The First Time I Was Taken Care of By An Idol During My First Time in Korea 

It took me another half hour to wobble out of the practice room, after changing into some of Joon’s clothes.

And another forty five minutes to walk back to the dorm. It’s about four in the morning, and the sky is pretty.

It reminds me of when I was younger, when I was still with my mom, and we would spend every Sunday night in the winter drinking hot chocolate, and in the summer, pink lemonade. The drinks always tasted better out on our apartment balcony, when the sky was dark and the day was over. The drinks stopped when I was twelve, because then she got her new boyfriend and he started abusing us, and the beauty of the night was lost and replaced by fear.

I spent the rest of my life trying to escape them, and in the past two years I have. I love my mother, but she loves that more. And that’s okay with me now.

Anyway.

I walk into the dorm as quietly as possible, and I peak into the living room expecting to see Joon, as he’s not only the one who usually sleeps in the living room, but he said he’d wait for me. A part of me breaks when I see that the room is empty, and the only light is coming from the also empty kitchen. Sighing, I walk to my room, opening the door.

I switch on the light, only to see an adorably unconscious Joon sprawled across my bed. He twitches at the lights, rubbing his eyes hurriedly. When he sees me, he bolts up. I walk a little further in, shutting the door behind me.

And then I burst into tears.

“You waited for me,” I blubber, sinking down, leaning against the door. “I thought you had forgotten about me. I th-thought you had le-l-left me. You were th-the only reason I was ab-able to do this! How am I supposed to d-d-do this if you don’t wait for mah-mah-me?”

He’s frozen on the bed, if only for a second. Within moments he has a piece of paper in his hand, and he’s bolted across the room to me, on his knees, at a total loss of what to do.

, so am I! I don’t cry, especially in front of very cute, caring guys. And I especially don’t cry because he’s cute and caring. What the hell is wrong with me? Screw you, lack of sleep!

He slips an arm around my shoulders, and another under my knees, picking me up bridal style. Over to the bed. He my hair and settles beside me, cradling me to his chest. He shoves something into my hands. It’s barely legible, resembling the handwriting of a ten year old, but it makes me cry harder:

I hope you’re okay. I don’t know how long hyung will keep you. I know you’re probably hurting. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have done that! We would’ve happily taken the punishment, it was our punishment. Next time you do that, you’re dead.

Obviously it wasn’t the reaction he expected when I wrap my arms around him, and cry more.

It takes me ten minutes to stop crying. When my hiccups calm, he picks me up again. We are out to the living room, where he lays me on the couch, his expression one of worry.

“Wait,”he says in Korean. He walks into the kitchen, and I hear slight shuffling as he makes something.

Oh, goody. Food. I feel like my stomach is eating my organs.

Just as my body begins to rest, he comes in, holding a pot of ramen and chopsticks. Ever been an exhausted foreigner being forced to use chopsticks to eat noodles? ’s hard.

So after my forth failed attempt to take my first bite, when the tears are welling up again, I hear Joon, “Aish…”

And then he takes the chopsticks and starts feeding me. I promise you it was not as romantic as it sounded. His eyes are tiny because he’s tired and his hair is up at odd angle, he’s a little pale and his lips look really dry. I’m sure I don’t look much better with my puffy eyes, fatigued body, and runny nose.

He’s sitting on the table, almost leaning over me to feed me. And I stare at him for a moment in awe. After my third bite, I stare up at him, smile with any energy I can muster, and say, “Thank you. So much.”

He nods, as though he always feeds random people ramen. And then, quietly, “Ibuka mo. Jaebal.”

And so I open my mouth, and he feeds me.

When I finish the bowl, he sets it on the table and makes to picks me up again, but I stop him. “Just leave me.”

I don’t know if he understands me, but he understands what I mean.“Sleep in my room.”

I think he gets that too, because he starts protesting. “Dahk chuh,” I mumble.“Just go. Let me sleep.”

He stops and stares down at me. Then nods, and pulls a blanket from behind the couch around me.

But just as he begins to walk away, I reach into his hand and pull out the greatest piece of paper I’ve ever seen, and curl up, letting my exhausted body take me away.