“Sori!”
She hasn’t gone far because of the storm. Standing outside the cafeteria doors beneath the overhang she looks out at the rain pouring down in long sheets that cascade diagonally across the quad. On the opposite side is the dorm, the lights twinkling blurrily through the rain. She seems like she’s thinking of making a run for it.
“Sori!” I call out, pressing open the door. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m sorry about the postcard, you don’t know how sorry.”
Wrapping her arms around her body, she turns to face me. The makeup around her eyes is smudged, possibly in an attempt to wipe away her tears.
“Why are you apologizing to me? I just said terrible things about you.”
It’s a valid question. It’s not like I’d apologize to Jina. But I never thought Sori was cruel. Sure, she’s been haughty and cold, but anything she’s ever said about me, she’s said straight to my face, which I can appreciate. Plus, I live with her; I know that when she’s not studying or working out, she’s watching K-dramas or reading smutty romance manhwa. Besides having a closet to die for, I know that her favorite genre of music is R&B and she has a plant by her bedside that she waters every night from her We Bare Bears water cup. It’s endearing, how nerdy she is.
Why did she sign up for a room with a double if she could have had a single? I’d asked myself that question before, and I’m more confident than ever of the answer: she hoped for a friend.
“I’m apologizing to you because I did read your postcard that morning and that was shitty of me.” Even if it was an accident, I should have put it back without looking at it. “But I won’t apologize for the other stuff you accused me of. I respect that you feel that way, but I can’t in good faith apologize for it . . .” I pause. “Except maybe the dancing. Nobody should have to suffer through that.”
She holds my gaze for a few seconds longer, then looks away, shaking her head. “You’re weird.”
I scoff. “Please. I’m not the one who rolls her face with a rock every night to get a V-line jaw.”
She gasps, placing a hand dramatically to her chin. “Way to judge me.” But there’s a small smile on her face, and I know we’ve crossed a bridge.
“Sori!” The door to the lunchroom bangs open and Nathaniel rushes out.
The smile on Sori’s face drops and I shoot Nathaniel a look of resentment.
He doesn’t notice, his entire being focused on Sori. “That went too far. Forgive me.”
She takes a step backward, the rain pouring onto her shoulder.
“Wait,” he says. “You’ll catch a cold.” He takes a step back. “I promise I won’t chase you. Just don’t . . . run.”
“Stop it!” She places her hands to her ears, as if to block him out. “Just stop it!”
“Sori-yah.”
“Stop taking care of me! Stop making me miss you. It hurts. It hurts so much, Nathaniel.”
“It wasn’t my decision to break up,” he says quietly. “You know that.”
“I—I can’t do this.”
She turns, disappearing into the rain.
Nathaniel kicks the door. “Dammit.”
As promised, he doesn’t chase her.
I wonder what it says about me that between the two of them, I’m more upset with Nathaniel than Sori even though Nathaniel and I have been friends for longer.
“I know you’re having a moment,” I tell him, “but you totally interrupted my moment with Sori.”
He sweeps a hand through his hair. “I feel like I have whiplash. That was rough in there.”
“Um,” I say. “No thanks to you. Why were you acting like that, anyway? Like, besides negging Sori, what was up with you and Jaewoo? Aren’t you two friends?”
Nathaniel grimaces. “Promise not to get angry.”
Which is a sure sign that I will get angry. “No.”
He sighs. “I was in the van in LA.”
I frown, unsure what he’s talking about. “Like . . . back in November?”
He nods slowly.
“So . . . what,” I ask, “you . . . saw me that night?” If he saw me, then he’s known who I was this entire time. Which means . . . “Did you recognize me in the uniform store?”
“I did.”
Some of his odd behavior falls into place: how he was curious about whether I’ve always lived in LA, if I’d seen the entirety of the music video for “Don’t Look Back,” because if I’d seen it from the beginning, then I should have recognized Jaewoo.
“Was Youngmin in the van?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, I was alone in the back. Our manager was driving. He didn’t see you. I only got a glimpse of your profile, and even then, I wouldn’t have recognized you if it wasn’t for the picture.”
The picture of Jaewoo and me. The one we took in the photo booth.
“He showed it to you?” I ask, incredulous.
“I saw it over his shoulder at the airport.”
I take slow, deep breaths. This is a lot to take in.
“Why?”
I feel like that single word encapsulates all the questions I have. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you pretend like you didn’t know who I was? Was any of our friendship even real?
Nathaniel sighs. “In order to answer that, I have to start from the beginning. I’ve known Jaewoo since I joined the company almost four years ago. In all that time, he’s never broken a rule. He always shows up on time. He does everything the company asks of him. I don’t know if you know this, but he became an idol because of his family, in order to support them financially. Everything he does is for them. And for us. When XOXO became a group, we became a part of his family.”
Nathaniel’s story mirrors what Jaewoo said the night we met about being overwhelmed by a feeling of responsibility.
“That day in LA,” Nathaniel says, “he broke his arm at the music video shoot. And then he just . . . disappeared. We drove around the city for hours. We were so worried. I thought maybe he reached his limit. . . . But then, around midnight, his phone came back on. We were already in K-town, so it was only a matter of minutes before we tracked him to that street.”
“I remember,” I say. “You showed up so quickly.”
He nods. “I was curious about who you were. At the airport, I asked him about you, but he refused to say anything. And honestly”—Nathaniel shakes his head—“I was hurt. I thought he trusted me. Then all that stuff happened with Sori and I forgot about it. I was in a bad place. He was there for me through it all; they all were.”
I’m glad that even though Nathaniel and Jaewoo face difficulties as idols, they have each other, and the rest of the members of XOXO.
“So, yeah, I did approach you in the uniform store because of Jaewoo but I stuck around because of you. And I am sorry. For not telling you sooner.”
“It’s fine—”
“It just frustrates me to no end that Jaewoo has something that he wants and he won’t do anything about it.”
My heart hitches at the implication that Nathaniel thinks Jaewoo wants me. “Is that why you went off on him just now?” I ask.
“That and because I was pissed off that he told you to stay away from me. Like I get that he has more at stake . . . but don’t take it out on me, you know?”
He has more at stake. Not just with his image and the group’s success, but his family’s well-being as well. It must be overwhelming, that kind of responsibility—enough that he’d tried to run away from it back in LA.
I’d always known our lives were different, but it hadn’t really hit me until now to what extent.
The rain, which had been pouring not a few minutes ago, is now a shimmer in the air.
“I should go back in there,” Nathaniel says with a sigh. “Help Jaewoo clean up the mess I made.”
I follow the direction of his gaze. “What do you think he’s saying?”
“I’m not sure, but he’ll think up something. He’s good at getting people to see things his way.”
I wonder if this statement applies to me. Maybe it does, because I agreed to keep our friendship a secret. But also maybe it doesn’t, because I don’t think I can do it much longer.
We part ways: him to help Jaewoo, me to find Sori. Halfway across the quad, I close my eyes and lift my face to the rain.
