Page 41 of Teach Me K-Pop

I hear someone clear his throat nearby and direct the rest of the members into a huddle on the other side of the room. I assume it’s Chita, giving us space to have a moment that’s justours.

My hands are practically twitching at my sides, desperate to reach out and touch him. But even more than that, an almost overwhelming desire to kiss him makes it difficult for me to stand where I am. But I won’t move until he does. Until I know what he wants. I watch as he bites his lower lip, glancing away and then back up at me.

“Will you hug me?” Nikko asks, his voice both nervous and hopeful, as if he thinks there’s a chance I’d say no, but really wants to believe that I won’t.

Nodding, I tell him, “Of course,” and open my arms for him. He moves quickly, all but falling against me. Instantly, I am extremely aware of several things:

Nikko is the perfect height to rest his head on my shoulder and nuzzle into my neck.

He holds on tightly, locked around me like he’s been craving this kind of contact as much as I have.

I am absolutely sure that I am completely, one hundred percent crazy about him.

I have no idea how I’m going to let him go. When it’s time for the concert, when it’s time to leave, whatever the case may be—this feels right. Him and I, wrapped up in each other.

CHAPTER TWELVE

JASE

Ihave a cramp in my hand.

I don’t think I’ve had to sign that many papers since I bought my house. Actually, I don’t think committing myself to be poor forever with a mortgage was even as labor intensive.

I give the pen back to the very serious man standing next to me, who hovered by my shoulder the entire time I was writing my name over and over.

As soon as Nikko and the other members had been corralled to head toward the stage, I assumed I would make my way to my seat and watch the show.

I was wrong.

Instead, I’d had a small forest worth of paper shoved in my direction and gotten pointed toward a chair as an extremely solemn-looking guy frowned and told me I should have had to do this well before I ever started talking to Nikko.

Giving him my best “I’m a professional” smile, I’d assured him that everything Nikko and I had talked about was strictly confidential and they had nothing to worry about. He’d dropped the pen in front of me without a word, waiting for me to start signing.

And I did. Because at this point, I would do pretty much anything to be able to stay in contact with Nikko.

I know I should have read the details more carefully—I’m sure Kija would probably have more than a few things to say about the way I skimmed over most of the entirely-in-Korean pages—because I know these non-disclosure agreements are intense. I’ve heard way too many stories about what the company has insisted trainees—potential idols—to say “yes” to in order to begin working for the chance to debut.

It’s entirely possible I actually just gave Task Force access to my whole life and probably my soul, but it seems like a pretty fair trade. They can have whatever they want of me if it means I can keep having chances for Nikko to look at me the way he did as Ryo literally pulled him out the door when they had to go.

We hadn’t gotten to really say much to each other; it was too hectic, there were too many people, and some of the members were far too interested in teasing Nikko and giving me what I believe were supposed to be vaguely threatening once-overs.

After grumpy suit dude scans all the papers, looking for my signature on each one, he turns abruptly and walks away, leaving me alone in the green room. I’m surrounded by an absolute disaster, and I feel legitimately bad for whoever has to make sense of it all to pack it back up.

But I’m not about to stand around and contemplate this mess when I can hear the rumble of the show starting. The sounds of shrieking and the poppy beat of “Brooklyn” get louder as I sprint toward the mezzanine seating level to try to find the section my ticket is for.

Everything goes dark as soon I step into the arena, and I have to stop. Partially not to trip over something or someone, but mainly because RYSING has just taken the stage. I glance up at the gigantic screens hovering above, and from the second I catch sight of Nikko’s face, I know I won’t be able to see anything else.

???

Forcing myself to leave my seat and sneak back to the green room before the show ended was an epic feat. I didn’t want to look away from the stage or the screens, I just wanted to keep watching.

But I was so far from Nikko there, surrounded by other screaming fans who all wanted his attention. Walking away from them meant walking toward him, being close to him again. Maybe we could even have a real conversation.

I’d been hopeful I would be able to steal him away for at least a few moments, to spend a little bit of time the two of us. But after the sheer craziness before the show, I wasn’t so sure that was in the realm of possibility. Nikko had mentioned that sometimes there were still responsibilities after they were done performing—meet and greets with radio station contest winners or people granted privileges by the company. I didn’t know if that was the case tonight, or if it would be me vying for his attention while his brothers kept interrupting. I appreciate the way they look after him and so obviously care about him. But they see him every day. And I don’t. I want—Ineed—to take advantage of whatever time I can spend with him.

Slipping through the same double doors I’d used earlier, I take a seat in the corner of the room. As I look around, I realize that everything is somehow miraculously much neater than it had been when I left. I see garment bags draped over nearly every surface with spray bottles of vodka nearby, each one labeled with a member’s name. I know—only because Nikko told me—that the vodka is used to spray down their delicate stage clothing that can’t be washed all the time, as a way to preserve the custom designer outfits. There are also ice buckets of water and beer set up next to a buffet line of snacks, all waiting for the group to come off-stage and dig in to the refreshments.

The amount of energy and effort the six of them expend on stage is truly phenomenal. Watching them go non-stop for two hours made me tired, just looking at it happening. I have no idea how they do it, night after night. The way they have to love what they do—and who they do it for—is incredible.

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