“H
yung, shouldn’t you be staying off the internet?”
Yihwan ignored Steven, who, in his opinion, didn’t have the right to call him out on spending a lot of time online. The drummer had been very fanservice-y that afternoon during technical rehearsal, posting photos here and there on his Twitter and KakaoStory accounts. He had even replied to a few comments, something he didn’t usually do.
But Yihwan also knew it was Damage Control à la Steven Bae, which followed the logic that fangirls would be willing to overlook certain things as long as they’re happy.
“Hyung…”
Yihwan’s eyes were fixed on two Kakaostory entries posted one after the other. Someone seemed to have had a nice afternoon, he thought. All while he was worried about how Fi could have taken the news of her temporary suspension. All while he was thinking about how all of this had been unfair to her.
He narrowed his eyes on the picture of Gabriel attached to Fi’s post and felt the urge to wipe that smile off the PR manager’s face with his fist.
Whoa.
Whoa there, Jo Yihwan.
Where did that come from?
He took a deep breath, and somehow he heard a buzzing in his ear. Buzzing that soon turned into Steven’s voice.
“Hyung, are you with us?”
Yihwan looked up to see Steven and Minchan staring at him curiously. “What?”
“It’s the fans,” Minchan said, almost solemnly.
Still lost in his thoughts and swimming through an inexplicable wave of jea—wait, it could not be jealousy because what even—Yihwan stared dumbly at the magnae, waiting for an explanation.
“Photos of Fi noona are circulating now,” the bassist offered, holding an iPad up for Yihwan to see the fan blog he had been looking at. “These are captures from some of our old airport photos. Some of them are photos taken at the Amethyst building. The fans are comparing her photos to the blurred one Dispatch published.”
“It’s only a matter of time until they put the pieces together,” Steven declared. “Don’t you think we should do something?”
They should, no question about that. But Yihwan had no idea how. That the internet had made things easier for this generation was an understatement, but it had also created monsters—faceless, disembodied creatures who seemed to have no agenda other than putting people down when they felt like it. They feasted on another person’s misery and derived a sick sort of pride over someone else’s disgrace.
And when the damage had been done, they would look for another unsuspecting victim and attack. It was a vicious cycle the band was all too familiar with; they just never realized the same thing would happen to them.
“We’ll figure something out. I’m sure the management is on top of this too.”
* * *
Thanks to the hard downpour brought in by an incoming typhoon, EG Project’s schedules were cancelled the day before their Leap of Faith concert in Manila. Justin called Gabriel and the other AmEnt staff for an emergency meeting, leaving the band members to their own devices.
And while Steven and Minchan spent several hours playing games on their mobile phones, Yihwan resolved not to let Gabriel monopolize Fi’s attention.
Not today, at least.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked Fi over the phone when she finally answered his call. “You haven’t been taking my calls or replying to my messages since yesterday.”
“Yihwan.”
“Yes, that’s my name.”
“We both know what happened was a misstep. Mine and yours.”
Some rumbling in the background—a motorcyle, maybe?—almost drowned out Fi’s voice as she spoke. Yihwan also heard dogs barking every so often, and he thought perhaps her family owned a canine or two.
“I’m way past being mad at myself for letting this happen,” she said. “I just want you guys to finish the Manila leg without any more incidents.”
“Mianhae.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
“Making your life difficult?”
“Stop that,” she snapped. Yihwan could almost see the disapproving expression on Fi’s face.
He paused, then said, “Let’s meet up!”
“That’s not possible.”
“Well, that’s unfair. You toured Gabriel hyung around that pretty place, and I get nothing?” Congratulations, Jo Yihwan. You’ve just managed to sound like an extremely clingy son of a bitch, he mused inwardly. He might not yet have completely grasped what his motivation were for acting like this, but he was certain of one thing at least: he needed to see Fi again.
Fi chuckled. “Even if I had the luxury of taking you guys somewhere, the weather’s not going to make it fun. Don’t you have that TV interview at Channel 8?”
“Cancelled. Today’s a rest day.”
“Oh. Get some rest, then.”
“Bring me somewhere...”
“Did you just whine, Jo Yihwan?”
“That place you went to yesterday. Where is that?”
Intramuros, she told him. A historical landmark that’s a jeepney ride away from her house. Ish. And then she started explaining to him what a jeepney was, to which he only replied with an “Mhm.”
But really, the cogs in Yihwan’s head were turning tirelessly as she continued talking about several other nice places to visit should the time, weather, or circumstance be convenient for them.
“Oh. Hey, Justin just sent me a message,” he interrupted. “He’s asking where you are right now because he needs to meet you for some kind of meeting but he doesn’t have your number.”
“Justin Hong? Is he my sub?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow, you guys are lucky. He must not be busy with Silverazzi right now. But isn’t he meeting Gabe today? I remember him sayi—”
“I don’t know. Maybe they haven’t met yet.” There was a snippiness in Yihwan’s tone, and he hoped Fi didn’t detect it.
“Oh, all right. Well. I’m at home. Maybe we can meet somewhere nearby? The weather outside is still—”
“I’ll tell him to come see you instead. What’s your address?”
* * *
If anyone had told Yihwan two hours ago that he needed to ride a makeshift boat made of Styrofoam to get to Fi’s house—all while braving the bleak and extremely wet Manila weather—he probably would have laughed and said, “Get out of here!”
And yet here he was, sitting on a plastic chair duct-taped on several slabs of Styrofoam attached together by, you guessed it, more duct tape. He was given a beach umbrella to protect himself from the rain when he got on, gingerly, about five minutes ago, and now he was holding it over his head. His eyes darted here and there, wary of people who might recognize him.
Them, actually, because Steven and Minchan were about two wades away. They got a bigger “styroboat,” as the locals called it, which they enthusiastically shared. Yihwan looked over his shoulder and frowned behind the pulled-up collar of his hoodie, seeing his drummer and bassist fool around. They were reenacting that famous scene from Titanic and making their boatman as well as other passersby laugh. He was about to scold them when his boatman told him that they have reached their destination.
Yihwan stared at the structure, a stone house that looked like it had been standing there for a long time. A good third of it was now submerged in water, but the sturdy wooden plank bridging the entrance to a flight of stairs that led to a door was evidence of how its dwellers have acclimated to the flooding.
The band leader paid for his ride, as well as Steven and Minchan’s. They all crossed the plank in their squishy shoes and found themselves in front of an old wooden door with a crucifix nailed to it. Yihwan knocked.
There was a fleeting look of horror on the face of the middle-aged woman who answered the door. Understandable, as all three of them were wearing dark-colored hoodies and black baseball caps pulled low over their faces.
“Hi. We’re Fi’s colleagues,” Steven quickly offered after taking his cap off, perhaps to spare Yihwan from whipping out the broken English. “Is she home?”
The woman’s eyes were fixed on them when she yelled “Filipina!” and it only took a few seconds for Fi to emerge from a door. Her eyes widened at the sight of them.
“Ho—ly. Shit. What are you all doing here? Where’s Justin?”
“Noona!”
One by one, Fi grabbed them by the wrist and pulled them into the house before shutting the door. After a round of hasty introductions to her mother, Diana excitedly disappeared into the kitchen, insisting she was having some merienda prepared.
As soon as Diana left the room, Fi smacked Yihwan on the chest. “Jesus Christ, Yihwan. Neo micheosseo?”
“What? No one knows we’re here!” Yihwan protested. “And oww!”
“Oh my god. I can’t believe you are all here!” Fi muttered in between gritted teeth, one hand on her hip, the other on her forehead. “What the fuck have you done? How did you even—oh my god, did you lie to me, Jo Yihwan? All that fuss about Justin wanting to discuss something?”
“Noona, aren’t you happy to see us?” Minchan asked. Steven did the same, but with his infuriating puppy eyes. The fact that he was wearing a Save a Drum, Bang a Drummer shirt made his appeal seem somewhat tainted.
Yihwan felt a little sorry seeing Fi this rattled, perhaps thinking of all the possible repercussions of their actions.
“Keurae, jal deureo.” Her index finger was raised now, and they knew better than to talk when that happened. “Minchan, I’m really very happy to see you, but...dear God in heaven. We are all going to be in very deep shit if, god forbid, something bad happens to any of you. Go back to the hotel now.” She snapped her fingers twice. “Jigeum dangjang! What if the staff look for you?”
Steven’s grin was confident when he said “Got that taken care of.”
“And the fans? How did you—”
The magnae smiled. “Got that taken care of, too.”
Yihwan stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders. “Relax. We’ll go back to the hotel as scheduled, and no one will even notice we’re gone. Except for those who already know.”
He noticed the scratch on her face and instinctively brought a hand up to her cheek, but Fi stepped back.
“You guys are going to be the death of me, jinjja.”
Steven called for a group hug, and they ended up a messy pile of limbs and laughter on the floor.
* * *
“No way. No way!” Fi exclaimed, laughing, as Minchan showed her the series of Instagram and KakaoStory photos he took in the hotel.
In one of the photos, Steven and Yihwan were having a meal together. One had Yihwan studying some set pieces by the window. And then there was Steven playing a game on his phone while seated near a digital alarm clock they’ve tampered with to show a later time.
“And there’s lots more for backup on Yihwan hyung and Steven hyung’s phones,” he said, explaining their strategy of being fanservice-y to keep the fans preoccupied.
“We left the hotel at a little past three.” Minchan opened his Instagram account and showed Fi. “I posted the first photo thirty minutes later, while we were riding a tricycle to get here.”
Said photo was a selfie of Minchan with Yihwan napping in the background. (Caption: Hyung, wake up. We still have a lot of things to do!)
It had 3,000+ likes and 200+ comments so far.
“Wait, what? You rode a tricycle?”
The bassist nodded. “We meant to ride the cab all the way here but the driver said something about the streets being too narrow and probably flooded.”
“So we got off, took a tricycle, and a styroboat,” Steven narrated. “It was fun!”
Fi could only stare at them, slack-jawed. “Did you even realize how dangerous that was?”
“Aw, come on... where’s your sense of adventure?” Steven quipped. “Do you remember when we got lost at the Umeda Station in Osaka?”
“Or when we lost genius over here in The Forbidden City?” Yihwan added, jerking his thumb toward Steven. The drummer proudly grinned. “Fun times.”
Fi only smiled at the recollection, then chuckled at the mental image of EG Project getting scrunched into a small jeepney just like Gabriel had been the day before. As the boys continued narrating (and exaggerating) the lengths they went through to get here, Fi allowed herself to relax and enjoy a hot cup of coffee with them. Never mind that they’ve all gathered inside her room; they’ve been held in smaller dressing rooms, after all.
“So...” she began, taking a sip off her cup. “Do you have any idea how things are going back in Seoul?”
The boys exchanged glances, but none of them seemed eager to volunteer any information. Gabriel had advised her to stay away from the internet for now, but Fi was also dying to know what was going on.
They heard a knock just as Yihwan was about to speak. Steven, who was seated in Fi’s old computer chair, slid the seat over and opened the door.
It was Gabriel, and he looked more than a little upset.