Page 24 of K-Pop Double Life

Sun-hee-noona sipped her coffee. “Jason and I are taking a bateau-mouche cruise.” She smiled. “Paris is the city of romance and I want some.”

Jason gave a theatrical sigh. “You should not complain about romance in front of all these men. One of them will try to take you away from me.”

Everyone laughed.

As usual, the two Starhouse security guards who traveled with us didn’t interact much with us. Jason said that was purposeful, that we wouldn’t notice them unless something went wrong. Back in Seoul, they’d return to their regular jobs, manning the headquarters front desk or escorting the company president somewhere.

I took a photo of Jin eating a croissant with my phone. “Aw, how sweet,” Min-kyu said.

“I’m sending it to his mother,” I said. “She’s always emailing me to make sure he’s eating well.” I clicked send and then put the phone away. I’d treasure that photo myself later.

Mina, the second stylist, had already spread out a folded tourist map.

“Montmartre,” she announced. “Wan-suk, Du-ri, and I are going to watch artists pretend they can draw us.”

“They can draw you,” Wan-suk said. “They’ll draw me like a potato.” She was the principal makeup artist, and she was accustomed to dealing with beautiful faces. Jin’s was the most classically handsome, because his was slim and well-balanced. He had expressive eyes and a straight nose, and he paid close attention to his skin. Wan-suk loved to make him up.

Some of the others were more difficult. Haneul had a square face and strong jaw, which Koreans didn’t value as much. He was the oldest and she had special wrinkle cream to keep his skin smooth. Min-kyu’s hair grew quickly and needed constant trimming. Tae and Woo were cute young men who needed little help.

“You’ll be a very elegant potato,” Mina said. Wan-suk’s face was rounder, with small eyes she accented with colorful liner and eyeshadow. But in her worst moments she did look a bit like a potato.

The conversation drifted toward pastries again while I concentrated on my eggs. Jin leaned toward me.

“What about you?” he asked.

I looked up. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“I thought I’d walk along the Seine,” Jin said. “Maybe I will see Sun-hee-noona and Jae-sung and wave to them.”

I laughed. He hesitated just long enough that only I would notice. “Would you come with me?”

“If you are worried fans will see you,” I said. “I can come with you to make sure your hair is combed.”

Everyone laughed, then Aidan and Liam joined us and the mood in the room shifted. Right. Someone had created an explosion in Cannes, and then sent threatening text messages.

Aidan helped himself to the last croissant and a tiny pot of jam as Liam went to the coffee urn. When he had a cup in hand, he said, “Good morning, everyone. Nice to see you all looking rested.”

“We have rehearsal today at two o’clock at the Accor Arena,” Sun-hee-noona said. “Anything you want from us this morning?”

“Just be careful,” Aidan said. “Paris is a beautiful city. Enjoy it while you can.”

Liam was looking out the tall window at the street, and the river. For a moment, I wondered what he was seeing.

The morning was cool enough that I wished I’d brought a jacket. A light breeze rippled the Seine, carrying the smell of coffee, river water, and fresh bread from cafés opening along the quai. It was ironic that I was the one responsible for making sure Jin looked perfect for every number, and I’d ignored my own comfort.

We walked without any destination beyond the cathedral rising in the distance. Tour boats slid beneath the bridges, their guides speaking in French, English, Spanish, and Japanese over crackling loudspeakers. When people waved, we waved back, along with many other tourists around us.

Cyclists threaded past families pushing strollers. A violinist stood beneath one of the bridges, his music echoing softly against the stone.

No one seemed to recognize us. Or if they did, they kept walking. In Seoul, every glance carried the possibility of being seen. Here we were simply two young Asian men in the middle of a crowd. It felt like being in a crowd scene in a movie. A Japanese tour group passed us, the leader carrying the Hinomaru flag, and another group of teenagers, all wearing matching football jerseys sporting the Italian flag.

Ahead of us, a pair of men walked hand in hand. One wore a faded rugby shirt, the other a linen jacket. They looked to be in their thirties, deep in conversation, paying no attention to anyone else.

Jin watched them for a moment. Then, without looking at me, his hand brushed mine.

It lingered, and I turned my palm upward. Our fingers slipped together so naturally it felt as though they’d been waiting for permission.

Neither of us spoke. We simply walked.