Page 27 of Teach Me K-Pop

If that’s one of the last things he hears me say, I want it to be that I would never betray the trust he’s placed in me.

Something like panic flickers across his features. “I did not think that,” he says, but it sounds like he’s doing just that. Like he’s wary of me, when he wasn’t before.

“I’m sorry, Nikko. I didn’t mean to make it... like this. I was talking to some students at school, and they happen to be huge fans. They were showing me videos and talking about biases, and then there were pictures, and I was so surprised to see you. But I didn’t tell them anything. Obviously. I wouldn’t. I won’t.” I’m rambling again. I’m nervous, and I can’t tell anything about what’s going on in his mind while I keep word vomiting.

I make myself stay quiet and wait him out.

“I believe you,” he whispers finally. There’s another long pause, but eventually he continues. “I was shocked. That you did not seem to know. But I liked it.”

This only leads me to believe that he does not like that I do know now. Maybe he’s having the same kind of trouble I did—having to shift his perceptions of Jase-who-didn’t-know into Jase-who-does-know. I want to tell him that nothing has to change, but I’m not sure I can, because it feels like something has shifted already. I’m off-kilter. He is, too. I have no idea how to make it right.

I’m about to open my mouth to apologize again—as if that would help somehow—when he looks at me, directly and intensely, catching my gaze and holding eye contact. It seems more aggressive than anything he’s done in the past, like what he’s about to say will be what determines how or if we can move forward from this. “Does it matter?”

“No,” I answer quickly, because it doesn’t—not now. But I want to tell him the rest of the truth, too. “It did. For a day or two. But that was for me, trying to adjust to the idea.”

“Did you?” He bites his lip, apprehensive.

“I’m trying,” I tell him. “Maybe it’s stupid, because you’re not different. You’re still you. And I knew there was a lot of stuff about you I didn’t know, and that we didn’t talk about. Which is fine. I understand why you didn’t want to. Or didn’t feel like you could. Or whatever reason you had. I don’t want you to. No, that’s not what I mean. I just...I wouldn’t ask you to. Not because I don’t care. I do care. I want you to tell me things. But only what you want to.”

“Jase.”

I’m grateful he interrupts me, saving me from myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been this big of a disaster around someone. It’s just becoming very obvious to me that I am so much more invested in this—whatever it is that we share here in this virtual space—than I had realized. And I already thought I was in pretty deep.

“Yeah?”

Nikko tilts his head a little, which makes him seem younger, like a curious kid. “Can we keep talking?”

Suddenly hopeful, I straighten up, looking directly back at him. “Like, now? Or in general?”

“Both?” There’s a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re okay? With that? You want that?” I’m ready to throw prayers to any minor deity I can name, requesting that he does, indeed, want that.

“I liked that you did not know. I do not have friends like that. Everyone I know is part of this.” He twiddles with one of his earrings for a moment. “But I want to talk to you. I have said that before. It is still true.”

“I want that, too,” I admit. I think my cheeks might be a little warm. Probably more than a little pink.

“It is easier, maybe. Now that you know. I do not have to be so careful with my words,” he muses.

I chuckle. “I knew you weren’t always trying to figure out the right English word, but I didn’t know what it was you were looking for. It makes sense now, though.”

“I did not want to say too much.” He sighs, then grins at me. “I think this is better. I can tell you whatever I want to.”

I nearly shout that I want him to tell me everything, but I already have emotional whiplash from everything that has happened since we’ve been on this call, so I keep that to myself for the moment. “I’d like that.”

“Did you want to stop talking to me?” he asks suddenly.

“No. Not at all. But I would have, if you were uncomfortable with this—with me knowing.” I debate whether or not I should for about a half a second, before I tell him, “I would have hated that, though. If I wasn’t going to see you again.”

I’m not sure I can accurately describe the way his entire person seems to morph with what I said, but it tells me immediately that telling him was the right thing to do. I’d put my whole heart on the line for him to look at me with those soft, starry eyes and expression that’s kind of dreamy.

“Every day we did not talk, I missed you,” he says, and I think, not for the first time, that I wish I could kiss him.

“Me, too.” I feel bashful, but he’s being brave in what he’s admitting, so I can be, too. “I still saw you, though…”

He raises an eyebrow. “How?”

“I, uh, maybe watched some videos,” I confess. I don’t necessarily think I need to say that “some” doesn’t even begin to cover the actual number that I have seen, but that will stay between me and my YouTube account.

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