Page 51 of K-Pop Double Life

“Jin—”

“Joon-hi,” he corrected. “When it’s just us, I’m Joon-hi. And I’m asking you, as Joon-hi, not as Jin the idol. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t give up on us because you’re scared.”

I had the flight confirmation. My suitcase was packed. I had spent five years loving him from a distance and telling myself it was enough.

“I’m still terrified,” I said.

“Me too. But at least we’re terrified together.”

I pulled my hands free. Stepped back. Saw the hope die in Jin’s eyes.

“I can’t,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. But your career is on the line if Starhouse management knows about our relationship. I can’t carry that responsibility. We’ll meet in Seoul after the tour and see how we feel then.”

Jin collapsed inward, like I’d physically struck him.

“Then you never really loved me,” he said quietly. “Because love means staying. It means fighting together, facing the hard things together. Not running away when it gets complicated.”

“That’s not fair.”

“None of this is fair!” Tears were streaming down his face now. “It’s not fair that someone wants to kill me. It’s not fair that loving each other makes us vulnerable. It’s not fair that I only got such a short time with you before you decided I wasn’t worth the risk.”

“You are worth the risk.”

“Then prove it! Stay! Choose me over your fear!”

The room felt too small, the air too thin. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the panic squeezing my chest.

“I’m leaving,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Jin looked at me for a long moment. Then he wiped his eyes and straightened his shoulders, and I watched him become Jin the idol again. Professional, composed, hiding everything that was breaking underneath.

“Then I won’t try to stop you,” he said, voice steady now. “But I need you to know something.”

“What?”

“When you change your mind—and you will, because this decision is going to eat you alive—don’t expect me to just take you back like nothing happened. Don’t expect me to forgive you for choosing to leave when I begged you to stay.” He moved toward the door. “I won’t spend the rest of my life waiting for someone who runs away when things get hard.”

“Joon-hi⁠—”

“Goodbye.” He opened the door, paused. “I hope leaving makes you feel safer. I hope it’s worth it.”

Then he was gone, and I was alone with my suitcase and my laptop showing a flight to Seoul and the worst decision of my life crystallizing around me like ice.

By that evening, I’d be gone. And Jin would be safer for it.

I closed my suitcase before I could change my mind.

19

ABSENCE

JIN — AMSTERDAM/LONDON

Sang-hoon was gone. Actually gone. He usually packed my suitcase, making sure nothing was wrinkled or damaged. For the first time on this tour, I had to do it myself. I threw everything into the bag, not caring, and then dragged it down to the lobby where the valet added it to the pile waiting for the bus to the airport.

I put my earphones in and turned on music, and ignored anyone’s attempt to talk to me. I wanted to stay in my own misery, and I did, through the bus to the airport, the short flight to London, and then another bus to the hotel. This was what my life was reduced to. Bus rides, hotels, flights and performances. Nothing more.

My phone buzzed. Text from my mother: