Page 45 of K-Pop Double Life

I couldn’t hold out for too long, and eventually I tried to tell him I was going to come in his mouth, but I couldn’t get the words out, and he wouldn’t let me pull away. I ejaculated, and he swallowed almost all of it. Then he sat up and wiped his mouth, and wrapped that hand around his own penis.

With a few strokes, he came on the bare skin of my thigh, and the warmth of it felt like it was falling directly into my veins.The orgasm wasn’t as amazing as it had been in Paris, but I didn’t care. I hoped to have years of those ahead of us.

Wednesday May 27, 2026

I woke before the alarm with Sang-hoon still asleep beside me. Morning light filtered through the curtains of the Conservatorium Hotel, turning his hair almost chestnut instead of black. One arm was flung across the mattress where he’d reached for me in his sleep. His breathing was slow and even, the tension that had lived in his face since Cannes finally eased away.

I watched him for a long time. For five years I’d imagined waking beside him. I hadn’t imagined it would happen because someone had tried to kill me.

Carefully, I brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. He smiled without opening his eyes. “You always stare.”

“I do not.”

“You’ve been staring for at least three minutes.”

I laughed softly. “You counted?”

“I heard you stop breathing.”

He finally opened his eyes, still smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I know.”

He reached for my hand beneath the blanket, our fingers finding each other automatically. The gesture was so ordinary, and yet so impossibly precious.

A knock sounded on the door. “Breakfast in twenty minutes,” Sun-hee-noona called. “Media bus leaves at ten.”

Our hands separated instantly. The room became a hotel room again instead of the safest place I’d ever known.

By ten o’clock I belonged to the world again. Hair, makeup, wardrobe. Before we walked out, I grabbed Sang-hoon’s arm and turned him to face me. “Your collar is off,” I said. I adjusted it and smiled, and I felt warmth all through my body. “See, I can take care of you, too.”

“Like you did last night,” he whispered, and I felt myself blushing.

The first interview was all five of us with a Dutch woman with highly teased hair, in a conference room at the hotel. She asked the standard questions about the concert that evening, what we’d be singing, what we expected of the Dutch audience.

Then she leaned forward sympathetically. “What got you through what happened in Cannes?”

“The support of the members,” I said. “And Starhouse staff.” I smiled. “Our fans have sent wonderful messages.”

Her photographer wanted the five of us to jump in the air together because it looked “energetic.” We did our best, though Tae was careful of his knee.

The second interview took place in the office of a glossy Dutch fashion magazine. Sang-hoon and Du-ri, the wardrobe mistress, accompanied me because Sun-hee-noona had briefed us this would be about clothes.

“You always look so fabulous,” the interviewer said. “Where do your clothes come from?”

“Starhouse has an in-house designer who creates our stage costumes,” I said. I pointed to Du-ri. “Our wardrobe mistress keeps everything organized.”

“But what about offstage? I’ve seen some fabulous photos of you. What designers do you like to wear?”

I knew nothing about the clothes I wore offstage. Sang-hoon usually accompanied me to a store, or a designer’s boutique, and picked out what I should wear. I looked to him and he nodded, and began speaking in Korean so that Grace could translate.

“K-pop and K-dramas have put Korean fashion on the global stage, turning idol outfits and character wardrobes into coveted looks overnight. As Jin’s stylist, I’m responsible for his look off stage. Today he’s wearing a Solid Homme top and Kuho Jung trousers, and his sneakers are from Yoon Ahn’s collaboration with Nike.”