Page 6 of Teach Me K-Pop

Nikko attempts a frown, like he’s annoyed, but he can’t seem to quite make it happen. It makes me want to tease him more. “I am busy. But when I am not I like…” He seems totally lost for the first time, like he’s trying to recall how to say what he wants to say and just can’t do it.

“You can always ask for the words if you need them,” I tell him. “I look things up all the time, too, because I’ve forgotten or mixed them up.”

“Shi?”

“Poems? Poetry?” I supply. “Do you like to read poetry? Or write poems?”

“Yes. Both?”

“I like poetry, too.” I make a mental note to find some simple poems we can work through together. Just as I’m about to try to find out who his favorite poets are, his attention is drawn away from the computer by someone offscreen.

I can’t hear what’s being said, but I still look away to give whatever sense of privacy that I can.

When he turns back to me, he apologizes. “I am sorry. I have to go.”

“No worries. It was nice to meet you, Nikko. I look forward to talking to you again.”

“You, too. Jase.” He gives me a short bow. “I will speak to you soon.”

The call disconnects and I stare at my screen, finishing off my now-cold coffee, trying to figure out how I feel about our time together. The conversation was pleasant; he seemed nice. Polite. Maybe a little shy. I’m trying to ignore the fact that he’s extremely attractive, but it’s difficult to do after having spent the last 30-ish minutes gazing at him.

I close the laptop and stand, rousing Noel from where she’s still sleeping beside my desk in one of her many beds. I’m not excited about the long day ahead of me, but I realize that I did mean it when I said I was looking forward to talking to him again.

?

NIKKO

“Good night,” Lux says, rolling over to face the wall and pulling the covers up over his head. The light from his phone screen glows through the fabric and I know it will be at least another couple of hours before he falls asleep mid-scroll. For his sake, I hope he’s reading another one of those dystopian romance novels that he likes and not looking through the comments on some social media site that are only going to make him feel terrible about himself.

The few feet between our beds is about as much privacy as we ever get, outside of the shower. It is better than it used to be, with each of us only having one roommate now, instead of the entire vocal line shoved in one cramped room and both rappers sharing what was really no more than a glorified closet. The three bedrooms of our current apartment make for a much more agreeable arrangement. But we are still six 20-something guys living together and there are days that the situation is far from ideal.

As much as I love the other members—they are truly my best friends; my family, really—I would like to have some time to myself every now and then. I probably wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I had it, though.

I sit back up to punch at my pillow, hoping that will somehow make me comfortable enough to relax. Despite being physically tired from the intense practice we had earlier and full from the late dinner that Ryo made, I feel restless and wide awake. It is not unusual for me to toss and turn for hours, my mind unhelpfully pulling up some long-past incident for me to replay and agonize over like there is anything I could possibly do about it now.

It is not anxiety keeping me up tonight. I hadn’t had time to think about it when I was running off to rehearsal or caught in the chaos around the table with the others, but now I’m alone, and I can’t help it.

I know I made the right decision by taking the next step in improving my English skills and finally working with a tutor. I had put it off for nearly a year after deciding that I had to actively try to learn more. I hadn’t even felt that nervous about the lessons until I was actually there, looking into the computer screen.

Despite all the practicing that I’ve been doing for the past year, using the apps and trying to speak to Chita and Lalo in English when we have the chance, it was like I forgot everything I knew when I saw Jase. I worry that I made a terrible first impression, that I didn’t represent myself or the work I have been doing well. Jase did not seem to mind being patient with me, but I want to do better next time we speak.

Looking back on our chat, I am not sure what I was expecting of my new tutor. I knew that the person was a good friend of Kija-hyung. I probably should’ve realized that he would be younger. Handsome like Kija.

All of the other men at the label are older, rounder, nothing special. But Kim Kija is attractive in the kind of way that makes people easily mistake him for an idol or k-drama actor. It only makes sense that his friends would be the same way. I was surprised by his light hair and bright blue eyes, what I think of as being so typically American.

I wasn’t prepared for that. For his smile or the easy, casual way he spoke to me. I think that caught me off-guard as much as anything else, the way he just talked like I was another random student, a person he might be starting to get to know.

At first I thought that maybe Kija-hyung had told him not to make any mention of who I am or what I do, but the longer the conversation went on, I became convinced he really did not know anything about me. And there was something wonderful about that.

I haven’t been able to meet anyone new, who didn’t have a preconceived notion of me, in years. Being an idol automatically sets all of us apart, gives people ideas about who we are and how we are and what we might be able to do for them. The possibility of having someone to talk to outside this bubble that I live in is both scary and kind of amazing.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I even know how to make friends with someone anymore. Everyone I have met and gotten to know since I became a trainee at 15 has been associated with the label in some way. The friends I had at school, before I joined Task Force, are a distant memory at this point. Rightfully, most of them gave up on maintaining any kind of relationship when I started working 16 or 18 hours a day and was too tired, hungry, and stressed out to even check for text messages at the end of the day.

Not that I have a whole lot more time or capacity for anything outside of the group now either, though. As we rehearse for our world tour, the days are still long and exhausting. They are packed with dance and singing practice to perfect our choreography and vocal arrangements, filming promos for radio stations and content for our official accounts to make sure we are as visible as possible before we actually begin the shows.

I’m probably crazy, deciding to take on something else, giving up the little free time I can squeeze in talking to a stranger in a language I still do not feel particularly good at. But the idea of sitting on the couches of more late-night shows or in the swivel chairs of satellite radio offices or wherever else we might go for interviews and having to watch Chita-hyung spend the entire time doing twice as much work as he should to keep us all a part of everything makes me feel terrible.

I will probably never not worry that I’m not contributing enough or not pulling my weight in the group. Even today, talking to Jase about the responsibilities around the house, the familiar feeling of guilt at relying on the others for the basics bothered me. Lux and I were both banned from any kind of kitchen duty beyond clean-up years ago, and even then we are a last resort as we both have terrible track records with all the dishes surviving our turn at the sink. So Lux does most of the vacuuming, dancing around the rooms like he is twirling a partner, and I try to keep everyone’s shoes out of the way, their jackets within reach as they walk out the door, and the phone and laptop cords untangled.

---