“Do they film in this apartment?”
He shakes his head. “Kit hyeong and I refused. We needed some space to be ourselves.” We both look around the bare room, and he gives a small laugh. “I suppose the old habits stuck with me.”
“You must have some art or something you enjoy.”
Jihoon jumps from the bed and goes to his closet, where he pulls out a small wooden bowl. It’s carved from a knot and polished to a dull glow. “I bought this last year from a street vendor,” he says,curving his hands around it. “The person didn’t know who I was, and we haggled for ten minutes. Usually people try to give me things for free because it’s good for promotion.”
He puts it down on the desk, frowns, and shifts it to the left. Then he’s in the closet again. This time he brings out a statue of a tiger, a strange dark work that mixes Tigger’s goofiness with the menace of a wild animal. “From an artisan in Thailand,” he says. “She begged me not to display it because she didn’t want to be overwhelmed by Starry requests.”
“Why not?”
“She wanted her work to go to people who appreciated her skill, not those who wanted one because I did.”
“They can be one and the same,” I point out.
He nods in agreement. “I agree, but she said time would tell. Not everyone knows our fans the way we do.”
Jihoon studies the newly decorated desk before giving it a nod of satisfaction and me a quick kiss. I’m already dozing when he comes back from the shower. Once he’s in bed, I pull him up so his head tucks under my chin, his long body half covering mine. “Tell me you want to be here,” he says in a low voice.
“I do.”
I can feel him smile. “It was like coming home to see you in the chair. I haven’t felt like that in a long time.”
“How are the rehearsals?”
He makes a humming sound, the muscles in his chest and stomach shifting against me. “Difficult but manageable.”
I’m not sure if it’s worse to ask or not to ask, but I decide to keep going. “Are you worried about what happened last time, when you were at Olympic Stadium?”
Jihoon’s arms tighten around me, and he buries his face in my hair. “Every time we rehearse.”
“Hold on a sec.” I wriggle away from him and grab my wallet from my room.
He looks at the little silver hand I press into his palm when I return. “What’s this?”
I sit cross-legged next to him on the bed. “I was tense studying for my bar exam.” That’s putting it lightly—I’d never been so stressed in my life. “I was having an awful day and nothing was going right when I found this on the ground. It was like the universe was giving me a sign.” I rub my nose. “I know it sounds silly, but I brought it into my exams.”
“A good-luck charm.”
“More of a reminder. When I touched it, I told myself I’d worked hard and I could do it. You can’t do anything about the luck, but you can control the effort.”
“Now you’re giving it to me.” He sits up as well, duvet bunching around his waist.
I look over. “You work hard, Jihoon. I know you can do it.”
His eyes flash between me and the hand, which has the fingers outstretched as if waving a cheery hello. “Thank you.” He gets up and puts it in his wallet, then gives it a small pat after he zips the pocket shut.
When he gets back to bed, I draw him in until we’re lying with our legs tangled together.
“How tired are you?”
He stirs with interest beside me, rolling up on one elbow and looking down. “I feel slightly more alert now.”
“Then thank me better,” I tell him.
He grins. “That I can do.”
And he does.