He stared at his screen, clutching his phone so tightly that he swore his knuckles would go pale. All of their words resonated in his ears, distorting and drowning his own as he contemplated the risks and potential rewards of exposing himself, letting himself be vulnerable, letting himself enter the other world, the world that he, for so long, had been separated from as an idol. He was unsure if he could dismantle the mask that he always wore, that he always felt so comfortable in. Of course, he removed it around the other members because they, too, were in the same world, in the same costumes and masks. However, he wanted to be real with this girl. He wanted to be a real man, a real person and potentially, a real friend, a real love. He took a deep breath and clicked on the button that would seal his faith, listening to the familiar chime of KakaoTalk as it dialed her. The friendly and uplifting tone seemed to drag on forever and was eerily too cheerful.

            She inhaled sharply, almost throwing her phone across the bed at the sight of his name. Instead, she trembled to accept the call. She found that she had not enough time to rehearse, rehearse her smile, rehearse what she would say, rehearse what she would feel.

            “Hey, hey~” he chimed cheerfully, his round cheeks warm, but not painted. His eyes sparkled as if he were looking straight through to her, as if she was next to him, in his arms. He bit his lip, pausing, waiting for her to respond so he wouldn’t have to think in silence.

            “Hi, how are you!” she cheered, nearly squealing before she remembered what volume control was. “Aren’t you busy? It’s the middle of the day there, right?”

            “It is, it is. I’m not bothering you, am I, Cheonsa?”

            “Cheonsa?” she asked slowly, the word flittering on her tongue though her mind could not remember what it meant. It sounded sweet, romantic, charming and she cursed herself for not remembering enough of her Korean 102 or iconic B.A.P. songs.

            “Yeah, cause you’re an angel,” he confessed timidly. Her eyes grew wide. “For what you did for me the other night. I’m glad you were by my side that night. It means a lot to me,” he admitted, his words lifting a heavy load from his shoulders. He meant every word, but for so long, he had not wanted to say it, afraid of the consequences, not for her sake, but for his own. Courage, to him, was simply a word that was much easier to say than to act. Actions speak louder than words, but words were always easier to pretend. Yet, here he was, facing a lovely girl who had no faults other than being normal, being a fan, being outside of the world that he knew, that he was trained for.

            “It was no problem. It was a good time. You had been so sweet to me during all of the concerts and I wanted to repay you. You mean the world to me,” she reassured him.

            “So, how is your day?” he asked softly, rehearsing every basic phrase of English he had learned in preparation for the concert. He wanted to speak flawless English to connect with his American Goldenness, but this time, it was different. He meant it and truly wanted to know, even if he knew he would not understand everything. He could understand her energy, her smile, the little mannerisms like how she giggled and averted her eyes. He simply wanted to understand her.

            She paused, mulling over the few Korean words she remembered, trying to decide what was best to say besides “good”. She wanted to speak to him in his native tongue, to reach the person behind the screen, the person, not the idol that felt forced to speak English. However, she no longer had the skills and truly understood what it meant to “not use it, then lose it”. If nothing else, however, she vowed to use this moment as motivation so she could truly reach him, even if it meant once again drowning herself in Korean textbooks and forcing herself to watch K-dramas.

            “It was a bit busy at work today, but I could manage,” she began, opting to speak more comfortably in English. She chose to use more gestures and shrugging to make her point. Body language, she thought, was universal, like his smile, like the love she felt in her heart.

            “What do you do?” he asked, genuinely intrigued as if there were no other jobs in the world besides being a performer, an idol. He wondered what her routine was like, how her days turned to nights or vice versa. He wondered what it meant to have free time that didn’t have to be documented. He wondered what it was like to be normal, to even have to fret about the normal uncertainties and responsibilities of life. While his life had far more structure than hers or any other fan’s, he did, admittedly, live a life of leisure. He understood that, while he was not making millions of dollars in his career like some idols, he had opportunities granted to him that others could only dream of as they worked their loathsome 9-5 or their hectic day job. His schedule often was in a frenzy, but he lived for the excitement, the sometimes spontaneity of it all, a luxury of life that many could not handle nor would ever see. He was more curious than envious, intrigued rather than indignant.

            “I’m a barista at a café,” she muttered, slightly embarrassed although she couldn’t understand why. Her job paid the bills, kept food in , and had even paid for her trip nd tickets to see him. She by no means was living in poverty and was content with her life. It kept her paid while she pursued her true passion—law. It was a steppingstone to something greater and the experiences, the people it brought with it were invaluable to her. Yet, as she stared at his beaming eyes, she felt abashed at her humble profession. This trip had cost her more than she wanted to admit although the experience was priceless. The hours were steady yet daunting. The clientele was sometimes more entitled than any sasaeng she could imagine. Yet, the job was good to her, and she tried her best to work well with everyone, even if they were missing more than one brain cell. She wondered what it was like to see the world, wondered what it was like to be a jetsetter, a star in the sky and in the lives of so many fans. She wondered what talent she’d capitalize most off of and what group she would best fit into. While she was grateful for her life, she wanted to know what true comfort, true leisure was, what it meant to not only love your job, but to work a life that you loved. For once, she wanted chaos, wanted the busy schedule and screaming, adoring fans. She was more curious than envious, intrigued rather than indignant. There was a pause, but in that time, she studied how his eyes sparkled at her response. She was able to imagine all the themed cafes they would be able to visit if she had any time, any resources to visit him. She could almost hear the soft café melodies in the background as they shared a berry tart or played with one of the roaming cats at a cat café.

            “You know, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but the next Season’s Greetings will have barista boy Golcha,” he whispered as if anyone else would hear and spread the story. “I hope that we can do it justice although the closest we have to coffee here in the dorms is the Folger’s and drip machine. It’s no iced americano, but it does the job,” he sighed. “Although, I would love to try something made by your hand. You could give me anything and I would savor it like my life depended on it,” he confessed, giggling as he watched her beam on the other side of the screen.

            “I know you probably can’t say, but when is the next time you can come visit?” she asked, more afraid that she sounded too desperate, too much like a fan after the words had slipped from . She didn’t want to see selfish, but she yearned for him. Her heart beat for him and even though it had not been long since his departure, it felt far too long away from him. He was not only an idol that she adored, but he was a warm hug in human form. He was comfort personified and packaged in a 5’6” frame, just big enough for her to nuzzle into him and fit snugly like a puzzle piece. In him, she could see nor remember any fears, any distrust, anything but a budding love and sense of security. In his space, in his arms, everything would be and was okay.  “I’d love to take you up on that promise,” she added, although it was too late as she scanned his face for any reaction. He let out a soft smirk that seemed too sad to be real, too disappointed to be comforting.

            He knew that they would return in a matter of months, though he knew that it would not be to Los Angeles, for whatever reason the company could muster. He had been filming his parts of the new MV only a few hours before. He had been in the practice room sharpening his dance skills even after that. Frankly, before the call, he had just finished taking a shower, rinsing away the sweat of a hard day and only thinking of her all the time while doing so. Everything he did, the practicing, the singing, the dancing, the performing, the mask was for his brothers and for his fans, people like her. Though he often felt he could not endure the pain and grueling hours, it was smiles like hers that made his work worth it. It was also smiles like her that broke his heart knowing he couldn’t see them again. The phone, while substitute enough, was nothing compared to the light he had felt firsthand, to the warmth of her body, and the calm of her soul. Moreover, he was starting to miss her the way he could only imagine fans like her missed him. He was beginning to wonder if and when he meant it when he said he missed all the faces he had seen or if he only missed just hers. How he wished he didn’t have to miss anymore and could hop on a plane to come see her, to walk beside her again and get to know her beyond what