Page 18 of Teach Me K-Pop

Nikko.

What the actual fuck?

I know those eyes because I’ve spent hours staring at them via my computer screen, talking about everything from the weather and our favorite foods to dancing around how we seem to feel about each other.

My heart has started some kind of complicated gymnastics routine in my chest, skipping around like an Olympic hopeful, and I have never been more glad to hear the bell ring than I am right at this moment.

“We’ll be back, Mr. Kitson!” Savannah promises, as the three of them gather their bags, unaware of my current existential crisis. “You have so much more to learn!”

That seems like an incredible understatement.

???

Choi Nikko.

One-sixth of RYSING, what appears to be one of the most popular k-pop groups—if notthe biggest—on the planet.

And I’ve been talking to him at least a couple of days a week for the last several months.

The irony is not lost on me that, essentially, I have a celebrity crush. I may have wanted to tease the girls about it earlier, but here I am, with all thesefeelingsabout someone that it’s obvious I don’t actually know.

As I stare at my computer screen, filled with hundreds of pictures from the image search I did of “Nikko + k-pop,” since I couldn’t figure out how to spell the group’s name at first, I can see pieces falling into place. The crazy hours, the cagey answers he’d give sometimes, his hesitancy to discuss anything that could be considered personal, and his brothers that he spoke of—the other members. It all made sense now.

Clicking on one of the photos to make it bigger, what I see still surprises me, even given all the new information. It’s a side-by-side—one photo of Nikko all made up for something and another of him “bare faced.” The accompanying text seems to be pointing out just how much product has been used, as if this was a criticism of his natural looks or the artistry that went into well-done makeup. He’s beautiful either way. I’ve seen him in various states of put-together, but always fresh-faced. The eyeliner and whatever else he’s wearing only accentuates his features.

I find myself staring at the pictures and wondering how I’m supposed to talk to him now. I know that I should act like nothing has changed, because, really, it hasn’t. He’s always been this person—a celebrity. I’m the one who has to deal with this new information. I should be professional enough to disregard it and continue speaking to him like he’s the same person, because he is. This is my problem.

And as I lose the next hour to reading article after article about RYSING, the history of the group and the members, I realize this is, indeed, a problem. I’ve missed two bells ringing, classes ending and beginning, all while I’ve been down a rabbit hole on the internet. It takes a student popping into my office—Alyx’s pink hair appearing in my peripheral vision—that alerts me to the fact that so much time has passed.

“You cool, Mr. K?” Alyx asks, taking their usual place at the circulation desk.

I have no idea how to answer that honestly, so I just smile and say, “Of course. You?”

They tell me a story about their last class and I don’t hear a word. My eyes keep straying to the headline of the article I’d been reading when Alyx popped in. I hope I’m nodding at the appropriate places as they talk, but the relief is real when they are called away by a student with a question.

Choi Nikko Announced as Brand Ambassador for Prada, Joins Group Members Jeong Iseul and Ahn Yung-Sun as Faces of High Fashion Houses

While I’d certainly never pretend like I had a clue about fashion, even I know Prada. I skim the remaining paragraphs, which seem to be more about Lalo and Lux’s liaisons with Saint Laurent and Armani, and that’s great for them, but I need to know more about Nikko.

There’s only about an hour left in my day here, and I know I’m not going to get anything else accomplished, so I tell myself this is important research to help me find common ground with my students.

By the time the final bell rings and Alyx is yelling good-bye as they wave at me through the window into my office, I have devoured an astonishing amount of content. I know a basic history of the group—all the firsts they’ve had, awards they’ve won or been nominated for, the names of their biggest hit songs—and have a vague picture of who the members are.

If I’m downloading their most recent album as I lock up and walk to my car, well, that’s just good data collection methodology.

??

As I pull into my garage, I double tap the brakes unintentionally, my foot bouncing along to the very catchy beat of ‘Brooklyn.’The drive gave me enough time to listen to about half of their first record—CNTRL—and I figure Noel is due for a long walk, which will let me hear the rest.

She’s waiting by the door as always, tail wagging and tippy-tappy toes greeting me. I set my bag down and scoop her up, allowing her to cover my face with kisses while I tell her how much I missed her. Outside of having allergies, I don’t understand how anyone could not be a dog person. This kind of love is impossible to resist.

I get Noel into her harness and ready to walk, aware that I’m really just biding my time until I can call Kija. I need to wait at least another three hours before it’s even remotely acceptable to call Seoul, but I will be on the phone almost immediately around the time I think he’ll be waking up. I want to know why he didn’t tell me who Nikko was, and how I’m supposed to move forward now knowing what I do.

I pop my earbuds in as we head out, and I’m grateful for the excuse to burn some energy. Noel prances along the sidewalk as I nod my head to the beat of the songs. I’m still surprised by the mix of the music—and that it’s not the generic top 40 pop that I had previously dismissed. Maybe k-pop had meant something different when I was in Korea, or maybe the newer groups had helped the genre evolve. Whatever it was, I was starting to understand the appeal. There was something almost addictive about the sound, both the rhythm and lyrics. It was easy to see why so many people loved it so much and how they might become enthusiastic fans.

Noel is panting by the time we get back to the house, and I’m basically doing the same. The peppy BPM of the soundtrack to my walk seemed to spur me on to move faster and definitely put a spring in my step that was not normally there. I drop a couple of ice cubes into Noel’s water dish and grab a neon sports drink from the fridge for myself before sending Kija a quick “I’m about to call” text, figuring I’ll be at least a little bit polite before I surprise him with an early morning ring.

I manage to wait maybe a full minute before tapping on the call button in the app.

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