Waiting in line is always a sucky place to be, but this line in particular really takes the cake. And now I’m thinking about cake.

Great.

I hand my I.D.—Quebec issued—and watch the Korean security guard frown at it, looking up at my face and then back down to my driver’s license, confirming that I am, in fact, who I say I am, Raleigh Montgomery.

The security guard is smartly dressed, standing next to a staff member (I know this because she’s wearing a t-shirt that says STAFF in English on her chest), wearing a headset, a phone in her hand as she welcomes me to the fansign event that’ll start whenever the members of Trickshot take their seats, and they open the doors into the auditorium.

So I’m still waiting, having hit the first checkpoint in a series of checkpoints that confirms my identity and the identity on my ticket, as I pull up my email confirmation and the date it was issued. I’m nodded through, thanking them for their time, because even I’m overwhelmed in the face of all these fans, even if I do count myself among them.

It’s my first time doing this, too, going to a fansign, or what we’d call a meet-and-greet back home, having won the lottery when I purchased the latest Trickshot album and the end of an era before the band goes on their six-month hiatus.

That’s not why I’m so nervous and excited though, even though I’m an OT6 stan, and love each member equally. No, my heart’s kicking hard at the prospect of standing in front of him, of seeing him again, after all this time.

I fidget from foot to foot, ignoring the odd looks I’m getting, sticking out among the ninety-nine-point nine percent of Korean girls—most of them high schoolers judging by their class uniforms—uh, being not of Korean descent, instead a mish-mash of Irish, Scottish, some Italian and a whole lot of French-Canadian. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to make my five-foot-eight frame smaller, hunching down and ignoring the way that people are looking at me, curious.

I try to home in on conversations, translating them in my head, letting my mind drift as I think about what our first meeting is going to look like, after all this time, sometime in the very near future when I get to stand in front of him again, the first time I’ll see him in person in almost fifteen years.

Because in the weirdest turn of events, the one and only Min Jaeyong, one of the members of the K-pop idol group burning their way through the charts much like their predecessors, used to be my best friend, a lifetime ago, back when we were both awkward.

He wasn’t as tall or as built as he is now, and I didn’t even have my boobs yet, my teeth encased in braces, embarrassed twenty-four seven about having food stuck in them so I wouldn’t smile, and if I did, it would be through covering my mouth with both hands.

Min Jaeyong’s taller than me now, and my chest filled in (along with the rest of me) and so much time has passed that I’m sure we don’t look like the kids we used to be, like the best friends we used to be.

Of course there’s the definite possibility that Jaeyong won’t recognize me, won’t know who I am even when I’m standing directly in front of him and decide to speak to him in French, the language he was most comfortable in since I didn’t speak Korean back then.

Well, other than the bad words that he taught me at the time, when he went by his English name, Lucas, because Jaeyong is kinda hard to pronounce in French.

And it’s weird, too, that ever since I found out—realized—that Jaeyong was my Lucas from all those years ago—famous now, working hard, looking more beautiful than ever. I became a fan of his too, blurring the lines between an old friendship and dying to find out about what kind of person he’s become, all these years later.

Does he still watch old Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z episodes like we used to back then, maybe occasionally binges them like I do, remembering a time when we were happier? Does he still have absolutely shitty writing that I couldn’t even read when he passed me notes in class?

What about that bright yellow Jansport backpack he had a million years ago that he let me decorate when I got my second period (after a six-month hiatus, the bastard) during one of our classes (was it geography or history?) and he took me to the nurse who helped me out, letting the decorating distract me from the embarrassment of leaking through my pants.

I didn’t know becoming a K-pop idol was a dream of his; it wasn’t something he vocalized, something he said out loud to me. I just knew that he loved to dance, and he loved Taekwondo, and he was apparently very good at both while I tried to manage my abysmal hand-eye coordination and my love of all things that dealt with the fantasy book genre.

Will Jaeyong still be that boy, who, instead of being grossed out like the rest of the guys in my class would’ve been at the mere mention of the word period, sacrificed his backpack for me to use as a shield for me to take the bus home after the leaking incident?

Will he still be that one true friend I had, the one I felt I could talk to about anything, anyone, and he’d always answer me truthfully, honestly and calmly? Will he still be one of the best friends I’ve ever had in my entire life?

Now that I’m older, I know it’s true that I was friends with some people in high school by pure virtue of the fact that I spent eight hours of my day with them, like I do now with some of my work colleagues, searching for something more, something deeper, trying to get that connection back that I felt I had with Lucas—Jaeyong.

Fuck, will he even remember me? And so what if he doesn’t? So what?

I’ve got a new job here in Seoul, teaching English at a local elementary school in Dongdaemun-gu. My contract is up for renewal after one year, and I’m taking the golden opportunity to get away from home, from Montreal, and looking for a different me in a different place, needing a change of pace so I can kickstart my life in a direction I want it to go in, instead of feeling stuck in a rut like I’ve been in for what feels like forever.

I remember when I first saw him, realized that it was Lucas (Jaeyong) I was looking at as I only got into K-pop three years ago when it took over the radio stations, first with that record-breaking English track from that band that blew up, and then the Korean songs were played more often than the English ones.

I liked the vibe, but most importantly I liked the lyrics after I looked them up, and it caused me to down spiral into K-pop and find other groups that I could vibe with, finally finding Trickshot among them and their debut song ‘Tricking You’, something poppy and sweet.

My bias, and hence my favourite member of the group, wasn’t even Jaeyong in the beginning of my early fangirling over Trickshot.

I ended up taking a deep dive into the fandom, wanting to know everything about Hoseung, the leader of the group (and also the oldest member) and the rest of the guys, finding so much content on their livestreams, on their variety show.

I binged those half-hour episodes that included the group shenanigans and utter chaos that had me looking forward to every Wednesday morning (on account of the time difference) where Trickshot’s staff would set the guys up with treasure hunts for their fans’ entertainment.

It was like nothing I had ever watched or experienced before.

And that’s when Jaeyong finally caught my eye, when I learned that he was a foreign member, Korean-Canadian, and didn’t speak Korean as naturally as the others, who were all born in South Korea and therefore native speakers.

Jaeyong would fumble his words, and I remember freezing when he swore in Québécois French, the words tumbling out of him, muffling his mic so the editors wouldn’t catch the words and erroneously translate them for their international fans.

My scalp tingled and I felt a little sick, pausing the video at the close-up of Jaeyong’s face, scrutinizing it until I could see the boy I once knew, hidden in the man’s features. I remember feeling a little lost, looking at him, recognizing that smile that used to belong to me and me alone, now for all the fans watching their streams, Jaeyong looking more and more familiar in that disembodied way the longer I looked at him.

And like the total fangirl I’d become, I looked him up, the group’s bio, each member’s bio, until it was confirmed. Min Jaeyong was my Lucas Min from a thousand years ago, the friend I mourned when he moved away after the summer before the ninth grade, crying into my pillow more nights than I could count at how much I missed him.

How much I kept missing him.

He was here, in Seoul—becoming a trainee at Hana Entertainment at the age of fourteen, putting his dancing chops to the test, learning how to sing, and becoming one of the visuals (the most good-looking member) of the group, enticing more female fans to watch them with his good looks and insane dancing talent.

It was almost like getting my friend back, pouring over all of their online content, learning as much as I could about the band, about Jaeyong, what he had been up to all this time when we were apart, what he was willing to tell the cameras over the last fifteen(ish) years of how he got to where he was, what he was doing while he moved away, and it became clear that he probably forgot all about me.

The livestreams and the variety show interviews don’t even hint at the other aspects of Jaeyong’s life, how he really is, his mental state, his emotional state—did he find someone he could love and who loves him back in the way he needs? Is he happy, exhausted, sick of the idol life?

I don’t know what I’m looking for here at this fansign, popping out like a ghost from Christmas Past and hoping Jaeyong will remember me, remember that we were once friends. That maybe, if he wanted, he could have one of those friends who knew him before he got crazy famous, when he was that awkward, bird-like boy that I thought the world of.

I’ll be happy if he does recognize me, and I’m going to make myself settle for that, not hope for anything more.

Like, what’s going to happen—he’s gonna wanna hang out?

If I’ve learned one thing about K-pop idols—male or female, rookie or senior—it’s that they work hard, super hard, seemingly putting the West to shame. Honestly, I don’t even think they get enough sleep on a regular basis, and Korea loves its work culture. I don’t know much about it, but I don’t think work-life balance exists over here from what little I’ve seen since I got into Seoul. Maybe I’ll figure it out when I start officially working next week, once I’ve settled in.

The line finally moves forward, jolting me out of my inner monologue and all of that unnecessary thinking. Whatever happens, happens, right?

My heart kicks against my sternum, and I pull in a deep, deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that are partly from excitement, partly from dread at meeting Jaeyong again.

As much as he’s changed over the past decade and a half…I haven’t really.

Stuck in a rut, like it feels I’ve always been.

Jaeyong’s been over here, chasing his dream, living his dream, making bank (if the projections on the Han Music Hot 100 Trickshot has received for their last mini-album is any indication), and I’ve been doing anything but.

Work is work, and while I thought it would be more fulfilling, it just isn’t—for me, anyway.

So I took a chance, bought a physical album and entered the raffle to get to Trickshot’s fansign in Seoul, not really thinking I’d win.

I had already made myself a promise that I would get to Seoul when I could, whether on a tourist visa or a work visa—that I would do whatever it took and got whatever accreditation I needed to teach English in my back pocket.

When I got into the K-pop fandom, I started to self-study Korean, hiring a tutor about a year and a half ago, and I think I’m good enough now (even if I do still make a ton of mistakes) to hold a conversation, to get my point across, even if the conversation I’m having isn’t as eloquent as I’d like it to be.

And the rest is history.

Oh, Jesus, we’re moving, we’re moving!

My attention sinks back into the present, the noise from excited conversation around me practically assaulting my ears, the energy along the line skyrocketing as the time between meeting our favourite idols and staying in line dwindles and dwindles.

Fuck, I might do something stupid like pass out, or hell, pee my pants.

I bite on the meat of my inner cheek and ignore the rapid beating of my heart, the way it feels like I’ve run sprints instead of just standing around, thinking of seeing Jaeyong again, nervously pulling at my t-shirt (plain and black), looking down at my distressed jeans (also black), and down to my Chuck Taylors (black, duh), burgundy-dyed hair falling in soft waves to hit either side of my rib cage.

I have a zit coming in on my chin ‘cause it’s that wonderful time of the month before I start bleeding and aching and all that other fun shit that I have to deal with for having a uterus, but I put some makeup on and if he doesn’t look at me directly, he won’t even notice.

I’ve never felt so self-conscious about my skin before I got here. Seriously, every person I’ve seen in Seoul is gorgeous—there must be something in the water, that’s the only explanation, that or the tteokbokki that I’ve fallen in love with.

It isn’t long until the steel entrance doors are opening to let us into the convention hall/auditorium, a giant room filled with seats, something like a dais in the front of the room, tables currently empty, clad in black tablecloths, bottles of water set up for each of the six members of Trickshot.

I fish into my bag, hot panic licking my insides before I finally grasp the old Dragon Ball manga that Jaeyong had lent me a million years ago that I never got the chance to give back to him. Now I want to return it, once and for all. I fish out the physical copy of their first mini-album too, the one with a very special place in my heart, hold it with the manga, and wait for my turn, peering over the heads of teenage girls, phones out, taking as many pictures as possible of the room alone.

I guess I should be doing that, too, but I think I want to remember everything instead of just watching through my phone camera.

The members finally do come out to screams and cheers, and I think I’m going to start hyperventilating when I see Jaeyong come out, looking as handsome and beautiful as ever.

Nothing about the way he looks is reminiscent of the boy he was as he takes his seat at the very far end of the table.

To hide the parts of me that missed him, that thought about him over the years while sending him good thoughts and vibes, dismissing that part of me that wondered if he ever thought about me, too.

The line starts moving.

And I put my game face on, staring straight ahead, waiting for my turn. Waiting and waiting and waiting…

I hold my breath; I’m up next.