Page 94 of XOXO

Sori: “Bulletin Reveals XOXO’s Bae Jaewoo in a Relationship with Classmate”

With shaking hands, I click on the last link. It jumps to a popular gossip site, where the top trending article is this very one, complete with a huge, blown-up picture of Jaewoo and me.

I’d expected to see a paparazzi shot of one of the times Jaewoo and I were together in public, on the field trip, our date to the theater, or that afternoon at the noraebang. But instead it’s...

The sticker photo.

Unlike the article of Nathaniel and Sori’s, my face isn’t blurred, but visible, if not super clear due to the quality of the photo.

A text pops up.

Jaewoo: I’m here. Where are you?

I rush to the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. Luckily no one gets on and it goes straight to the lobby. The doors open to chaos. Security guards are yelling as a dozen photographers with huge cameras point them at a single person standing at the center of the lobby.

Jaewoo.

He turns as the elevator fully opens, catching sight of me, slowly lowering the phone he holds to his ear.

The paparazzi follow his line of sight and it’s like the hounds scenting their prey, surging forward, held back only by the hospital guards.

Jaewoo walks swiftly in my direction. He’s still dressed in the suit from the showcase, though his tie is loosened and his hair is a mess, as if he’s run a hand through it multiple times.

Reaching me, he pulls me into a fierce hug, which I return with equal force. Behind us, the elevator closes, cutting off the noise from the lobby. Jaewoo releases me only to press the button for the highest floor.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. “How is she, your halmeoni?”

“She’s good. She was rushed into emergency surgery, but it went well.”

He sighs with relief, leaning against the elevator wall.

The numbers of the elevator increase as we ascend. Twenty-five. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.

“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, my words tumbling out. “I had the photograph in my wallet, but I must have dropped it. I was careless. It’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jaewoo says. “None of this is your fault.”

The elevator stops. We’ve reached the top floor of the hospital. Jaewoo takes my hand and leads me to the stairwell, up a single flight, pushing open the door to the rooftop.

The night air is balmy. A dry wind sweeps across the openspace, catching the loose strands of hair that have fallen out of my bun.

Jaewoo takes off his suit jacket, and then loosens his tie entirely, slipping it over his head.

He moves to the edge of the roof, safeguarded by a wall and railing. I join him, looking down to where news vans are packed in among ambulances and other vehicles.

“You’d think they’d have more respect,” Jaewoo says, his voice bitter.

“How did the paparazzi manage to show up at the hospital so quickly?”

“They were waiting at the school and followed me when I left. I almost lost them—my cab driver had a bit of a daredevil streak—but they caught up to us near the hospital.”

He drags his gaze from the scene below. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I—” The answer isn’t so easy. My mind is a blur, my emotions all tangled up, and then a realization hits me.

“I was supposed to play a solo tonight.”

Jaewoo looks stricken. “There’s still time for you to do it.”

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