“Why do you want me to come?” I ask, bemused.

“Because I like you, Shin Hye. You make me laugh,” he says with a shrug, “And you need to loosen the hell up. I want to show you that there’s more to life than work and more work. You should have a little fun every once in a while. This will be my repayment to you for being such a good nurse.”

“I have fun,” I say, pouting. “Last week, I organized my garage...”

“That is not fun.” He cuts me off abruptly. “That is...I don’t know what,” Yong Hwa says. “Go put on something a Busan girl would wear and get your  back out here.”

“I don’t own anything a Busan girl would wear,” I sniff, baiting him.

“Gwangju girls and Busan girls have at least one thing in common,” he says, “They can’t say no to me. Now go change.”

I stick out my tongue and hurry past him into the house. Every cell in my body is suddenly wide awake, the exhaustion of having just finished a twelve hour night shift is completely gone. I vault over Bongji, who’s waiting patiently on the stairs, and head for my bedroom. As I rifle through my closet, the closeness of Yong Hwa to the place where I sleep starts to excite me. Should I demand that he could inside? Give him the opportunity to make a move, if he wants to? I peer through my bedroom window and consider how easy it would be...But no. I want to see where the evening goes if I let him drive a little longer.

The best I can do is a pair of insanely frayed jean shorts and a loose white tank top that’s just transparent enough to show a little of my baby blue bra. My hair is beyond saving, so I pile it in a messy bun on the top of my head and swipe on some makeup. I look like I belong at one of those music festivals where you’re stuck in a tent and can’t shower for three days. But with this crowd, that might not be too much of a problem, I guess.

Bongji is waiting for me at the door, looking confused. I crack open a can for him and give him a quick scratch behind the ears. He seems offended that I’m cutting into his cuddle time. But for once, I have to chance to leave my everyday life as a dog lady behind and go hang out with a rock star. Bongji will just have to understand.

I walk back out to meet Yong Hwa, doing a little twirl so he can see what I’ve put together. He smiles appreciatively. “Safe,” he says, “But on point.”

“A little safety never hurt anyone,” I tell him, planting my hands on my hips.

“But too much can kill you,” he says, “Spiritually, anyway.”

“What, do you moonlight as a philosopher or something?” I ask.

“All musicians do,” he says, “All the good ones, anyway. Now let’s go.”

He leads me across the street to a sleek black sports car. It’s far more understated than I would have guessed, given his level of fame. But I’m starting to think that there’s a lot about Yong Hwa that I simply don’t understand yet. There are sure to be plenty more surprises waiting for me down the line. I catch myself thinking about the possibility of Yong Hwa and I having a future, but I very carefully remind myself that this is probably a one-night thing.

He’s probably just amused by me, wants to keep me around as a novelty for a night. Come tomorrow, I’ll be spending my day off on my own once more. But right now, I’m going to try my best to just live in the moment, and not worry so much about what’s going to happen when I wake up in the morning. I try to channel.
 

I slide into the car as Yong Hwa starts the engine. We peel away from my house and head for the highway. I watch as my humble little starter home fades away in the distance. It seemed so little when Yong Hwa stood before it. I hope that my life doesn’t seem small to him, or unimportant.

“Will your entourage be annoyed that you’re bringing a nobody along for the show?” I ask.

“You’re not a nobody,” Yong Hwa says, a scowl pulling at the ends of his lips. “And you don’t have to put yourself down for my benefit. What you do with your life actually matters, Shin Hye. And if any roadie or whatever tries to tell you that what we do is better or something, you have my permission to punch him in the eye. The world could do without rock stars, but it couldn’t do without people like you.”

“Say it again, stud,” I smile.

“I mean it,” he says, “People build musicians and bands up into gods or something, but we’re just people who get to do something ridiculous for a living.”

“I promise not to let anyone talk down to me,” I tell him, “But you don’t have to remind me to do that. I don’t take well to people who are too self important for their own good.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, “You’ve already knocked me down more pegs than I can count.”

“You deserved it every time,” I told him.

“Fair enough,” he said.

We lapsed into silence as Yong Hwa pulled onto the highway. His car sailed over the bridge into Busan, his home state. Even though we weren’t speaking for the moment, the silence that hung between us was wasn’t uncomfortable. As I turned to look out the window, I felt the fingers of his free hand close around mine on the arm rest between us. I couldn’t breathe right while he was touching me. I tried to keep myself calm, taking deep breaths and reminding myself the best I could that this was OK, that it was actually happening, that it wasn’t all just a dream. I relished his firm grip, the warmth of his hand in mine, and smiled out into the quickly lightening sky beyond the window.

In no time at all, we were coasting through Busan. We seemed to be on a never ending strip of car dealerships, gentlemen’s clubs, and oddly enough, exotic bird stores.

“Your state is weird,” I mutter, leaning towards him cozily.

“It’s about to get weirder,” he says, flipping on his turn signal. We swing off the main road, into the parking lot of a broken down pool hall. The place is absolutely deserted, except for us. Still, Yong Hwa turns off the engine and unfolds himself out of the car. I step onto the broken asphalt beside him and my head up at the pool hall. It’s practically falling apart before my very eyes.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, looking around for a clue of some kind.

“This is where it all began,” he says happily. A dreamy look has come over his eyes, which are practically glowing in the morning sunlight. “This is where CN BLUE played its first show, back in the day.”

“Here?” I ask incredulously. It’s a far cry from the kinds of places I would expect to find Yong Hwa. He belonged in arenas and stadiums, not dumps like this. “Well...What are we doing here, though?” I ask, confused.

“I thought it would be nice to stop for a visit,” Yong Hwa says, popping open the trunk of his car. He pulls out a gorgeous acoustic guitar and starts for the pool hall. “Are you coming?”

“Uh...Sure,” I say, scrambling after him. Hopefully the roof won’t decide to fall down on my head while we’re inside, though I don’t want to jinx it.

Yong Hwa pushes open the door of the hall with his strong shoulder and steps inside. I follow, blinking in the dusty darkness. Though day has finally come around outside, it might as well be midnight in here. We pick our way over debris and broken furniture, squinting in the darkness. Yong Hwa finds a light switch and illuminates a single Edison bulb. The whole place glows with a spectral kind of light. It feels like we’re about to begin a séance, or something.

“Right over there,” Yong Hwa says, pointing toward the corner of the building,

“That’s where they used to have the stage set up. It was just a flimsy platform. It’s amazing that it held at all. The four of us were so nervous...There were only about ten punks in the crowd, but that was still the biggest audience we’d ever played for. I never sang in front of anyone but my band mates and my little sisters. It was the most terrified I’d ever been.”

“I’m assuming it went well?” I smile.

“It was amazing,” he says, smiling at the memory, “People actually put down their beers and listened to us. We had so much anger pent up back then, so much rage and sadness. It’s powerful to feel that all at once, especially coming from people as young as us. Before that night, we were all just a bunch of half-orphans and losers. But after...We were a band. We had each other, and we had something to give to people, something to prove. The band saved my life.”

“It’s a good thing we came back then,” I say, touched by his sudden moment of nostalgia.

“I thought I’d play a little something, cliché I know,” he says, slinging the guitar over his neck and sitting down on a rickety chair. “I hope you don’t think that’s indulgent and weird.”

“Not at all,” I say, perching on a busted pool table beside him. “I’ve heard your music, a little, but I’d love to really listen to you play.”

He gives me a quick smile in the darkness and then closes his eyes. His hands begin to move, traveling up and down the instrument. His fingers begin to pick out a sad, sweet melody. It’s not at all what I expected to hear coming from someone so strong, so fierce and intimidating. Every note falls perfectly, and the song builds on itself, complicates itself, until I’m utterly engrossed. I can feel the sorrow that went into this piece, and knowing that it’s Yong Hwa’s pain echoing through the chords, I want to lie down and weep. The thought of him in pain is unbearable to me. I want to heal him, even more—I want to make it so that he’s never had to know pain.

The song ends on a beautifully melancholy note, and he dives into another. There’s an anger pulsing beneath it. The careful notes are sharp as daggers as he sends them spinning out into the room. I find myself holding my breath as the songs intensifies, and Yong Hwa begins to sing over the chords. His voice is as rich and sweet as black coffee and dark chocolate. A sweep of goose bumps flies over my skin as his deep growl echoes around the space. There’s so much power in that voice, so much longing and determination and strength.