Page 70 of K-Pop Double Life

Somewhere ahead was New York. And I would see Sang-hoon again.

27

CHOICES

SANG-HOON — NEW YORK

Somewhere over the Pacific I allowed myself to look forward to seeing Jin again. The plane touched down at 5:30 on Saturday afternoon, which was disorienting because I’d only left Incheon at 3. Then I realized we’d crossed the international date line and New York was 13 hours behind Seoul.

I powered on my phone the moment we hit the gate, and messages flooded in. The most important was from Jin. Please tell me you didn’t change your mind, that you’re really on your way to me.

I called him immediately. He answered before the first ring finished. “Sang-hoon?”

“I’m here. I just landed. I’m getting my bag and then I’m coming straight to you.”

“You’re really here.” His voice cracked. “You came back.”

“I told you I would. I’m done breaking promises to you.” I navigated through the terminal, following signs to baggage claim. “Where are you?”

“The InterContinental Barclay. Room 1522.” He paused, catching his breath. “I can see the Empire State Building from my room.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

While I waited to clear customs, my phone gave me directions. Hauling my suitcase, I followed signs to the AirTrain and rode to Jamaica Station, where I had to sort through a mass of confusing signs to find where I could buy a ticket for the Long Island Rail Road to New York. I wished I had Jin there to translate; his English was much better than mine. It didn’t help that the signs read Grand Central Station instead of New York City.

Or even better, I wished that I had arrived on a private plane, been led through Customs and Immigration as a VIP, guided by Sun-hee-noona onto a bus to the hotel.

Instead I fumbled on my own, hoping the ticket clerk would take my Shinhan Card Visa, then finding an ATM where I could withdraw some US dollars. I rode a train full of travelers with suitcases and young people who looked like they were on their way to New York for a Saturday night out.

I followed the crowds through the concourse and Grand Central Terminal, then out into the warm Saturday evening. Trundling my suitcase behind me, I joined the crowd, heading toward the InterContinental hotel, feeling every block bringing me closer to Jin.

I avoided the registration desk and went right to the elevator for the fifteenth floor. When the doors opened, I saw Jason sitting on a chair talking on his phone. He immediately ended the call and stood.

“Good to have you back, Sang-hoon. Jin has been waiting for you.”

I thanked him and walked to room 1522. I stood there for a moment before knocking, composing myself.

Then the door opened. “I heard you,” Jin said. He stood there for a moment, and then we were in each other’s arms. He kissed me. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate and angry and relieved all at once. Five years of wanting and one week of having and hours of loss compressed into one moment of contact.

“I was such a fool,” I said, as he overlapped me with “I missed you.”

He tugged me inside, and I looked at him. He wore rehearsal clothes: black joggers, white t-shirt, hair a mess. Dark circles that hadn’t been there in Cannes. His hair was growing out slightly longer than I’d been keeping it, the ends starting to curl behind his ears the way they did when he’d been too busy to think about maintenance. I’d been gone two long days.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Jin’s hands were fisted in my shirt.

“Haneul said you’ve been falling apart without me there to ground you.”

“I have been.” His hands loosened on my shirt, smoothing the wrinkles he’d made. “I missed a cue in London because I was looking for you in the wings. And then I botched the harmony in rehearsal because I kept thinking about what I’d say when you came back—if you came back.”

“I’m here now.”

Jin was crying now, not bothering to hide it. “I don’t need you to protect me from everything. I need you to trust me to make my own choices about risk. To trust that together we can handle whatever happens.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I didn’t see that before.” I pulled him close again, felt him collapse against me. “I’m choosing you, Joon-hi. Over my fear, over my guilt, over the false safety of distance. I’m choosing you.”

I dried his tears with a handkerchief. And then I kissed him. I meant to go slowly, because our connection was rebuilding itself, but our bodies didn’t give us that chance. In moments we had pulled our clothes and tossed them aside, and fallen onto the bed together, naked, trying to figure out how we wanted to fit together.

I slid down, and cupped his erect penis in my hand. It was already oozing from the tip, and I used that to lubricate my hand as I stroked him. He clearly didn’t want slow; he was bucking against my hand, forcing me to go faster and faster until he was panting and sweating and his buttocks were rising off the bed, pushing him deeper into my mouth.