Page 12 of K-Pop Double Life

I kissed him back.

My hands came up to his face, my fingers sliding into his damp hair, and I kissed him the way I’d wanted to for so long. The way I’d imagined in the dark when I couldn’t sleep, when I was touching up his makeup before a show and his eyes would close under my hands and I’d pretend, just for a second, that it meant something more.

He made a soft sound against my mouth and pulled me closer, one hand fisting in my shirt, the other sliding around to the back of my neck. The kiss deepened, turned desperate, months and years of want and denial and careful distance burning away in the space of a heartbeat.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead came to rest against mine.

“We can’t do this,” I whispered.

“I know.”

“The company⁠—”

“I know.”

“The fans⁠—”

“I know, Sang-hoon. I know.” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes fierce. “But I don’t care anymore. I almost died tonight, and you ran onto a burning stage to save me, and I’m done pretending.”

“Pretending what?”

“That you’re not the most important person in my life.” His voice cracked. “That has been true ever since the moment you handed me that water bottle and told me not to spill again.”

My throat closed. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything.” His hand moved to my chest, palm flat over my racing heart. “The first time you did my makeup and your hands shook because you were nervous. All the nights when you stayed with me until four in the morning because I couldn’t stop panicking. Every time you’ve fixed my hair between takes, every time you’ve checked on me after a hard performance, every single moment you thought I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Jin—”

“I was always paying attention.” He kissed me again, softer this time, almost reverent. “How could I not? You’re all I see.”

I kissed him back, helpless against the weight of time crashing down around us. We sank onto the sofa, and his hands were in my hair and mine found warm skin under his towel.

“We have to be careful,” I managed between kisses. “If anyone finds out⁠—”

“Then we’ll be careful.” He pulled back, cupping my face in both hands. “But I’m not giving this up. I’m not giving you up. Not after tonight. Not ever.”

5

SHELTER

SANG-HOON — CANNES

A knock at the door made us both jump. Jin pulled away reluctantly, adjusting his towel around his waist, and I tried to make myself look less like I’d just been thoroughly kissed by one of the most famous people in Korea.

“Room service,” a voice called. Sun-hee-noona.

Jin caught my hand before I stood. “Stay,” he whispered. “Please. Just for tonight. Just stay.”

I nodded, unable to speak past the knot in my throat.

He dropped the towel, and my heart rate jumped. I had seen Jin naked before, between costume changes, but never the way his body had reacted to mine. He turned and hurried to the bathroom, holding the towel, and returned a moment later wrapped in the hotel robe, the belt pulled tight against his body. It didn’t hide what was underneath but I hoped Sun-hee-noona wouldn’t notice.

He went to the door and opened it just enough for Sun-hee-noona to wheel in a cart laden with covered dishes. She looked at Jin, then at me on the sofa, then back at Jin. Something passed across her face. Understanding, maybe, or satisfaction.

“Eat,” she said in Korean. “Both of you. And get some sleep. Police interviews tomorrow at ten.”

“Thank you, Noona.”