“You can drop me off here,” Nathaniel tells the driver once we’ve pulled up to the corner of his street. Even after their music careers took off and they started signing endorsement deals, the members of XOXO chose to remain living together. Youngmin is still in high school, and as Sun put it, they “want to watch him grow up well.” But also, they genuinely enjoy each other’s company.
Except none of the other members are at the apartment right now. Instead, a dark line of cars waits for Nathaniel, idling by the curb with their lights dimmed.
I lean forward in my seat. “Are those tabloid reporters?” Cigarette smoke drifts from the open windows, visible beneath the lampposts. “They wait for you like that?”
“It’s gotten worse,” Nathaniel says from the back seat. There’s a rustling sound as he gathers his belongings.
“Doesn’t your building have security?” My unease intensifies at the thought of him walking past all those cars.
“It does, but since they park across the street and not on the property, the security guards can’t do anything about it. Honestly, it’s fine.”
My stomach tenses as I catch sight of a long-barreled camera jutting out from a cranked open window.
Nathaniel climbs from the back, sliding onto Hyemi’s vacated seat as he reaches for the door.
“Wait.” I catch the back of his shirt.
He stops, one hand on the door handle. His gaze flits to my fingers holding on to the sliver of fabric. Memories of my childhood steal through me, of the same dark line of cars waiting for my mother and me, outside the company, outside my school, the sudden flash as the world seemed to erupt around us in lights and shouts. What is your statement on Assemblyman Min’s affair? Did you know the other woman? Is the rumor true, that you’ve filed for a divorce?
“Sori?” Nathaniel draws me back to the present. He hasn’t moved. His gaze isn’t on my hand that still grips the back of his shirt, but steadied on my face. I know it’s unreasonable, that the paparazzi won’t actually hurt him, but I have an unshakeable feeling that by letting him go outside, I’m sending him into danger.
I make a decision, then and there. “Come home with me.”
His eyes widen slightly, then his gaze flicks to the driver. I’m not worried he’ll say anything. He’s a Joah employee, which means he’s contractually obligated to keep the privacy of its artists.
I release Nathaniel and sit back in my seat. “Can you please take us to my house?”
It’s close to two a.m. when Nathaniel and I exit the van. My street is quiet. My closest neighbors are halfway down the hill and around a corner. The automatic outdoor lights flicker on as I key in the code to the front gate.
“This is your house?” Nathaniel says with a whistle, stepping into the front yard behind me. “I feel like I’m in Parasite.”
I glare at him.
“But less murder-y,” he amends.
I guess I can sort of see where he’s coming from. My mother hired a Seoul-based architect of some renown to design the house, which has five bedrooms and an indoor pool and gym. In middle school, I would sometimes invite classmates over who would tell me how envious they were that I lived in such a spacious home in Seoul.
Nathaniel trails me up the lit path to the front door.
The foyer is spotless thanks to Ajumma’s diligent cleaning. Opening the shoe cabinet off to the side, I take out a pair of house slippers and place them on the floor for Nathaniel to use.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. Even if it is the middle of the night, I feel awkward leading him straight upstairs, where the bedrooms are located.
“Well, now I’m craving Chapaguri,” he says with a grin, referencing the instant noodle dish popularized by Parasite.
I roll my eyes. “The kitchen’s over here.”
I lead him from the foyer, past the dining area, and into the kitchen. Chapaguri is created by combining two instant noodle brands, Chapaghetti and Neoguri. In the pantry, I open a drawer to find several brands of instant noodle packets neatly lined up, grabbing the two that I need.
After boiling the water, I place both packets of noodles and dried vegetable flakes into the pot. While it’s cooking, I glance over my shoulder to see Nathaniel on the barstool behind the island. When our gazes meet, I quickly turn around, breaking the noodles apart with my chopsticks so that they’ll cook evenly.
“Can I help?” he asks.
I remember how he helped his sisters that morning at his house. I have no doubt that he’s perfectly capable in a kitchen. Getting up from the stool, he makes his way around the island toward me.
“I don’t know where everything is . . .” I wince as I say the words aloud. The kitchen is Ajumma’s domain; the few times I’ve asked to help, whether with the cooking or the cleaning up afterward, she’s shooed me away. Though now I’m wondering if I should have tried harder.
“That’s fine,” Nathaniel says easily, already opening drawers and cabinets, “I’ll figure it out.”
He roots out placemats in a drawer beside the stove, plucks cups from a cabinet.
“Do you need this?” he asks, holding up a strainer that he’d found in a bottom drawer.
“Yes. I think the noodles are ready.”
He places the strainer in the sink while, using two hands, I bring over the pot, tilting to pour out the noodles, but making sure to keep a little bit of the broth inside. Then, transferring the noodles back into the pot, I add the packets of powder and mix thoroughly.
“There are side dishes in the fridge,” I tell Nathaniel.
He moves to retrieve them while I distribute our portions of Chapaguri into separate bowls. He’s already seated by the time I’m finished.
“Thank you for the meal,” he says before picking up his chopsticks.
“It’s not quite like the film,” I say as I watch him take an inhumanly large bite.
Nathaniel shakes his head, unable to speak, reaching for a slice of cabbage kimchi to supplement his eating experience.
“It’s perfect,” he says, after chewing and swallowing.
Warmth suffuses me. I feel silly for being so happy. It’s instant noodles. But he eats so heartily, taking one large bite after another. He bends his head so that the noodles have less of a distance to travel between the bowl and his mouth.
I take my own first bite and let out a soft moan. Nathaniel raises his gaze, laughter in his eyes. It’s a perfect balance of the savory richness of the black noodle sauce and the spicy seafood Neoguri, of which I only used a third of the flavor packet to mitigate the spice. I don’t know if it’s the late night or my general state of hunger, but it’s delicious.
Eventually Nathaniel slows down, allowing for more human bites. “So are you going to tell me what you were doing today?”
My shoulders tense. “What do you mean?”
“At the school, when Jaewoo and Woo Hyemi cornered us in the stairwell. You let her win.”
“You can’t know that for sure. She caught me by surprise. You didn’t really put up much of a fight with Jaewoo.”
“I was too distracted by you losing on purpose.”
“Was it that obvious?” I bite my lip. The plan won’t work if people believe I was trying to help Hyemi.
“It wasn’t,” Nathaniel says, in a gentler voice than when he accused me not a moment before. “What are you up to, Sori?”
Yesterday I’d told Sun everything, even about Joah’s financial difficulties, but telling Nathaniel feels different. For one, I don’t want to burden him when he’s on hiatus after working so hard for the past year. And another, for all his rebellious ways, Nathaniel has a strong sense of justice—that’s one of the many things I admire about him, that he speaks out against things he feels are wrong or unfair. Which is why I can’t tell him that my mother is only debuting Hyemi for her father’s financial support. I don’t want him to think badly of her.
And, I’ll admit, there’s a small part of me that wonders if he’ll think badly of me for helping her. I knew Sun wouldn’t think twice about it, as toeing the moral line is par for the course for people like us, whose parents are in the topmost echelon of Korean society.
I can, however, answer his question with some of the truth. “You know Dream Music, the company Joah recently acquired? They already had a girl group set to debut at the time of the acquisition. Hyemi’s joining this group, ASAP, as their youngest member, except she hasn’t had any formal training. She has less than two weeks to learn the choreography, record her part in the title track, and rehearse for the group’s debut showcase.
“The other day, right before the scandal, actually, I told my mother I didn’t want to debut as an idol anymore. We made a deal that if I got Hyemi ready for the showcase in time, she’d let me figure out what it is I actually do want to do. I can walk away free, no strings attached.” Sun had reminded me about my contract, which I’ll ask Secretary Park about nullifying, but it shouldn’t be a problem. My mother and I have never broken promises to each other. “I’m the best person to help Hyemi, since I’m sort of a professional trainee at this point.”
The whole time I’ve been speaking, Nathaniel’s kept the same expression, only frowning slightly when I said I’d changed my mind about debuting as an idol. I wonder if he’ll say something now to talk me out of it. Before Gi Taek and Angela, he was the one who supported my dream the most.
“So you’re telling me Hyemi basically has to join the group ASAP.”
I roll my eyes, not missing the double entendre.
“That makes sense,” he says. “Why you’d help her, and not just because of the deal with your mother. You like helping people.”
My face warms at his words. He sounds so genuine, as if it were that simple for him. “You don’t think I’m making a mistake?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and I appreciate that, because it means he’s taking my question seriously. “You’re not a rash person,” he says slowly, “and I mean that as a compliment.” I wonder if he’s remembering New York, and how he said I wasn’t impulsive. “You think things through, from all different angles. You really take care of yourself. Emotionally. Mentally. It’s what makes you reliable, and why you’re the perfect person to look out for Hyemi.”
Now it’s not just my face that feels warm but all of me.
After talking with Nathaniel, I realize I’ve spoken to everyone important in my life about this, everyone whose opinion I care about the most.
Who I care about the most. And I do care about Nathaniel. That, at least, I can admit to myself. I care about his well-being. I worry for him. I want him to be happy and safe.
“Nathaniel,” I say. “Nadine told me you’re the only one at the apartment right now, and with the tabloid reporters loitering outside, it’s difficult to leave . . .” I take a deep breath. “Would you like to stay here, at my house, while you’re on hiatus?”
It’s the favor Nadine asked of me. At the time, I’d considered it for one main reason, and that hasn’t changed—to return the favor of that summer I spent with his family in New York—but now, I want to do this for his sake, because I care about him, as a friend.
Nathaniel drops his eyes, only to lift them. “Can I give you an answer tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I say hurriedly. “I sprung this on you.” My face heats up. He must feel uncomfortable at the thought of staying at his ex-girlfriend’s house. I’m too embarrassed to look at him, so I look down at my empty bowl.
Nadine had also said he had a secret work-related project. It’s possible he wants to stay near his apartment for that, as well.
“Thanks, Sori,” he says. When I glance up to meet his gaze, his eyes are warm. “I appreciate the invite.”
“Did you get a chance to talk to Hyemi?” I say, hoping the change of subject will cover my embarrassment. “She’s sweet. You’d like her. She’s not that much younger than us. And she’s Canadian. Her first language is English.”
“Is she?” Nathaniel says, letting out a yawn.
I look at my phone to see we’ve been sitting in the kitchen for almost an hour.
“You’re exhausted. Come on, let me show you to your room.” We clean up our dishes together and head back through the dining room and up the stairs to the second floor.
“My mother’s room is that last one,” I say, pointing down the hall to the closed double doors. “Don’t worry. She’s never here. She only comes to the house to pick up clothing and spends her nights at the office.”
Nathaniel frowns. “You live alone?”
“I have a housekeeper. She comes during the weekdays and stays overnight. This is the guest bedroom.” I press open the door, letting it swing wide.
“Damn.” Nathaniel whistles. “This is the size of our entire apartment.”
“I highly doubt that.” The XOXO members live in a very expensive apartment building. “Do you need . . . anything? Pajamas? There are towels and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.”
“I’m good,” he says, leaning against the door.
“But what are you going to sleep in?” I say with a frown.
“The bed.”
“But in your outside clothes?” I wrinkle my nose.
“No.”
It takes me a second to realize what he’s saying. I should be embarrassed, but I’m more curious. Is that how he always sleeps? “But won’t you be cold?”
He laughs. “Maybe. Is that your room behind you?”
“Yes,” I say, then add quickly, “You can’t go in.”
I picture what he’d see if he walked into my room right now—stuffed animals covering every flat surface, including my bed.
“I wasn’t planning to,” he drawls.
I glare at him. Then, realizing we’re standing close, I take a big step back.
He frowns slightly at the movement.
“Well, I guess this is good night.” I press my back against my door, finding the knob.
Nathaniel studies my face, his gaze lingering on my nose, my eyes, my lips. “Night, Sori.”
I open my door and slip behind it, not moving until I hear the soft click of his door.