by Aidan Wayne
There were nights, especially on Taemin’s end, when all he was able to do was fall into bed. Marcus reveled in those days all the same, because he still got to be in bed with Taemin and wake up to him. That was enough. Even though he did, for the most part, prefer the nights where they both had the energy for more.
Taemin was still leaving the dojang around two or three on Saturdays, but it was with a break to eat. He did paperwork while he digested, then spent an hour on the mat instead of what had, in the last few months, become a usual two. He used the time after to run his errands and do chores so that he really did have nothing to do on Sunday but make it a lazy day of sleeping in, basic stretching—and nothing else, aside from a fifteen-minute warm-up. On Marcus’s end, Saturdays were often a shorter filming day for him too. He finished up around six and usually swung by Taemin’s once he was done. They’d gotten into the tradition of cooking together, prepping meals for the week, eating a quiet dinner in, sometimes watching a movie, then turning in for an earlier night.
If Marcus wasn’t working on Sunday, they went out for dates. Taking trips to parks, walking around various downtowns, exploring new restaurants. It was idyllic and everything Marcus could have ever wanted….
And he got lazy.
“Bad news,” Billy said one Monday morning. He’d insisted that he and Marcus meet for an early breakfast. Now they were tucked away in a corner of a buzzing Starbucks, and Billy was pulling out his tablet and showing Marcus some pictures.
Him and Taemin at Kensington. Sitting together—sitting close together, on one of the park benches. They were facing each other, Taemin telling some story from Saturday that had his hands in the air, while Marcus was laughing. Marcus’s leg was hooked around Taemin’s ankle. It was a good shot. Romantic. If it had been the result of anything else, it would have been something Marcus would maybe want to have in one of his own albums to treasure.
Now he was reading a headline of “Economi-watch Catches Our Hero In Action: Has Our Heartthrob Found His Leading Man?” with a sinking heart.
“Someone caught you in the park,” Billy said, stating the obvious. “And it was enough for tabloids to run with it. And then they started putting it all together.”
There were more photos. Some with just Marcus: on the phone, smiling wide, with the caption “Talking To His Love?” But others were of the both of them, leaving a restaurant, beaming at each other in the parking lot. One was of Marcus getting out of his car in front of Taemin’s apartment building.
Furious, Marcus looked up to Billy. “What do we do?”
Billy glanced away. “Damage control. Release interviews. But there’s one more thing you need to see.”
Trepidation overtook him as Billy flipped to the last image. It was a close-up of Taemin’s shirt. The ever familiar “Choi’s Taekwondo Academy” logo was circled in red. “Ladies And Gents, We’ve Tracked Him Down!”
“Fuck,” Marcus whispered, staring down at it. “When did this come out?”
“Just this morning,” Billy said quickly. “So we’ve got a little time. When does he run classes, again?”
Marcus swallowed, shaking his head to clear it. “Mondays are his early-morning sparring class, but he didn’t text me after it, so chances are that wasn’t an issue. But he does his work with the homeschool co-op at one. That runs for an hour, and then regular classes start at four thirty.”
Billy nodded, glancing at his watch. It was a little before eight. Marcus was slated to be on set at nine. “Okay. Okay, so I’ve got a little time. I’ll make some calls. And you should too; talk to him, and then I will. The best thing to do to head this off is by you making it legit.” Right. Getting rid of the speculation would help things die down at least a little.
“Okay. You release any statement in my name that you think will help. I officially sign off on it.”
“Good. I’ll try to convince him to cancel the co-op meeting, if just to give us some time to see what the reaction might be to this. If the paparazzi rush his school, then we need to be ready for that. We need to get him ready for that.”
“Right. Yeah.”
Billy looked at him. “Have you talked to him about this at all? About this sort of thing happening?”
Marcus frowned at the table. “Some. Back when we first started dating. And then nothing happened and I—I got comfortable.”
“You’re allowed to go out and have a good time,” Billy said briskly. “You still should be, even with this coming out. And it might not blow up.”
Marcus sneered. “Yeah. Like we both believe that.”
“Talk to him. Let me know when you’re done, and then I will. We’ll get this sorted out. I promise.”
Marcus could only hope.
AS WAS his routine, Taemin finished with his morning sparring class, then went home to take a shower, eat breakfast, and fit in a nap before he went about the rest of his morning to afternoon of training, paperwork, and getting ready for the co-op.
His phone rang just around eight forty-five, flashing Marcus’s name. He was a little confused when he picked up. By now, Marcus should be on set, fifteen minutes early as he always was, and starting his day.
“Hello?”
“Taemin,” Marcus said in a rush. “I need to talk to you. And then Billy needs to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure,” Taemin said, no less confused but now a little worried. “Is something wrong?”
He listened to Marcus explain what had happened with growing concern, if only because of how frantic Marcus sounded about the whole thing. “All right,” he said when Marcus was finished. “Have Billy call me.”
“Yeah, okay. Fuck, I am so, so sorry.” It was about the fourth time he’d apologized in less than ten minutes.
“We’ll figure it out,” Taemin assured him. “Try not to think about it. You have work to do.”
“Right. Yeah.”
“I’ll talk to you later, okay? It’ll be all right.”
A shaky breath. Taemin could picture Marcus raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”
They hung up. Taemin’s phone rang about thirty seconds later.
“Hi, Billy.”
“We need to get together,” Billy said briskly. “How soon can you meet me at the Dunkin’ Donuts by your crossroads?”
“I can leave now, if you need me to.”
“Good, great. I’m already on my way there.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you.”
“Okay. I should be there in ten.”
“All right.”
“And Taemin?”
“Yes?”
“Be… be careful. Someone might be stationed at your apartment.”
“You think they’d be dangerous?” Taemin asked, shocked.
“Shouldn’t be, if it’s just a photographer, but I just want you to be aware that someone might be watching.”
“Okay,” Taemin said. “Okay. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
They hung up. Taemin took a second to stare at his phone in disbelief. Then he went to put on his shoes.
“SO WHAT’S going on?” Marcus asked Billy as soon as he had a moment to talk.
“He cancelled the co-op for the day,” Billy said. “And he’s prepping Preeti. Since they both usually get to Choi’s at three to train together and stuff, he’s letting her know what might happen. Aside from that, there’s not a whole lot we can do until we see what does happen today, but at least he’s warned. That’s something.”
“Yeah,” Marcus muttered. “That’s something.”
Billy put a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. You couldn’t have gotten a more down-to-earth guy. He’ll be able to handle it.”
“I don’t want him to have to,” Marcus burst out. “And him being so down-to-earth might just make this even more overwhelming. He’s not used to being in the spotlight. At least the other people I dated were already in the industry. They knew what to expect.”
“And e
very paper I could get my hands on confirmed the rumors so it isn’t a big, juicy surprise story that tabloids’ll get to make money off speculation. You asked for your fans to respect your privacy, explained that things are new and that you don’t want to scare him away—everyone loves a romance, and you’ve got a rush interview with People tomorrow afternoon. It’s a start.”
Marcus rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Billy.”
“That’s what you pay me for.”
PREETI CALLED Mr. Avi, who insisted on coming in even as Taemin protested. “You don’t even work Monday nights,” he said. “It’s your day off.”
“Yeah, and you could use the help, just in case. Don’t worry, I already have a plan of action.”
“I… okay?”
Mr. Avi nodded. “I think it’ll help.”
Mr. Avi’s plan turned out to be him planting himself outside the door of the academy in his dobok and black belt and only letting in current students. Everyone else he essentially growled at, turning them away. “Master Choi isn’t currently accepting new students,” he told every one of them, many of them teenagers, though there were a few adults in the mix too. “And the academy is currently closed for private lessons. Sorry.”
He did not, in fact, sound or act very sorry.
But it did mean that classes, for the most part, still went smoothly. The people who stuck around, pointing cameras and cell phones at the window, Mr. Avi approached and threatened to call the police on. That got most of them to take off.
One man called his bluff. Mr. Avi called the local police station and put his phone on speaker.
The man left.
A few hung around in the parking lot next door and tried to go over to students and families as they were entering and leaving the building, but it was almost amazing how they all refused to engage. His school had his back. And that was—just such a wonderful feeling.
When the last class had been dismissed, Taemin checked his phone to see a message from Marcus, asking him to call when classes were over.
“Taemin! Hey.”
“Hi.”
“How-how did things go?”
Taemin told him.
“Oh my god,” Marcus said when Taemin was finished, sounding so relieved. “Oh my god, that’s great. Okay. Okay, that’s manageable.”
“Mr. Lin volunteered to do the same thing tomorrow,” Taemin said. Mr. Lin was a student of about a year and a half, and he would be testing for black belt at the next sixth-month mark. He was also six foot three and built like an absolute brick wall. Even Taemin had some trouble doing takedown throws on him.
“Your students are actually the best,” Marcus enthused. “And if they keep it up for like a week or two, a lot of the interest will die down, except for maybe some of the junkier rags. We’ll still probably get followed for pictures, though. I… I hope that’s okay.”
“I can’t say I love the idea of people intruding on our life like that,” Taemin said honestly. “But it’s part of your life, and I want to be a part of your life too. I’ll live with it.”
“I wish you didn’t have to,” Marcus said wistfully.
“Me too.” Taemin shrugged, not that Marcus could see it. “But we have to deal with the reality. So we will.”
A sigh. “God, you’re amazing. I—how are you taking this so well?”
“I love you,” Taemin said simply. Because it was that simple. “It’s worth it.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. Followed by a shaky, almost awe-filled “I love you too.”
MARCUS WAS shocked—but ridiculously pleased—that not much changed. He and Taemin still had their busy schedules, and they still tried to make time to see each other as often as they could. Sometimes Marcus had twelve-hour days on set; sometimes Taemin had an exhibition or a tournament or a seminar on the weekends. They were still followed. Billy kept a running tab on all the media. Taemin had been approached for a few interviews, all of which he politely but firmly turned down. They made it work.
Then, on a Monday in the middle of August, just after seven fifteen, Marcus got a text message.
Please don’t come by the Academy tonight. Meet me at my apartment instead?
Sure, Marcus sent back, a little confused. Everything okay?
Just fine. I just need to get some surprise last-minute work done. I’m cancelling classes for the day, even, to do it.
Oh, okay. Well hey, if you don’t have classes, can I come by a little earlier tonight then? I should be done by seven.
Please do! I’ll see you then :)
Awesome.
It was a little weird for Taemin to cancel things so last minute, in part because when he did, not only did he send out an email and make a Facebook post about it, but he took the time to call each and every family. It could take hours. Marcus wondered what had come up.
When he checked his phone during a break in his own filming, it had blown up with messages from Preeti.
Marcus, oh my god, Marcus.
Did Master Choi tell you what happened?
Can you believe it?
It’s DISGUSTING I can’t actually believe it.
Except I had to, because it happened.
I’m calling everyone on the roster to let them know what happened. Master Choi obviously doesn’t want me to give details but I’m GIVING THEM.
Normally it takes like TWELVE FREAKING WEEKS from estimate to install, but luckily Ms. Marissa’s husband is a contractor and they’re doing like a rush job, especially considering the circumstances. Measurements today so manufacturing can start tomorrow and hopefully it’ll only take like six-eight weeks, but since the dojang is basically made of windows, that’s just an estimate.
We’re closing for the entire week, just to make sure everything is cleaned up. Broken glass on mats with people in bare feet? Not a good idea.
Running classes starting next Monday though. We’re putting plastic and stuff over the windows as soon as we finish calling everyone.
Let me know when you get this. I need to have fucking words with your fan club.
Marcus stared at the messages. He hadn’t heard anything from Taemin except for the text that morning. Marcus had just assumed he’d be ridiculously busy calling his students. And apparently he was—he and Preeti both were.
Broken glass? “Considering the circumstances?” His fan club?
What the fuck had happened?
He called Taemin and it rang six times before Taemin picked up. “Marcus! Hello. How’s filming going?”
“What happened?” Marcus asked.
“What happened to what?”
“Did something happen at the academy?”
“Oh! It’s nothing to worry about.”
Marcus frowned. “Preeti said something happened to the windows.”
“Oh, that. It’s nothing, really. Just an accident. Needed to do some surprise repairs.”
“An… accident,” Marcus said slowly.
“Made a slight mess,” Taemin said. “But again, nothing to worry about. I’ll see you tonight still?”
“Um, yeah. Sure.”
“Okay, great. Have a good day!”
“You too.”
They hung up. Marcus immediately dialed Preeti. “Hey,” she said, sounding furious. “I know, right? I just—fuck.”
Preeti didn’t swear. “What happened,” Marcus demanded.
A sharp pause. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Some fucking bastard threw bricks at our windows.”
Marcus went cold. “What?”
“Yeah. With notes on them and everything.”
“What—what did they say?”
“‘You’re not good enough for him,’” Preeti growled.
The fury was immediate and all-consuming. “What?” he hissed.
“You heard me.”
“Fuck, I—Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“He—he didn’t tell me. He didn’t want me
to know.”
“Probably didn’t want to make you think it was your fault,” Preeti said. “You know how he is.”
It was his fault. It was absolutely his fault. “I need to go,” he said. “I have some people to talk to.”
“You better.”
They hung up. Marcus ran to Billy, on the phone in a corner. Marcus grabbed his arm. “Hang up,” he said. “I need to talk to you yesterday.”
Billy took one look at him and hung up without saying goodbye. “What’s going on?”
“I need you to get to Choi’s and do whatever you can to figure out what fucking nutcase shattered their windows.”
“What?” Billy said with horror.
Marcus’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket to see another message form Preeti. Image attached.
He opened it, then shoved his phone at Billy, unable to breathe. All but one of the windows was just shards of jagged glass, the intact one cracked beyond recognition. He closed his eyes and saw you’re not good enough for him flash behind his eyelids.
Billy stared at Marcus’s phone, face a storm cloud. “I have to make some phone calls,” he gritted out.
TAEMIN GOT to his apartment feeling exhausted, even if it was hours before he normally got home on a Monday. He had swept up the glass. He and Preeti had called all his families. Ms. Marissa, who was part of his early-morning sparring class, had immediately volunteered her husband’s services, which Taemin felt incredibly fortunate about. He had, upon her instruction, gotten tape and plastic to cover the windows for the time being.
Preeti had gotten rid of the bricks, because it made Taemin feel sick to touch them.
But now he was home, and he could try to put it out of his mind until tomorrow, when the contractors came for measurements. Until he saw his school again, covered in plastic because someone was—was hateful.