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I let that sink in for a moment. And then, I launched myself at her.

By the time night was drawing across the sky, I’d read every single article. I’d curled up on the sofa, laptop balanced across my legs, clicking through and reading each one. Becka had left me to it, opting to silently tap away on her own laptop on some other unfathomable task. So many people I’d worked with. People I didn’t know personally, and people I hadn’t realised even knew who I was. Journalists I admired, and staff writers I’d only ever sat with in virtual meetings.

Most of the articles weren’t specifically about me – many had chosen to write about the broader aspect of entitlement towards the lives of celebrities. Most painted me as simply the catalyst of the latest scandal, and that was alright by me.

I had never wanted to be front page news. I would have done almost anything to avoid it, but I’d always known that choosing Jihoon meant choosing the possibility of this life. What I had never accounted for was the possibility of so many people standing up for me. Standing in front of me when the world was taking shots at me.

I knew this wouldn’t go away. The publications might turn the tide a little in public opinion, but there would always be people who hated me simply for popping the illusion of Jihoon’s availability. Or, really, for any number of contrived reasons. It didn’t matter who I was, or what I did. People would hate me, and I would need to make peace with that.

It was too soon to tell what lasting impact this would have – if any – on GVibes. I knew Lee, at least, had apparently been understanding, but I hadn’t spoken to any of the rest of them.

I had wanted an opportunity to apologise to them, in person. Not for being in a relationship – I would never apologise for that ever again – but for the way it had dragged them into something they’d never asked for. It was something I’d desperately wanted to avoid.

Becka had already gone back to her hotel by the time Jihoon arrived home somewhere close to eleven pm. He’d showered at the stadium, so when he found me in the living room, still surrounded by papers, and empty coffee mugs, his hair was damp, and he smelt like warm skin and the soap he favoured.

He’d changed into loose fitting clothes, looking nothing at all like the stage persona he wore like a costume.

“Jagiya,” he rasped softly, voice grainy from hours of hard work. His face broke into an easy grin that almost disguised the exhaustion hiding in the depths of his eyes.

I unfolded myself and moved towards him, drawn like a magnet as I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into the solid comfort of his body, inhaling deeply.

“Mmm, I missed you,” I murmured, burying my head against him.

I felt his laughter vibrating against me, and I tightened my hold on him.

“I can tell.” He sounded pleased.

Eventually, I drew away, looking up at him. My stomach flipped at the expression in his eyes, the way they crinkled slightly as he looked at me.

“Good show?” I asked, as if I were asking if he’d had a good day at the office.

His smile widened. “It was awesome. But I wish you could have been there.”

“I wish I could have been, as well.” My smile faltered but he raised a hand to cup my jaw. He ran his thumb along my skin.

“I’m not sad you missed the show. I’m sad I didn’t get to see you. I always liked knowing you were there.”

I made a noise in the back of my throat and thumped my head against his chest, making him laugh. “Can you stop being perfect, for like, five minutes, please? It’s a little overwhelming.”

“If I have convinced you that I’m perfect, then perhaps I should consider doing dramas. I must be a good actor.”

I scoffed and lifted my head to roll my eyes where he could see it. He tapped my nose.

“Funny girl.”

“I’m going to shower before bed,” I announced. “I feel like I haven’t moved all day.”

I took a step back and raised my arms, stretching, and feeling my joints popping as if to illustrate my point. Jihoon raised his hands to my body, running his palms up the length of me and grinning.

“I’ll shower with you,” he said roughly.

“You just showered at the stadium,” I pointed out, running my hands through his still-damp hair.

“Hm, don’t care. Suddenly I want another one.” He smiled that lopsided smile that always made my knees weak.

Despite the heat in his eyes as he practically dragged me upstairs, he was immeasurably gentle. He peeled the clothes from my body as if he was unwrapping a gift. He knelt at my feet to pull my jeans down, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he revealed, and looking up at me from the floor like I was the idol he worshipped.

He fussed over me in the shower, not letting me step under the spray until the water was just right, then taking his time with my hair, and running soapy hands over my skin. Which he had to do twice, because he dirtied me up again right after the first time. Not that I minded.