Page 33 of K-Pop Double Life

He nodded slowly, and I watched him make the decision to trust us. To compartmentalize the fear and do his job.

“Okay,” he said. “Then let’s get ready to go back to the hotel.”

Aidan, Liam, and Jason filed out, leaving us alone.

Jin sank onto the sofa, suddenly looking exhausted. “How bad is it?”

I knelt in front of him, hands on his knees. It was a touch that could be professional concern or something more, depending on who was watching.

“Bad enough that they’re taking it seriously,” I said honestly. “Not so bad that we’re canceling the show.”

“Someone got into my locked dressing room.”

“Yes.”

“And left something that scared you.”

I couldn’t lie to him. Not with his eyes on mine, not after everything we’d been through.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He cupped my face in both hands. This touch was tender and deliberate, and couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what it was. “Then we’ll deal with it together,” he said. “After the show.”

I turned my head and kissed his palm, brief and fierce. “Together.”

The bus drove us back across the Seine, late-afternoon sunlight glinting off the water, then passed riverside joggers and couples lingering at café terraces before pulling up beneath the glass façade of the SO/ Paris. Beyond it, the rooftops of Paris stretched toward the horizon, the dome of the Panthéon and the distant silhouette of the Eiffel Tower just visible through the summer haze.

We ate in one of the hotel’s private dining rooms, a space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Seine. As dusk settled over Paris, the river reflected the lights of passing tour boats while cream-colored apartment buildings glowed in the last of the evening sun.

Inside, everything seemed understated and impossibly expensive. Pale wood, polished stone, fresh flowers arranged so casually they had to have cost a fortune, and a table set with crisp white linen and enough glasses to make me wonder which one I was supposed to use.

The chef had prepared a French dinner, but someone had clearly thought about who we were. Baskets of warm baguettes sat beside bowls of steamed rice. Platters of roasted sea bass, herb-crusted chicken, steak frites, grilled vegetables, and buttery potatoes covered the table, followed by tiny fruit tarts, macarons, and glossy chocolate desserts that looked too perfect to eat.

Haneul studied the spread with a doubtful expression. “Any chance I can get a cheeseburger?”

One of the servers smiled as though he’d been waiting for the question. “Of course, Monsieur.”

Haneul looked around the table with a grin. “See? That’s international diplomacy.”

We laughed, grateful for the excuse, but every topic eventually ran into the same invisible wall: the messages from Hana’s phone. No one wanted to bring it up again. And no one mentioned the strange gift in Jin’s dressing room.

After dinner, I walked to his room with Jin and we stepped out onto the balcony. There was a strong breeze and we stood close, holding hands in the light from the Eiffel Tower. “I wish we had more time to explore together,” he said.

“We have the future,” I said. “After the tour. Pryzm will take a break. We can slip off together anonymously. Not to Busan, because people will recognize you. But maybe Tokyo.”

“We may not have a future,” he said. “You heard about the message, saw the texts. I might not make it to the end of the tour.”

I squeezed his hand. “I trust Aidan and Liam. They’ll take care of you. Of all of us.”

“I hope so.” He smiled. “Remember the signing we did last year in Harajuku?”

I did. Harajuku was famous for kawaii, or “cute” culture. The group had been mobbed by girls in Lolita dresses, by kids influenced by goth culture and anime characters. It had been wild.

“I’d like to go back there with you. Just two Korean guys absorbing everything, anonymously.”

“We can do that,” I said. “But now, you need to sleep. Rest up for tomorrow.”

He turned and kissed me gently on the lips, and my body felt electrified. “Soon, we’ll be able to be together.”