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In the next moment, he pulled the hoodie back off and tossed it onto the bed. “Wear this today. It’s cold,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Baek Jihoon,” I admonished, “is this some caveman thing to get me to wear your clothes?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding his head, making me dissolve into giggles.
Well, if that was what he wanted… I sat up, letting the covers fall from around me to pool at my waist, baring my body to his gaze. His face went slack. I pulled the hoodie towards me and pulled it on. Slowly.
Jihoon dragged a hand down his face, groaning.
“Cheonsa,” he moaned. “That is not fair.”
“Oh, were we playing fair?” I asked innocently.
“Wicked, cruel woman,” he said roughly, getting back onto the bed and crawling towards me.
“You’ll be late,” I warned, suddenly breathless as I watched him approach.
He peeled back the covers and grabbed my ankles, pulling me towards him. I squealed as he yanked me beneath him, smirking down at me.
“Will you come tonight?” he asked, dropping his head to press a kiss to my jaw.
The question took me off guard. “Tonight? To your show?”
“To the final show of the tour,” he corrected gruffly, dragging his lips up to the corner of my mouth as his hands pressed mine above my head.
I sighed, tipping my head to the side as my eyes fluttered.
“I–erm, can I?”
“Mmhm,” he hummed against my mouth before gently capturing my bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “I’ve decided I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
I gasped out a laugh that was quickly stifled as he kissed me. A moment later, he pulled back. “If I arrange it, will you come?”
“Yes,” I said without a moment’s hesitation.
“You won’t feel uncomfortable?” he asked, stumbling over the word slightly because what he was actually asking was not just if I’d come to his show. But if I would willingly surround myself with all the speculation, and knowing looks of the people who now knew we were together. All the people who had surely seen the photos of me kissing my boyfriend, from various angles.
“They matter less to me than you.” I held his gaze. “And besides – if you can do it, I can do it with you.”
The smile he gave me was brighter than the sun.
Later that morning, I was going through my filed emails, picking and choosing what to respond to as a priority as I waited for Becka to arrive. I was going to take her on a tour of Seoul. We were tackling the city in sections, instead of trying to do it all in one day, since she would only be here three more days.
It was as I was scrolling through my inbox that I saw two new emails had come in late last night. Two vastly different senders, and with bemusement I looked between the sender names, deciding which to open first. Monsieur Lallouche, or Harlow Harris.
In the end, I closed my eyes and dragged my finger across the screen, letting fate pick for me. I opened my eyes a moment later.
Harlow Harris.
I opened the email.
Dear Kaiya,
I won’t ask how you are, because I have a pretty good idea. Instead, I’ll just hope that you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who see you for who you are, and not what the tabloids say.
I’ve seen the coverage – how could I not? I’m so sorry this happened to you. There’s probably a lot that hasn’t been reported on, but please believe me when I say this wasn’t your fault. You probably already know that, or I hope you do, but I also understand how it feels to have your whole life put under a microscope and somehow come out of it feeling like you deserved the scrutiny.
You didn’t.
