Page 7 of Teach Me K-Pop

At least until my anxiety kicks in, and I find myself on the floor of someone’s closet, sorting their hoodies by color or brand. It’s a little more specific than that, really: Tang’s closet is arranged in a reverse rainbow, as he is the most adventurous with color. I sort Lux’s clothes by designer, and Lalo’s all black everything is essentially just separating items by sportswear labels. It is a bit of a joke, the way I find solace in being trusted with organizing someone’s possessions, but it never fails to make me calm.

If I had not already reworked everyone’s wardrobes within the last month as a way of coping with the upcoming tour that is only weeks away, I’d be in someone’s closet right now, as I try not to think about Jase.

I have no reason to think about him. At least not beyond the fact that he’s going to help me become more confident in conversational English so I can communicate better in interviews and with the fans.

But I still wonder, how did he know Kija-hyung? Where did they meet and become friends? What time was it for him when we were talking? Where did he go after we hung up? Have I crossed his mind after he closed his laptop?

It’s silly for me to wonder if someone has been thinking about me. I know that thousands of people are having thoughts about me at any given time. The same is true with the members of the group or any other idols. Everything about us is carefully crafted for just that reason—to make each of us unforgettable. We all have our looks and our roles within the group to appeal to anything that someone might want—and it works. The formula has proven to be successful because of the attention to every detail.

So what does it matter if one specific person is thinking about me? Why would I want him to? Maybe it’s the idea that I’m nobody special to him that makes me wonder—or want to be. Somebody special. To Jase.

Or it could be that deep down, there’s still that 14-year-old version of me whose insides turn to jelly when he sees a pretty boy. Having thrown my entire life into idol training, I never really had a chance to move past that. Sure, I’d had crushes on other members in the group at the beginning, but they passed—some more quickly than others—as our relationships developed into friendship and something deeper, our worlds shrinking to the point where we really only had each other.

And now here I am at 22, just as unsure about what it means to find someone attractive as I was almost a decade ago. I tell myself that it will pass, that these thoughts are just because the situation is novel. Jase is something new and shiny, and that’s why he has my attention. Eventually that will fade and I’ll be able to see him as my teacher, the way I should. I will be polite and respectful, and we will work together just fine.

I glance over at Lux’s bed again, surprised to find that I cannot see the light from his phone anymore. Checking the clock, I notice it is much later than I realized, having lost myself in thought for far longer than I expected. I fluff my pillow again and reposition myself before closing my eyes.

I can still see him smiling as he says that he is looking forward to speaking with me again.

I don’t hate it.

CHAPTER THREE

JASE

“Zombies?” I guess, trying not to wheeze at the truly awful—and hilarious—impression that Nikko was just doing to help me figure out the word he was trying to remember.

“Yes! That!” he exclaims, appearing legitimately relieved that I finally understood him.

I can’t hold it in anymore, and I nearly choke on the sip of coffee I take as I attempt to hide my laughter. Maybe the “grrr” and “argh” sounds should have given it away sooner, but whatever that expression was on Nikko’s face had been comical in a way I was not prepared for this early in the morning. I cough and sputter a little, setting the mug back down before anything goes sloshing onto my keyboard.

Nikko is both amused and kind of remorseful. It’s cute. I feel like I’m starting to understand his personality and sense of humor more now that we’ve gotten into a little bit of a routine and he knows more of what to expect of me and our sessions. The four chats we’ve had over the last two weeks have all gone well and ended on a positive note. I can see him getting more comfortable each time, with none of that initial awkwardness.

Today, he’d literally been dropping down onto his chair as the call connected, like he’d rushed to get there on time. He’d taken a deep breath and swept his hair—damp with sweat—back off his forehead before greeting me with a, “Hello Jase,” that was the most casual I’d heard him yet. It felt like progress. It made me curious about what he’d been doing prior, but also extremely aware of the flush on his cheeks and the way it seemed to make him kind of... glow. Which was obviously not a thing I needed to focus on.

“Okay, so one of your brothers is a zombie enthusiast. Did not see that coming,” I tell him, even though I know barely enough about him or his brothers to really have any sort of impression about them. I’m still not even entirely sure how many brothers he has. He mentions them in some capacity nearly every session, but never a definitive number. He’s always vague when the conversation veers into things that could be considered personal, and I never push. I’m just here to talk, not interrogate. “What are the others into?” I ask, to see where he’ll take this line of inquiry.

Nikko looks away from the screen as he often does when he contemplates his answers. I can’t tell if it’s to gather his thoughts and find the words, or if he’s deciding how much he’s willing to share with me. “Painting. But not with brushes,” he says after a moment, and makes another more recognizable motion with his right hand.

“Spray painting?” I smile when he nods. “Like making art on canvas, or out on the streets and buildings, like graffiti?”

“Everywhere?” He laughs a little, as though there’s more to the story. “Outside. If he can.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Your brother is a graffiti artist.”

Nikko shrugs. “Yes? He is good. I like what he makes.”

Adding this to my mental file of Facts About Nikko, I mention, “I’ve always thought graffiti was cool. But I don’t have any kind of artistic talent, so basically anything like that is amazing to me.”

“I am sure you are other talented,” Nikko says quickly. He has started to do that whenever I make a comment about myself that he perceives as some type of criticism. Even the things that are completely innocuous to me—like acknowledging there’s not a creative bone in my body—he seems to want to balance it out with a very endearing, if not entirely grammatically correct, sentiment.

I chuckle. “I appreciate your confidence.” A yawn sneaks up on me before I can cover my mouth completely. “Sorry about that.”

“You are tired,” Nikko states, rather than questioning. His brows furrow a little, looking concerned. “Did you not sleep enough? Are you eating well?”

He reminds me of one of the older women I’d worked with at the school in Seoul who was always checking in on how much I had slept and whether or not I’d been eating. The truthful answer then had been ‘not really,’ much like it still is now, but I had assured her I was fine, and I’ll do the same for him. “I’m okay. I’ll get some more rest over the weekend. And I’ll have breakfast in a little while.”

“Breakfast later?” Nikko tilts his head, considering the logistics of this. His hair falls over his eyes, and he slips a hand through it again to push it back. “How long are you awake?”

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