SIXTEEN

Six weeks later...

Everything feels a little too great at first, a little too easy, as we both decide to cross that line and become more physically affectionate with each other.

I mean, of course, we were friends back in the day, but I never wrapped my arms around Jaeyong in a hug hello, or just because, unless there was something wrong—I thought I did shit on a test, or I read something sad in my current read, or my parents were fighting again and everything sucked.

There was always a reason to seek out that kind of physical comfort, but now there’s an altogether different kind of reason, and the whole reason is just because.

Sometimes it’s to squeeze around Jaeyong’s ribs, have him exhale on an oof and his eyes widen a fraction as he looks down at me, like he didn’t expect me to literally be able to squeeze the air out of him. Sometimes it’s to pretend to tickle him, poking at his ribs or abs, and then giving up the ghost to pet and fondle for fractions of a second, him half-heartedly smacking at my hands like he’s caught me out.

Sometimes it’s just nice being cuddled, and hell, it’s super nice doing the cuddling, too, even if he’s too tall for me. We make it work, somehow.

There’s obviously kisses shared between us, cute ones that are hello kisses, sweet ones that are goodnight kisses, ones that make my brain melt that are I want you kisses, and all the ones in between, taking it slow and easy to figure out what we both like.

So yeah, I would say I just got comfortable being physically affectionate with Jaeyong in that way, too wary to be demonstrative in the clandestine public outings we did twice, all of two of them taking us outside of Seoul where Jaeyong wouldn’t be too easily recognized in smaller towns (that was the idea anyway), especially when his face isn’t plastered all over the Seoul subway system at the most popular stations: Hongdae, Samsung, Gangnam and Hapjeong.

And now we’re headed to Daejeon with me doing the driving of his car since I am nothing but a bundle of nerves and need something else to focus on and concentrating on navigating traffic and finding the right exit signs driving to the city had seemed like a good idea at the time.

I keep checking the phone hooked up to Jaeyong’s dash, watching those numbers flick down as we get closer and closer to our destination, me sitting straighter and straighter in the driver’s seat, windows down despite it being kinda cool-ish, wicking off the nervous sweat that’s collecting at my hairline.

It’s fine, it’s gonna be fine.

Ah, hell, why did I agree to this in the first place?

‘Cause you’re whipped and you wanted to see him happy, and have the Mins approve of you and Jaeyong as a couple, obviously.

This is what I get for being a nice person—jangling nerves and a queasy stomach. Shit.

Jaeyong’s passed out in the seat next to me, and I get it, I do, the lulling movement of a car driving on a highway is soothing in its own way, like rocking you to sleep. But shit, could he have at least tried to make conversation and ease me into it so I know what to expect?

I went overboard, as per usual, trying to find the perfect gift, wanting to do this on my own and not ask Jaeyong anything, but also simultaneously freaking the hell out because I needed his help—there’s only so much Google and Naver can tell you.

And even though I’m not meeting Jaeyong’s parents for the very first time, I’m meeting them for the first time as his girlfriend, his yeoja-chingoo, and that’s a whole other can of worms, and a whole other set of etiquette and cultural nuances that are definitely going to go over my head, no matter how much I think I’ve prepared for this moment.

I squeeze the steering wheel hard enough that it makes an actual pained noise, and I’m sitting so far upright in the driver’s seat that if I were to sit any straighter, I think the top of my head would hit the ceiling of the car. My weak posture gives a twinge in the middle of my back, and I’m two-handing the wheel, in complete control of the vehicle, reflexes on high alert.

I’ve been driving for forever it seems, but according to the GPS, it’s only been a little over an hour. I shouldn’t be strung this tight, I really shouldn’t.

Jaeyong yawns loud enough that it makes me jump, enough that I veer just off-center in the middle of the lane, gritting my teeth to get back to my perfect center as if the sheer straight-edged line I’m cutting through South Korea with is going to impact how Jaeyong’s parents perceive me.

I mean, the Mins have seen me in my awkward teenage phase, too tall for Jaeyong at the time. They saw my knobby knees that eventually got dimpled, and my younger girl’s body growing into what it would eventually become now. They’ve seen me with greasy hair and a dirty face after running around with Jaeyong, kicking a soccer ball around during the two summer holidays I got to spend with him, biking to their house almost every day back then. They’ve both seen me with horrible acne that killed my face, they’ve both seen me not at my ideal, and that’s good, that’s important, but now this is a new first impression.

And I want to nail it.

I’ve got a cute dress on, the hem hitting just below my knee, not too tight because I’m sure Mrs. Min is going to make delicious food, and I’ve always called this my ‘eating dress’ and it’s served me well through the myriad of bridal and baby showers and whatever else I had to go to during the years. The collar is high and the sleeves are long, and my shoes are my nude Louboutins that I bought for myself when I decided to move to Seoul as a reward for doing the most adventurous thing in my life thus far.

My hair’s sleek and straight down my back, the burgundy needing another hair appointment, but I couldn’t squeeze it in time, and my makeup’s as neutral as I can get it without compromising the bulletproof concealer that’s hiding the under-eye circles I got from stressing out about this all last night, in my own bed, wishing Jaeyong was lying next to me.

There’s a basket of fruit and flowers in the back seat—a gift when meeting the parents for the first time, and I also brought the tteok cakes that Mrs. Min likes and Mr. Min says he doesn’t like but I remember him sneaking a few when he thought that no one was looking.

Haneul’s asleep in the backseat, too, and I glance back in the rear-view mirror to catch a glimpse of the pup more than once, making sure that a) he doesn’t eat my fruit basket, and b) that he doesn’t get nauseous and yak all over the car, Jaeyong or me.

Nope, the dog seems to like the ride, but we’re still forty-five minutes away, and even though Jaeyong took him out for a long walk this morning for Haneul to do his business, even I don’t like being cooped up in a car for two hours and I’m human, and I can’t imagine the stink and sounds that are assaulting the poor pup throughout this road trip.

Our luggage is in the back, a cuter version of a gym bag that has some clothes for the next three days, and an extra set of everything in case I startle or flip out and end up wearing my food instead of eating it.

Jaeyong hums from the passenger seat, and I quickly glance over to see him stretching, his arms reaching back into the backseat. He huffs out a laugh when he gets a quick lick hello from Haneul, the dog standing up, coming in the middle of our two seats, and blocking my view out the rear window.

Jaeyong groans, twisting at the waist, left then right, and even I hear the pop along his spine and his shoulders before he sighs deeply and settles back in his seat.

Haneul, his big, fluffy head still blocking my view of the back window, now tries to crawl over the console between our two seats right into Jaeyong’s lap, struggling to fit his fluffy bulk on top of Jaeyong’s thighs.

“I have a lint roller!” I practically screech, swinging my eyes back to the road because while seeing my boyfriend—my boyfriend—cuddle his dog is real damn cute and adorable, I want to get to the Mins and be on my best behaviour and then sleep for the next four days from all the stress. I can feel my stomach twisting itself into knots already, and I’m sitting so close to the wheel that my chest is practically right up against it.

Haneul whines high in his nose, pushing himself into Jaeyong’s embrace, and Jaeyong rolls down his window so the dog can stick his head out, utterly euphoric if the almost-violent wagging of his tail is anything to go by.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mutter, trying to relax, trying to ease back into the driver’s seat and just go with the flow, but I’ve never been good with nerves, never been good at handling them, and how is this time going to be any different?

“Haneul, your fur is in my face, buddy, can you sit for me? Good boy. Ah,” Jaeyong spits out, “at least I gave you a bath yesterday, uh? Raleigh, Raleigh-ssi, press 1 if you’re nervous.”

I jab the air maniacally, hard enough that if my finger were a weapon, I’d think I’d kill a man.

“Okay, okay. Good. I’m sorry I feel asleep, we should’ve been talking, uh? Should’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

I snort, refusing to look at him, even if my cheeks start to simmer towards a slow burn. Who doesn’t like getting complimented, who doesn’t?!

“I’m fine,” I wheeze, trying to cover it up with a cough, foregoing one hand on the wheel and bringing it up to my mouth because I’m not an animal. “It’s all good. We’ll be there in just under forty minutes, yeah?” My words jumble together, my pronunciation is shit, but Jaeyong hums like he understood me.

“Baby, why are you so nervous?”

“Holy shit, you can’t call me baby in front of your parents!” I squeak, voice climbing high to a register that makes me sound like a dolphin. “Jaeyong, please, I’m trying really hard to stay calm here.”

“This is you...calm?”

“I am the picture of calm,” I growl, fingers tightening around the wheel, biceps aching with the strain, hell, all of my body hurts. I’m wound up tight, tight, tight.

“Okay, why don’t you pull over for a little bit and we can take a breather? I’ll get some water out of the back and you can have a snack.”

I glance over at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Who are you talking to, me or the dog?”

Haneul heard the magic word and lets out an excited yelp, trying to bring his head back inside the car, legs akimbo as he tries to sit down properly, slipping on Jaeyong’s thighs. The cherry on top of all of this would be if Jaeyong’s balls got squished again, and then we’d be late for supper and the Mins will hate me forever for not being punctual and respectful of others’ time.

Shit, shit, shit!

“Sweetheart, please? Just pull over when you can. Come on, for me?”

I grumble, because now I feel like an asshole, and nobody wants an asshole behind the wheel, least of all me.

I signal and switch lanes when it’s safe and I’ve checked the blind spot three times—I didn’t forget to drive, it’s just that this is Jaeyong’s car and if I get into an accident with it, this’ll be all over the internet and social media and it’d be super bad.

So I take my time, signal again when I find a stretch of curb on the shoulder, put my hazards on and slow down enough to put the car in park, and drop my hands from the steering wheel, shaking the tension out of them.

I let out a long, deep sigh, leaning back against the driver’s seat, rolling down my own window and letting the wind coming off the highway cool me off, make me shiver. Haneul whines, and Jaeyong murmurs something about letting him out on the patch of grass just off the shoulder, leash on. I watch as the dog bounds into the greenery with pure joy, doing his business one more time.

I just take the time and breathe, and breathe, and breathe some more.

I know Jaeyong and he knows me. Hell, the Mins know me. They know what I’m like, they know who I am. But it’s also been years and I’ve pranced back into Jaeyong’s life and yeah, they’re parents, and maybe they’re worried, worried what I could do to his career, his dreams, his popularity, I don’t know as his girlfriend.

All first meetings with a significant other’s parents are a judgment call—can this person take care of my child, can they love them and support them in good times and the bad if I’m not around?

That’s the question that needs to be answered, and I know I could be that person for Jaeyong, no question.

I just have to meet their high expectations, no big.

Jaeyong opens the back door, letting Haneul in, giving him head scratches that I also want to get in on, have my hair smoothed down my head and soothed in that way with that tactile affection I’ve recently learned I need to survive, like a shark needs constant movement or it’ll die.

While the culture here is more conservative than back home, these are the rules I have to follow if I want to make a good first impression as Jaeyong’s girlfriend, if I want to show them that I can stand beside Jaeyong and be that person they want me to be.

Or else, I’m sure, there are literally thousands and millions of people around the globe who would kill to have that chance.

Double yikes, triple yikes.

“Sweetheart, you’re all red, and you’re making me worried.”

“I’m making you worried? Jaeyong! What the fuck!” I slap my hands against the wheel, feel my hands tingle and ache after the impact. Jaeyong makes a hurt noise in his throat, sitting properly in the passenger’s seat now, closing the door behind him and turning fully towards me so I’m hit over the head with an invisible brick at how handsome and lovely he is all over again.

Shit.

I gulp, appalled at the tears welling up in my eyes. My mascara is not waterproof so this can’t happen, this isn’t happening, no, no, no. I sniff hard, chasing the would-be tears away, tipping my head back so the tears can go back to wherever they came from.

“I’m nervous, okay? I’m really fucking nervous,” I admit, the words soft and weak, and I don’t want to look at Jaeyong, but I sort of need to.

I hate being the gold medallist in the Crybaby Olympics. I hate it.

“Why are you nervous, baby?” Jaeyong’s voice is soft, and calm, the kind of voice you’d use on a terrified animal, and shit, it’s working.

I huff out an aborted laugh and sigh, sniffing hard again to make sure my tear ducts have gotten the memo and that failure is not an option.

“I...I know I’m getting too deep into my head about this, I know I am, I know. I just can’t help worrying about what kind of impression I’m going to make and how your parents are going to look at me now...”

Jaeyong nods, waiting for me to continue, holding his hands out, palms up, waiting for me to hand my own paws over. He holds both my hands, brings each one up to his mouth and kisses the back of each one, making something burn and glow inside my chest, my heart flip-flopping three times, one for each syllable of his name—Min; Jae; Yong.

“I’m here, just breathe with me for a bit. Just breathe...” he says.

“Okay, okay,” I murmur, taking deep, slow breaths. “Sorry,” I mumble, the knee-jerk reaction to apologize for my behaviour making me feel even worse. People don’t go around apologizing for broken legs, so I shouldn’t have to either if I got a little overwhelmed.

“Feeling a little bit better?” Jaeyong asks carefully and I nod.

“Can you just tell me that they’re not going to hate me because maybe I won’t live up to their expectations of girlfriend material? I’m not in this for anything, I swear. You believe me don’t you?”