Page 18 of K-Pop Double Life

I knew every detail of his face. Had memorized them without meaning to, the same way I’d memorized choreography and lyrics and the correct angle to hold my head for photographs.

We can’t do this, I’d said last night.

I know, he’d replied.

But we were doing it anyway. Because almost dying had a way of rearranging priorities, of making the impossible seem merely difficult.

I just had to figure out how to keep both my career and the person who made it all bearable.

The plan was simple in theory: discretion. We’d been discreet already, just in a different way. Instead of hiding feelings, we’d hide actions. No public displays, no careless moments, no digital trails. What happened in hotel rooms stayed in hotel rooms. What we felt for each other would remain invisible to everyone except the people who already knew.

Sun-hee-noona knew. She’d made that clear with one look last night and a text that had made me laugh despite everything: Finally.

Eun-ji probably suspected. She’d seen too much, managed too many crises, navigated too many scandals. But she was also practical enough to know that what she didn’t officially acknowledge couldn’t officially become a problem.

The other members... I wasn’t sure. Woo was too young to notice anything beyond his own exhaustion. Tae lived in his own world of choreography and fashion. Min-kyu paid attention, but he also understood the weight of secrets. He’d been an idol long enough to know what was worth protecting.

Haneul, though. Haneul saw everything. He’d been watching me for months with an expression that was difficult to read. Not judgment, exactly. More like recognition. Like he understood something I hadn’t admitted yet, even to myself.

I’d have to talk to him eventually. Even though I was the center, he was the heart of the team, the one who made sure everyone was all right. I knew that he’d keep quiet, not out of loyalty to me but out of understanding that what threatened one member threatened all of us.

But that was a problem for later. Right now, I had to focus on getting through the next few hours without doing something stupid like reaching for Sang-hoon’s hand in full view of everyone on the plane.

His pinky finger pressed against mine again, just for a second. A reminder that he was there, that last night had been real, that we were in this together.

I pressed back.

The captain’s voice crackled over the intercom: “Beginning our descent into Paris. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”

Sang-hoon shifted beside me, straightening in his seat, and the contact between us broke. He tucked his tablet away with practiced efficiency, then glanced at me. “You should try to sleep when we get to the hotel. You need to be rested for rehearsal.”

Professional. Appropriate. His work voice.

“I know the schedule,” I said, matching his tone.

“Just making sure.” He reached up to adjust the air vent above my seat, an excuse to lean closer, his shoulder brushing mine. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you okay?”

Such a simple question. Loaded with everything we couldn’t say out loud.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Liar.”

That surprised a small smile out of me. “I will be okay. Eventually.”

“Good.” He settled back into his seat, hands folded properly in his lap, every inch the professional stylist. Beside me, Sang-hoon’s knee remained pressed against mine as Paris rose beneath us.

8

TARGET

JIN — PARIS

The plane touched down with only a few slight bumps, and I felt the familiar tension coil in my chest. Even landing was a performance. Cameras might be waiting, fans tracking our arrival on social media, speculation building about the “incident” in Cannes.

I reached for my phone and pulled up the group chat.

Eun-ji