Chapter6
898 Words
Breakfast was chaos.
Ji-hoo had not anticipated the logistical nightmare of feeding a six-year-old. Hae-sung wanted rice, then didn't want rice, then wanted cereal, then spilled the cereal, then cried about the spilled cereal, then decided he wanted rice again. Soo-ah moved through the kitchen like a general commanding a battlefield, holding rice bowls with one hand while wiping countertops with the other, answering Hae-sung's endless questions with a patience that seemed both superhuman and utterly exhausted.
"Can I have juice?"
"Ask nicely."
"Can I please have juice?"
"Yes."
"Can I have more juice?"
"Hae-sung."
"Okay, okay."
Ji-hoo sat at the small kitchen table, watching them, feeling like an anthropologist studying a foreign culture. His own childhood had been different, quiet, controlled, the household of a music teacher and a banker who believed in schedules and discipline. This was something else entirely. This was alive.
Soo-ah set a bowl of rice in front of him with some eggs and side dishes. The eggs were slightly burned on one side, shaped vaguely like stars.
"I'm out of practice," she said, almost defensively. "I don't usually cook for guests."
"I'm not a guest."
She paused, pancake flipper in hand. "What are you, then?"
He didn't have an answer. Not one that wouldn't scare her.
Hae-sung, mercifully, filled the silence. "Are you really a prince? Mom says princes are only in stories, but you look like the prince from my book."
"I'm not a prince," Ji-hoo said. "I'm a singer. And an actor."
"Like on TV?"
"Like on TV."
Hae-sung's eyes went wide. "So you're famous?"
"I suppose so."
"Then why are you eating burned eggs in our kitchen?"
Soo-ah choked on her orange juice. Ji-hoo laughed, a real laugh, the first one in years that didn't feel rehearsed.
"Because," he said, looking directly at Soo-ah, "these are the best pancakes I've ever had."
They were not the best pancakes he'd ever had. But the way Soo-ah's cheeks flushed made them taste like it.
After breakfast, Hae-sung was dispatched to his room to "draw something for the prince." Ji-hoo and Soo-ah sat on the couch, the television playing some morning show neither of them was watching.
"I'm not going to disappear again. I want to see Hae-sung regularly. I want to be part of his life."
"Your agency..."
"I'll deal with my agency."
"Your fans..."
"I'll deal with my fans."
"Your career, Ji-hoo. The one I sacrificed six years of my life to protect."
He reached over and took her hand. She flinched but didn't pull away.
"You sacrificed without asking me if I wanted to be sacrificed for." His voice was gentle but firm. "But I'm not going to let you make the same decision for me twice. I want to be a father to that boy. And if that means my career changes, then it changes. But I'm not going to lose him again. I'm not going to lose you again."
"You never had me," she whispered. "You had a memory. I'm not the same person I was at eighteen."
"I know." He lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek. "Neither am I. But I'd like to meet the person you've become. If you'll let me."
She stared at their joined hands, her breath coming in shallow bursts.
"What would this even look like? You can't just show up here every day. Someone will notice. Someone will talk."
"Then let them."
"Ji-hoo."
"I'm serious." He released her hand and pulled out his phone. "I'm going to give you a schedule. My filming hours, my recording sessions, my public appearances. Any time I'm free, I'll be here. We'll start small. An hour here, two hours there. Hae-sung will get to know me. And you..." He hesitated. "You'll get to decide if you want to know me too."
"And if I decide I don't?"
"Then I'll still be here for Hae-sung," Ji-hoo said quietly. "But I'll hope. Every day. I'll hope you change your mind."
Soo-ah looked at him, the way she hadn't allowed herself to look since she'd seen him through that convenience store window six years ago. He was different. The boy she'd loved had been all sharp edges and desperate dreams, a hurricane of ambition wrapped in a hoodie. The man sitting on her couch was something else. There was a stillness to him now, a patience. He'd been broken by her disappearance, she could see it in the shadows under his eyes, in the way he held himself like a man expecting to be hurt again.
But he was still him. Still the boy who'd written her songs on napkins. Still the boy who'd cried when she'd given him a handmade bracelet for his seventeenth birthday.
"One hour," she said finally. "You can come for one hour, three times a week. You'll call before you come. You'll text when you leave. You will not post anything on social media. You will not tell anyone, not your manager, not your members, until we've figured out how to do this without destroying everything."
"Done."
"And you will not..." She swallowed hard. "You will not make me fall in love with you again if you're just going to leave."
Ji-hoo leaned forward, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.
"I never left," he said. "You did. And I've been waiting at the station ever since."
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