We both start belting, laughing at the music. It’s so cheesy, but I like it at the same time.
When the song’s over, we’re both cracking up so hard my stomach hurts. It feels good to let go.
“You’re coming to the concert, right?” he asks.
I look down at my lap then back to the window. I don’t want to tell him no, but doubt I can get tickets this late even if I had the money. I’m going to the venue, though. I have to at least try something.
“Yeah,” I say, giving him my half-truth.
He beams, looking way too happy. “You’re going to love it,” he says. “You’ll be so surprised.”
Surprised? Why do I feel like he’s talking about me in particular and not just the concert goers? I can’t puzzle it out.
“Hey,” he says, nudging me out of my reverie. “You’re really cute when you’re concentrating like that, but you don’t have to overthink it.”
The last thing I want to do when I’m trapped in a car with Chansol is blush, but my face heats to a million degrees, unbidden. I thought I was supposed to be in control of my emotions.
I can’t take it any longer. He has to know how much this thing—whatever it is—is killing me. I can’t live in my dreams forever, and if we’re going to spend more time together, I might as well draw a line.
“Don’t say stuff like that,” I groan.
Even though there’s still music in the background, the silence between us becomes awkward. I don’t know if I have the guts to express everything I’m feeling, so I leave it at that.
“Why?” he asks, tentative.
I chew at my bottom lip. What can I say that will satisfy him but not reveal my true feelings? “Because...we can’t be friends.” That should work, right? He’s an idol, and I’m me. If we’re friends, I might get hungry for more. I already am hungry for more.
“And why can’t we be friends?”
Dangit, how do I answer? I wish I hadn’t started this conversation. My gaze turns to the window, so I don’t have to see his face.
“I know you,” I say. “You’re nice to everyone. You have a positive attitude about life. Even when you’re trying to avoid the paparazzi, you thought about me before anyone else. But that can hurt you. I’m afraid of what other fans might do. If you’re friends with me, it might cause you problems later.”
He needs to leave me as fast as possible so the pain in my chest can stop. It will throb less once he’s gone.
“Funny,” he says, a smile in his voice. “You don’t think I can take care of myself?”
I swing around so I can see his expression. He has a half-smile and not a care in the world.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying I’m your fan. Nothing more. It was dangerous for you to approach me. I could’ve been a sasaeng.”
“But you’re not,” he says, reaching across the space the separates us and taking my hand. “I can tell the difference.”
Well, that backfired. The heat in my face increases until I feel my ears burning. Is he really holding my hand? I know in Korea it’s common for friends to hold hands, and I’m sure he’s just trying to comfort me. It’s working. A little.
“Look,” he continues, as if it’s no big deal that our fingers are interlocked. “It was my choice to follow you outside. It’s my choice to be here, and it’s my choice to be your friend. You can respect that, can’t you?”
Of course I can. It’s just that it’s ripping me apart to have him so close knowing I can’t hold on.
“Sure,” I say, anyway.
“Good,” he responds, relaxing enough that he starts driving with one hand. “Let’s try this again. You have a beautiful smile.”
He’s really not going to give up. I guess if I get this time with him now, I should take advantage.
“What, like this?” I say, flashing him all my pearly whites.
He nudges my shoulder. “Yes. Like that.”
It’s so hard to be mad at him. He’s just too cute.
“How’s your neck feeling?” I ask, releasing his hand and leaning across the middle console to get a better look.
He stiffens. “It’s fine.” I swear his voice went up a pitch.
I reach out one finger to touch the wound. It looks like it’ll heal clean, at least.
“I should’ve gotten out of the way.”
“No,” he says. “I should’ve been looking out for you.”
I scoot back to my side, continuing my study of the landscape passing by. It’s all splintered because of my cracked glasses. “I guess I owe you for saving me.”
“Yep,” he says, not missing a beat. “You do. I’m going to have to think of some way you can repay me.”
Holy crap, that’s just an expression. Like I could ever repay Chansol for everything he’s done for me.
I’m dying to know what he’s thinking, but I’m afraid at the same time. “What did you have in mind?”
“Hm,” he says, his chin getting all wrinkled as he thinks. “A coupon.”
He wants twenty cents off yogurt? “Coupon?”
He nods, his face bright. “Yeah. A coupon book. You know―wash my car, cook me a meal...” He clears his throat. “Free hugs. Stuff like that.” He said the last words way too fast, but I got it. He wants a free hug, eh? I’d make him a giant book of free hugs if he asked for them.
The only problem is, he’ll never use them because his stay is temporary. I guess it doesn’t hurt to entertain. “If that’s what you want.”
His grin almost reaches his ears. “It’s what I want.”
Gosh, he’s beautiful. I can’t get over it, no matter how much I try. It’s not just the way he looks, it’s that he causes everyone around him to feel his energy. I can’t stay upset in his presence, no matter what. He has all of me, whether or not he wants it.
I search through the glove box and find a scrap of paper and a pen. FREE HUG, I write in English. I stuff the coupon in his shirt pocket and sit back, pleased. I hope he uses it sometime soon.
“This is our exit,” I say. I don’t want to say that because it means we’ll sleep in separate rooms and then he’ll go in the morning. And when he leaves, my heart will go with him.
#fangirlproblem11
Too much time on the Internet=an unprepared fangirl in an emergency.
The lighting in my apartment hallway is shabby at best. It’s casting a green glow over Chansol. I’m sure I look deader than Frankenstein’s monster. I’m only staying in this light because there’s a community phone in the hallway, and I want to make sure Chansol calls the hotel and lets everyone know he’s safe.
If things have died down, he can go back. In fact, it might be better for him to go late at night. I guess I’ll find out if he’s leaving soon or not.
He tries to push me into my apartment, but there’s no way I’m going to abandon him.
I can hear the phone ringing on the other end, but only faintly. Chansol has his back against the wall and he’s smiling at me.
My hand goes through my hair again, and I keep wiping under my eyes hoping to remove any traces of mascara. Like that’s going to work. I wish he would quit staring. Yeah, I’m a mess, but he’s making me feel super self-conscious about it.
“Hello?” Chansol says, standing taller and turning around.
I can hear some angry Korean on the other side.
“I’m sorry,” Chansol says. “It just worked out that way.”
More angry Korean. Someone’s asking if he’s crazy—among other choice words. But Chansol is patient—he listens to everything and waits until whoever he called has calmed down enough so he can speak.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I hear him say, eventually. He gives the other person my address and apartment number, since I had to give it to him to get here. Then he says something I don’t understand. “The whisk...it’s here.” His back is to me, but he keeps glancing over his shoulder. He lowers his voice. “So, you know, if you could help with that.”
&nbs
p; With a whisk? I don’t get it.
“Thanks, I owe you,” Chansol says, hanging up the phone.
Weird way to end a conversation.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
Chansol pulls out his full-force smile. “Yep. Should we go?”
I hand him my keys. “You clean up first, then we’ll eat. I have some phone calls to make, too.”
Chansol grips the keys in his hand but doesn’t make a move to leave. “You waited for me. I’ll wait for you.”
I call Sherry first to let her know why I left work and that I’m safe. She tells me to take the weekend off and recover. I know that means less money, but my mental health is important here.
Sam is next on my list, since she’s not in the apartment when I checked a minute ago. “Finally!” Sam says when she hears my voice. “Do you know how worried I was? I called, like, twenty times.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Forget it,” Sam says. “Your car broke down. Again.”
No! I really can’t afford more repairs right now. And I definitely can’t afford a new car. “What did you do?”
“My dad came to help me. I’m going to be staying at home tonight. Your car is in my parent’s driveway.”
Freaking fantastic. I don’t have a source of income the next few days, so I won’t be fixing it anytime soon. Looks like I get to take public transportation for a while. Wa-hoo. Not.
I tell Sam goodbye and slam the phone back in the hook. I spin on my heel to see Chansol with his hands in his pockets, his lips a straight line. I guess even if he didn’t understand what I was saying, he can sense the tone.
“Sorry,” I say, tucking some of my brown hair behind my ear.
The sides of his mouth rise in a closed-lip smile. “I’m just worried about you.”
I take off my broken glasses and rub the bridge of my nose. He shouldn’t be worried about me. He shouldn’t even know who I am. So many girls would die to be alone with Chansol, but all it’s doing is hurting me. Knowing it won’t last—and feeling closer to him by the second—it’s not right.
“Let’s go get washed up,” I say, walking ahead. Both of us are covered in dirt from the hotel, and I feel like a shower will make us new people. I don’t really want to cook for him in the state I’m in.
I get to my door before I remember I gave him the keys. Instead of telling me to move like any sane person would, Chansol puts one arm on the frame opposite the doorknob so I can’t escape before unlocking with his left hand.
I’m looking at his face, because he’s so close. I already knew he had an amazing profile, but this proximity is a whole new experience. I’ve never taken note of the way his jawline swoops up to his ears, or how his hair curls at the base of his neck...until now. Not even pictures could pick up that kind of detail.
The door opens, and I stumble back, my sneaker heel catching on the entryway. Chansol grabs me before I fall, his bicep strong against my back, and his face centimeters from mine.
Oh no, this is exactly the type of thing I don’t want to happen. His eyes lock in on my face, searching every inch. I try to turn my head, but it’s like my neck doesn’t work. All I can do is stare back.
Dang, I want to kiss him.
Everything is amazing―the way his arm feels, the sound of his voice, the shape of his torso. A hurricane builds inside me, wind and rain pounding on my heart, ocean waves stirring my middle. My fingers are tingling, legs trembling. My whole body is aware of his nearness. It shakes me until I don’t have any confidence in my ability to stay away.
One moment passes, and I know I can’t let him go anytime soon. I’ve been fighting it, but now I’m in enemy territory. If he leaves, it’ll tear me in two. I didn’t want it to be like this. I wanted to enjoy loving him from a distance and not knowing the real him.
I need to give him my trust, but my experience cautions me to keep the walls up. My own father made me so many broken promises. All it took was a few lonely birthdays for me to know the mistake was on my part for believing him. No one has ever fought for me, and I feel like an idiot for allowing even the smallest part of Chansol in.
Because I know he’ll break my heart. Everyone does. And Chansol is the big pop star with a life so much better than mine. The ending is obvious before it begins, but now that I’m in this deep there’s nothing I can do. Only prepare myself for the eventual explosion.
That last thought shakes me awake. I spin out from his arms, tripping as fast as I can to the other side of the room.
“The bathroom’s right there,” I say, pointing at the door. He doesn’t have extra clothes, but he can wash his face and hands. Or he can put on the same clothes he had on before.
I’m not sure how clean the bathroom is, but since Sam’s a neat-freak, it can’t be too terrible.
He keeps shifting his weight, scratching at the back of his head. “You should go first.” His words feel unsettled.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You have to leave soon, and I live here, so...”
He lets out a breath of a laugh, stretching an arm. “Yeah...that’s actually why you should go first. I’d rather clean up at the hotel.”
I guess I can understand why he’d be uncomfortable, but I hate to think he’s leaving that soon. What if he just goes while I’m in the shower?
“You...” I start. I really shouldn’t be saying this, but I can’t leave him alone in this room if I won’t ever see him again. “You’ll say goodbye before you go, right?”
He nods, smiling. “Of course I will.”
I’m sure I’m being obvious, but I can’t hold it in. I like him, okay? It’s not like it’s news in my life. I like him and I’m alone with him, so I should use the short time we have together.
I run to my room and gather my stuff, determined to take the fastest shower in the history of showering. I also have an extra pair of glasses, thank goodness.
As I shut the bathroom door, I catch him watching me. I want to dance, it feels so good.
It takes too long for the water to get warm, too long for me to scrub and shave, too long to get dressed and put on a little makeup.
I want to show him that I don’t always look like an undead person. I even grabbed a cute lacy top and put on my skinniest jeans.
There’s not much I can do about my wet hair. I don’t want to waste time blow-drying, so I get it as dry as I can with a towel then throw in some gel so it’s all curly. My old glasses have thick black frames, but not as huge as the ones Chansol normally wears. They look okay. I like my other glasses because they’re not as noticeable.
Chansol stands as I open the bathroom door, a huge smile crossing his face. I smile too, feeling shy.
“Wow,” he says in English. He’s looking me up and down. I almost feel like he wants me to spin around.
Now I’m embarrassed. Even though I was trying to impress him, I didn’t expect him to actually notice.
I point to the bathroom door, trying to deflect the attention off me. “Are you sure you don’t want to clean up?”
He licks his lips once. He has no idea what that does to me. Even covered in dirt and blood, he’s still sexy.
“Actually,” he says, “that sounds nice.”
I get the suspicion he was only putting off cleaning up for me, not because he wanted to go back to his hotel. I guess it’s already done, but I’m upset I didn’t pick up on it.
Before I can say anything, he slides past me into the bathroom. I already hear water running by the time I think about asking him what he wants to eat. I don’t want to assume he likes anything, and I’ve don’t have Korean food lying around.
Instead, I put my clothes away in my room. I really want to tidy something else to ease the nerves, but it looks like Sam did a deep clean earlier today.
I spot my laptop neatly put away next to the table and my fangirl instincts take over. I haven’t been online for, like, four hours. I’ll just check things online real quick.
Sure enough, the second
I open Twitter I have thirty-five notifications. I start giggling as I go through each one. People have been tagging me in pictures of Chansol. It’s kinda funny to see him all dolled up when I’ve just spent the last few hours with a dirty and dingy version of the same thing.
There are articles, too. No doubt the ones that sent the paparazzi to the hotel. Rumors of Chansol dating. I ignore them.
Before I know it, I’m lost in the void. Maybe it’s because Chansol’s in the next room, but I’m especially squealy tonight. I don’t tell any of my friends what’s actually happened. Not while Chansol is still here. Besides, without picture proof, none of them would believe me. There’re too many liars on the Internet as it is.
Maybe I can ask Chansol for one selca before he goes.
I land on a particularly handsome photo of him I haven’t saved to my computer and start the downloading process.
“Anything interesting?” Chansol says, leaning over my shoulder.
I jump and shut my laptop in one motion. Did he just catch me drooling over him online? My head turns so I can judge his expression—but instead, I end up falling out of my chair.
Chansol, the sexiest guy on earth, has just been standing over me with his shirt off.
#fangirlproblem12
Sometimes, it’s impossible to suppress the perv.
Chansol has a beautiful face. I like everything about it, even his big floppy ears. I should be looking in his eyes and focusing on his words, but he’s standing half naked in front of me, which makes it hard to concentrate.
“Sorry,” he says. “I decided to take a shower. But my shirt was ripped. My coat is okay, but I didn’t know what else to do.”
I hear all the words. I understand them totally. I just can’t seem to take action. He flexes a little—I’m sure it’s an accident—but holy moly.
He bends down so his face enters my vision. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling.
“Do you have something I could wear?”
I should definitely get him something to wear. This shirtless thing is not going to work for me. I’m totally paralyzed by his beauty. I wonder if we could take that selca now.
#fangirlproblems Page 4