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I smiled softly and put my hand on his chest. His heart was thundering under my palm.

“Probably because me covering the rest of the tour is not a concern for them any more.”

“Kaiya–” he tried to protest, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” And as I said the words, I found I nearly believed them.

“It does matter,” he insisted. “You worked hard.”

“Yes,” I conceded with a shrug. “And nothing that happens now will take that away from me. My articles still exist. Even if they take them down – which I don’t think they will – they still exist. People read them. I was paid for them.” I laughed to cover the slightly bitter taste in the back of my throat and the way the words trembled ever so slightly.

“Joon, I’m not trying to be a martyr, but right now – I am not what matters. The tour is. The people who’ve paid to see you. The way you and the members have worked so hard.” And then, a little firmer, “And every single person who worked to move the tour around the world. That matters. Me going to Seoul to get my ass handed to me is not a big deal.”

“But–” he tried again.

I put my hand on his chin, tilting his face down to mine so I could hold his gaze.

“Will you leave me if I lose this gig?”

His brows contracted. “What? No,” he scoffed.

“Good.” I shrugged. “Then let me handle my career, okay? Just be my boyfriend. Leave the rest to me, and trust me to handle it.”

His mouth pinched, but he stared down at me without commenting for a few moments.

“I am proud of you, Kaiya Thompson,” he said roughly.

I blinked, expecting more pushback, not praise. “Thank you?”

He huffed and took my hand from his chin, bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss against my knuckles. “Once, you might have asked me to help you fight this battle. Now, you do not need me.”

“Joon, I do need you. As my boyfriend. As it always should have been. After the tour, I suspect there will be plenty of battles to fight,” I said wryly, ignoring the way my stomach twisted at the reminder of ‘after’.

“And I will fight them with you,” he said firmly.

And I knew he would.

It was just after eleven pm when I wheeled my luggage into my hotel room in Seoul and dumped my rucksack on the floor. I sat down heavily on the bed and collapsed backwards with a heavy sigh. I stared up at the ceiling and gave myself a few moments to breathe, and peel away the brave face I’d been wearing for the past few hours.

Without bothering to get up, I pulled my phone out of my hoodie and checked the time in LA before pressing call.

“Babes,” Becka said more cheerfully than I would have expected.

“Obviously I’m not keeping you occupied enough as my PR manager if this is how happy you sound.”

I closed my eyes and felt the relief working on my shoulders. Becka always had this effect on me. Kind of like having adult supervision, or someone else to take the wheel for a while.

“I’ll be so honest,” Becka said with a tone verging on glee. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“Becka!” I laughed, scandalised. “For fuck’s sake, my life is up in flames!”

“Babes, I promise you, it is not,” she scoffed. “Besides, I kind of meant more like how good it feels to actually do something. This is exactly the kind of shit I always wanted to do.”

“Becka, have you actually slept recently?”

“I’ll admit, I am mostly running on naps and the good will of caffeine,” she admitted, “but that doesn’t make it any less true. Is this what artists feel like? Because I am inspired,” she finished grandly.

I raised my eyebrows but felt a smile creeping across my lips.