“So I brought a bunch of stuff, even a cake—” I say, walking into Jaeyong’s apartment once he opens the door for me, getting attacked with canine affection in the form of Haneul twisting around my feet. The dog walks in circles around me for every single step I take forward, which is adorable, of course, but dangerous because I don’t wanna drop the cake, the precious, precious cake.

“Cake? Why the hell did you bring a cake?” Jaeyong asks, stretching his arms over his head, a voice coming from the depths of his apartment that I freeze in my tracks, blinking up at my old friend who might just be a new friend, too, waiting for the suspicious sound to be nailed down.

“Oh. Hoseung-hyung is here. Surprise.” Jaeyong’s mouth quirks in a would-be smile as he grabs the cake box from me, our fingers touching for a split second that makes me almost drop it to the ground, as if singed.

“He just showed up,” Jaeyong says, switching to French so we can converse somewhat privately. It’s a voice I missed a lot, one I didn’t know I missed that much, practically a whole octave or something, deeper and raspier.

“I don’t know, he needed to get away from the dorm and the guys, and he sometimes likes to hang out here. I couldn’t turn him away.”

I get it, I do, wanting to give a friend some space. “Do you want me to go? I can leave, I will leave,” I say, making the decision for both of us. I hand over the plastic bags from my hands and wrists—beer, and fried chicken (since he picked up the tab last time since I discovered my fifty thousand won he left behind, the jerk), and some staples like japchae, and the infamous spicy rice cakes, tteokbokki, my absolute favourite thing to eat here.

I’m a week out from my period, hence the increased appetite, and the need for sweets—is there anything better than chocolate cake and vanilla frosting? —but maybe I’ll be a dick and take the cake back to my place.

“Oh, Jaeyongie!” Hoseung calls out from one of the bedrooms down the hall, and I freeze in place, holding my breath, as if he’s a T-rex and if I stay perfectly immobile, he won’t be able to see me or really know I’m here.

 “Oh? Who’s this? Did you invite a girl over?” Hoseung grins, then covers up that grin with a hand heavy with silver rings.

Hoseung, my original bias, is standing in Jaeyong’s living room, watching the two of us exchange food like we’re doing something more illicit.

And honestly, I don’t like what he’s insinuating. I mean, who wouldn’t want to sleep with Min Jaeyong? But I can’t let myself think like that, can’t let myself hope and pine for it or I’ll lose my head, and I don’t want to do that.

I’ll never lose my head over another guy again.

Nope, not happening.

I can get it over this dumb crush, I can. I will. I’m not going to ruin our friendship, not like that.

“Ah, hyung, come on. She’s my friend from back home.”

“Jaeyong, you’ve lived in Seoul for years and years. I’m pretty sure this is home.” Hoseung stresses, pointing down at his feet, encompassing all of Seoul, the entire city. Hoseung greets me by bowing his head down, giving me his given name (as if I don’t know it, as if half the world doesn’t know it), lifting his head to smile at me, eyes widening. “Oh! You’re the one from the fansign? She’s the one from the fansign, right?”

Jaeyong takes a step forward, like a bull pawing at the ground, hinting at attacking but not committing to it yet. “Hyung. Raleigh can understand you. She speaks Korean, too, remember?”

I introduce myself, bowing my head and giving my given name (there’s no hope for my long-ass family name, so I’m not going to try). “Nice to see you again.”

Hoseung’s eyebrows go high on his exposed forehead, the exposed skin absolutely scandalous. “Food. Is that chicken and beer I smell?”

I laugh, because I’m sure idols want to eat junk food all of the time, and I don’t mind sharing. One glance at Jaeyong, though, changes things, so I take the reins. “Yes, of course. Did you want to eat with us, or…?”

“Oh, please speak comfortably, Raleigh-ssi, and you can call me Hoseung.”

Technically, Hoseung is older than me. Jaeyong and I are same-age friends, giving us the freedom to speak to each other casually without any sort of breach in politeness level (and of course, I have his permission to do so, too).

Hoseung and I, on the other hand, are not that close, and I don’t feel comfortable enough just blazing through and calling him oppa, what a younger female would call an older male, which, from what I gather can be used flirtatiously or not, so I really don’t know how to proceed here since Koreans are wild about titles.

I’m going to play the ignorant foreigner card and hope someone corrects me without being too hard on me.

I ignore the fact that my original bias and world-renowned K-pop idol just gave me permission to speak with him as I would with Jaeyong, at a more casual politeness level.

Okay then, guess I’m hot shit now.

I clear my throat, ignoring the way my cheeks are burning, and move over to the kitchen island, turning to Jaeyong to ask for plates. We set the table for the three of us, spoons and chopsticks for everyone, cans of beer dripping with condensation, the smell of beautifully fried chicken permeating the room, even Haneul starts to whine.

Jaeyong sits between Hoseung and I, at the head of the table, having moved the chair around in another four-seater configuration that was different from the last time I was here, everyone knocking their cans of beer together with a gonbae, and taking that first, irresistible sip of cold Hite and a bite of fried chicken, extra soy and garlic flavour.

Conversation is stilted, and I lose that easy banter I had with Jaeyong before I got here. Instead, the conversation between the three of us hints at a shared history and leaves me out in the cold; Jaeyong became a trainee at Hana Entertainment with Hoseung for close to six years before they were officially formed into an idol group and debuted three years ago.

And like the original K-pop group that conquered the world, Trickshot looks to be following in their footsteps, even if the eldest member, Hoseung, is due for his mandatory military enlistment within the next year or so, if I remember correctly.

So I do what I do best; I listen and learn, watch Jaeyong with Hoseung.

I’m immeasurably glad that Jaeyong got to have this: friendship, brotherhood, love and respect for one another in a connection that can only be forged when you’ve seen each other at your respective rock bottom. I’ve only heard stories about trainee life being a version of hell, the kids constantly exhausted while learning dance, singing, memorizing lyrics and having to go to high school at the same time, and I’m sure idol life can be incredibly hard, too.

Maybe sometimes, though, the dream and the end goal gets obscured by all the bullshit, by the sasaengs, by those who think they’re entitled to every single piece of you, sometimes more than you can possibly give.

I’m also envious, right here and right now, coming to terms with the ease of their friendship that’s like a wall I can’t scale. I’m here, listening, but I’m not included.

That’s fine though, it should be fine.

What do I know about idol life? What can I possibly know about it and connect with Jaeyong over that?

I won’t be able to, I just can’t relate to him in that way.

I eat my chicken quietly, drink my beer without slurping, watch Jaeyong flicker glance after glance over to me, as if checking I’m still hanging around. I’m also in some sort of heaven since Haneul has found me to be the weakest link when it comes to scraps from the table (I gave him the tiniest sniff of chicken breast meat, none of the crunchy stuff), and oh so wisely, the pup has decided to be my devoted companion from now until the sun explodes.

Good choice, Haneul, good choice.

Hoseung and Jaeyong make their inside jokes, Jaeyong making the effort to explain them to me while Hoseung cuts me with a look, like he’s trying to figure me out, looking right through me, playing the part of the overprotective hyung to the max.

I lift my can of beer in cheers and keep listening to the conversation, Haneul whining at my feet.

It’s not long after that when I’m able to finally have my slice of cake, and Hoseung makes a comment, as if finding my weak spot, the scabbed-over wound he finds that he presses down on until there’s fresh blood.

Like I get it, I definitely do not fit the mold when it comes to Korean beauty standards: I have more muscle and am constantly working on my six-pack, I’m not small—my shoulders are too wide, hips too wide, freaking thighs too wide for Korean clothes. I don’t fit in here, and it just feels like another harsh reminder.

“You eat well,” Hoseung says, and I bite my tongue, hard enough to taste a hint of pennies, iron-soaked blood in my mouth. I stop chewing on my last piece of fried chicken before starting on my cake (the last one, I swear), and glare at Hoseung, the kind that would set him ablaze if I had those kinds of superpowers.

What the fuck? What the fuck? Did he just insult me to my face right now?

Would you have preferred it to be behind your back?

Jaeyong spits out some of his beer, chokes on it, one hand covering his mouth, one hand dropping his beer can and waving it in front of my face, trying to erase my intense death glare on his hyung.

“No,” Jaeyong gurgles, having a hard time swallowing after coughing. I don’t look away from Hoseung, ignoring the way his cheeks flush and the way he looks surprised. “No, that’s not what he’s saying, Raleigh. It’s not. It’s meant as a compliment.”

“Are you sure about that?” I bite out, watching Hoseung frantically shaking his head, making an X with his crossed arms.

“No! Is that an insult where you’re from? No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Hoseung says, his voice carrying out the syllables, elongating them.

Jaeyong mops his face, and the chicken sits funny in my stomach now, heavy and unappealing, even if it was delicious literal seconds ago.

Maybe it’s time to leave. Yeah, maybe it’s time to go.

Just what am I trying to do here? Force a friendship with Jaeyong when we’re basically living on two different planets?

I push back my chair from the table, give Haneul one last pet to his head, the pup licking at my fingers. “I’m gonna go, Jaeyong,” I tell him gently, towering over him now that I’m standing and he’s remained seated. It’s almost comical the way he looks between me and his hyung, as if I would make him make that kind of choice.

After all, he doesn’t really know me at all, right?