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I’d called Becka not long after, desperately needing a palate cleanser from the email. I’d told her about Jihoon spending the night in my room. She’d screamed. Literally screamed. I’d had to move the phone away from my ear or risk permanent damage.

“I knewitIknewitIknewit, I FUCKING KNEW IT!” She’d howled.

I’d laughed but let her tire herself out before I’d bothered to intervene. “Nothing happened,” I said lightly.

“Bullshit.”

“Seriously,” I insisted.

“Seriously, bullshit,” Becka laughed. “Lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me.”

“Becka, I’m telling you the truth.” I frowned, equal parts frustrated and amused.

“Babes, I believe you when you tell me nothing physical happened, but just because you guys didn’t have sex doesn’t mean ‘nothing happened’. There’s a reason the term ‘emotional intimacy’ exists–”

“Literally never heard that phrase before,” I cut in.

“–and that’s what you did,” she continued, ignoring me. “You were emotionally intimate.”

“Is this the part where we talk about the birds and the bees?”

“Joke all you like, babes,” Becka sighed, a long-suffering sound that made me giggle in a breathless, giddy sort of way. But that might have also been because of the ‘emotional intimacy’.

“How are you feeling about it?” she asked in a more subdued tone.

I considered the question before I answered, leaning back in my chair, looking at myself in the mirror over the desk.

“I feel… I feel like I’m tired of trying to pretend I don’t feel a certain way. I feel like I’m tired of ignoring the way I think he feels. I feel like maybe it’s not wrong to still feel things I’ve tried not to,” I trailed off, hand rising automatically to my neck. My fingers ran over the points of the little, gold wings.

Becka was quiet for a moment before she asked a question I was less sure about.

“So, is this it? Are you…”

I blew out a breath. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Is that what you want?” Becka asked gently.

“I think–I think, maybe?” My voice caught in my throat, and I tried to exhale, but it shuddered. “Fuck,” I rasped.

“Oh, babes,” Becka’s voice wobbled.

“Don’t you bloody start,” I warned. But gave myself a stern look in the mirror, willing away the sheen I saw in my eyes.

“I didn’t say anything!” she protested, and I laughed, breaking the tension.

“I guess we’ll see what happens.”

Even though Hana remained in police custody I was escorted to the venue for the second day in the back of a car with Mr Yoon. Because I’d decided to spend the performance in one of the suites, he accompanied me, opting to stand close to the door. It felt a little unnecessary to me, but the suites were technically in a public area of the stadium.

Several times throughout the run up to the show starting I pulled out my phone, and each time I told myself I was just checking for emails, or browsing social media, but it didn’t stop my eyes wandering to the KakaoTalk icon. There weren’t any messages, and it didn’t matter that I knew Minjae strictly policed the no-phones policy, I was disappointed each time, and to fill the gap, I texted Becka. She kept demanding updates on my ‘emotional intimacy-ship’ with Jihoon, and remained frustrated that I hadn’t so much as put eyes on him since he’d left my room. Privately, I shared her frustration.

I didn’t see him until the concert started. Me, and ninety-thousand other Vibers, that is.

He’d asked me to tell him where I’d be, and I’d texted him as soon as I’d known. He hadn’t responded, so I’d assumed he hadn’t seen my message, but as the first few songs finished, and the group paused to talk to the audience as they always did, it became evident that Jihoon knew exactly where I was.

He stood at the far edge of the stage that extended into the standing area and he looked up. Directly at the balcony I was sat in, leaning against the railing. And even though it should have been impossible from however many metres away he was, in a semi-dark stadium packed with tens of thousands of other people, his eyes met mine. And stayed.

The after party was not normally held on the same day of the concerts because it was simply not practical, and the group were generally too exhausted, but today it was. It was being hosted by the French fashion house that had designed the tour outfits, at a crazy-exclusive club in the heart of the city.