Jaeyong and I formally thank them for the meal, wait for his parents to grab food first, and then start adding food from the side dishes onto our plates, everyone grabbing their helping, his parents moving food from side dishes onto my plate, making sure I eat up.

Dinner’s mostly spent in the quiet because it’s so freaking good, but once everyone’s settled into the meal and we realize that the portions are more than enough—seriously, Jaeyong’s got enough japchae and side dishes to last him the week—I play the game of 21 questions.

“Yes, so I didn’t get into K-pop until a couple of years ago? Yeah, about a couple of years, maybe pushing three years, and I stumbled onto Trickshot. Granted they were rookies at the time, but I could tell right away that they were special, different. And then I started watching their content online, their livestreams, their performances, and my eye kept drifting over to Jaeyong here, and I kept looking at him, and looking at him, and looking at him until I realized why he looked so familiar. It wasn’t until the livestream that you did…”

I turn to Jaeyong, pointing at him with my chopsticks before I realize that it’s an incredibly rude thing to do, bringing them back down to my plate, wiping at my mouth with my napkin. Mr. Min is eating some more, but Mrs. Min is slowly sipping at her third shot of soju like a champ.

“You know the one where the fandom went kind of crazy ‘cause you started swearing in French? And I realized it was Québécois French, and I finally Googled you and found a wiki that said that you lived in Montreal for most of your childhood. I swear my whole body got goosebumps, and the more I kept looking at Jaeyong’s face, the more I was sure of it, that it was my—that it was Lucas, one of my old friends.” I shake my head, sighing at all of the good food, wanting to eat more and more, but knowing I won’t be able to.

“So how did you end up coming to Seoul?” Mrs. Min asks, and I wipe at my mouth, making sure I’ve gotten everything all off. My lip gloss was sacrificed during this meal and I’m more than okay with it.

“I knew I wanted to travel here one day, and teaching back home… I thought I would enjoy it more, and I just didn’t. So I was trying to see if I could get more certifications elsewhere, in the States, in Europe, anything really, and then it clicked that I could come teach English here. I didn’t think I would get a position, honestly, they usually hire college students who’ve just graduated, so I didn’t get my hopes up. But then I was accepted into the program.”

Jaeyong leans back in his chair, bringing an elbow back and hooking it over the back of it, turning his body towards me.

“What about the fansign?” he asks, eyebrows raised, disappearing underneath the curtain of hair on his forehead.

I nod, because yeah, important part of the story.

“I applied for the raffle of fansign tickets, and you know how slim those chances are, especially for us international fans. I knew it was going to be close to a miracle to get in, to be able to see you in person. It wasn’t like I thought anything was going to happen. I would’ve sent you that manga somehow, through the company as a gift or something, I don’t know. Although I guess everything is screened like ten times over, right?”

Jaeyong smiles small, careful. “But you were there, you did come to see me. Eomma, I thought I was having a stroke, seriously. I couldn’t believe it.” Jaeyong clutches at his head for the extra dramatics, shaking his head from side to side, more animated than I’ve seen him so far here in Seoul.

“I’m sitting there, right? Just sitting there, talking to fan after fan, thanking them for coming today, nervous, thirsty, God, so thirsty, and I drop my water bottle and then when it rolls under the table—”

“Jaeyong, eomma doesn’t have all day for this story…” There’s a smile on Mrs. Min’s face, her head cradled into the palm of her hand, staring at her son with all the love in the world, making those sharp, sharp claws of homesickness and longing rake their way down my rib cage, leaving tatters behind.

“I’m setting the mood, the atmosphere for context. I’m bitching about the bottle running away from me, not in Korean obviously, and then I finally pop up, sit up straight, scared as hell that the stylist-noonas are going to kill me for moving too much and I’ve somehow gotten my hair all ruined, or maybe I ripped some of my clothes by accident since it’s happened before—”

“Son—” Mr. Min interrupts.

“I’m getting there, appa, I’m getting there. So, I’m not really paying attention, just focused on drinking water, my throat was so dry. You end up talking so, so much during a fansign, you have no idea.”

I snort, because yeah, this is the Jaeyong I know, the Jaeyong I knew, overexplaining everything, painting you the picture, sharing it in 4K and surround sound, instead of staticky, pixelated nonsense that barely registers.

I find myself smiling at him as he talks to his parents, as Jaeyong keeps glancing over at me to include me in the conversation.

“And then I glance up, surprised, obviously, because she’s a foreigner.”

“What did you think when you saw Raleigh, again, after all this time?” Mrs. Min asks, leaning forward onto the table.

I swallow hard, watching the exchange, my heart lodged up somewhere underneath my tongue, throbbing, even as I struggle to remember to breathe.

The first impression after all this time. What was it?

Was it as goosebump-inducing for him as it was for me?

Jaeyong grins, glancing down to his lap.

I hold my breath, waiting.