a safety depot box for him in Japan, back in his hometown. It was paranoia, for sure, but it had let him rest easier.
He clutched the Buddha through the bag, afraid to rub it and wear away the lines of the carving. Promises were for children. Adults didn’t believe in them. Sometimes he wanted to be a child so he could have promises again, but age was a one-way road. He stood up and slowly went back to cleaning. The goons had spilled one of his drinks on a pile of clothes and the edge of a blanket. He sighed. If it had been just water, it would have been fine, but it had been one of his hydration drinks. He gathered up the mess and went out the door. At least there was a laundry in the central area of the dorms.
There were four rooms in this wing on this floor. For safety and security, there was a swipe card reader at either end. At one point, there had been a good reason for swiping in and out because the hallway had been a pass-through from one area to another, but now it was a leftover annoyance. Jun reached into his pocket for his card.
Nothing.
Of course.
He walked back and checked his desk, then the floor, then the entire room. No card. At all. And no phone to call out with. Nothing.
He leaned with his hands against the desk and closed his eyes. He was stuck.
Or a prisoner.
It had to be an oversight. They’d grabbed all his cards to stop him from trying to pay a lawyer and…
No.
He was locked in.
And if he made a scene, then Bak would have public proof he was going crazy because who would lock a world-famous pop star in their dormitory? It was much more likely that a highly strung artistic type had merely experienced a mix-up and then went off the rails.
He’d given Bak years of his life. Proven himself again and again. Why would Bak do this to him? How had he not been good enough? Maybe he was just too needy.
But Damian liked him needy. He said Jun was barely needy at all. Maybe that was because Damian only saw him for stolen snatches of time. It wasn’t like he’d ever offered Damian all his problems and begged for help.
Damian was his escape, his fantasy.
