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“Oh god, why now?” she groaned.

“I’m about to submit my first articles for the tour.”

“So?”

“So!” I hissed. “So? I’m about to mega expose my existence to millions of Vibers, and the general public. I’m about to formally link my name to GVibes!”

Becka sighed, and I could practically see her dragging her hand down her face.

“Okay, and? You’re writing about their tour, not announcing you’re in a reverse harem with them.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth as I snorted. “For fuck’s sake, Becka.” I relaxed back against the bed.

“It’s not that deep, Ky. You’re a music journalist. You’re there to cover the tour. This is quite literally your job and that’s verifiable. You have credentials, you’re not just some random mystery woman that’s been shoehorned into the role. You have bylines, for Pete’s sake!”

I blew out a breath, laughing a little as Becka got wound up.

Becka sighed, and then went on. “I know this must be weird for you. Don’t think for a second I don’t know where this fear comes from. You spent your entire relationship with the Idol hiding your existence. But this isn’t that, babes,” she said softly. “This is professional. No one is going to look at your byline and put two and four together.”

I rubbed absently at my chest, frowning.

“You’ve gone through your social media so many times that it’s basically sterile.”

“It’s not sterile,” I objected.

“What I meant is that there’s nothing on there that even hints at a past you wouldn’t want anyone looking too closely at if anyone bothers looking.”

What she didn’t say was that people wouldn’t bother looking because we both knew they would. Anyone who became publicly affiliated with the group found themselves subject to the kind of spotlight usually reserved for celebrities. From backup dancers to hair stylists to other artists they collaborated with.

It was why they were careful to never show company names in their videos, like the local bakeries they bought their birthday cakes from, or rarely interacted with normal people on social media. It brought a kind of scrutiny most people were simply unprepared for, and it wasn’t fair.

Becka was right, of course. I had gone through all of my public-facing profiles several times, not just because of Jihoon, but also because while I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a public figure, I had put myself in the public sphere and that brought public dissection.

“Look at it this way, babes,” Becka said, bringing my attention back to her, “you’re looking at this from a possible disaster angle. Shift your perspective to all the good it can do for your career. That’s the whole reason you went on the tour. Right?” I could practically hear the raised eyebrow in her tone.

“Yes, as I keep saying,” I replied tersely.

“Okay then. See this for the good it can do.”

After a moment I sighed, flicking at a piece of lint on my jeans. “You’re so good at this. You should consider a career in disaster management PR.”

Becka laughed. “Babes, if you ever need that, you won’t even need to hire me. I’d just be there.”

And for no good reason, my eyes filled with tears. “I know,” I said, voice cracking. “I know you would be.”

“Babes, are you crying?” She sounded somewhere between horrified and amused.

“No! I’m just tired. It’s been a lot, and I have a deadline.” I sniffed, wiping my face on my sleeve.

“Oh, babes,” she said in a softer voice. “You’d never need to ask, you know?”

“I know. I’m gonna go, I really do have a deadline to submit.”

“Okay. Send me pictures of your fabulous Japan trip!”

“I will. Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you, too.”