Iseul
Days drag by, and I find myself in a state of restless anticipation. Every buzz, every chime from my phone sends a jolt through me, but it's never Jaewook. It's always something trivial—a promotional email, a reminder for an upcoming dance class at Dynamix, or a message from one of my girl groups. The absence of his name on my screen feels like a void I can't ignore.
I can't concentrate. My mind replays the moments at the resort like a film stuck on repeat. His laughter, the warmth of his hand in mine, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me. Each memory is vivid, painfully so.
In the studio, I struggle to choreograph new routines. The rhythm of the music feels off, my movements disjointed. My dancers notice my distraction. They exchange worried glances but don't dare to ask. I catch Seungmin watching me with concern as he adjusts levels on the soundboard.
"Iseul," he finally says during a break, "You okay?"
I shrug, not trusting myself to speak without betraying the turmoil inside me. He doesn't push, but I can see the questions in his eyes.
Later that evening, I decide to confide in Haein and Ara. We gather at our favorite café in Gangnam, a cozy place with dim lighting and secluded corners perfect for private conversations.
"So," Haein starts after we settle into our seats with steaming mugs of coffee. "What's up? You've been off lately."
I take a deep breath and spill everything—my date with Jaewook, how perfect it felt, and the deafening silence that followed.
Ara raises an eyebrow. "Go Jaewook? The actor?"
I nod.
"Wow," she says slowly. "Didn't see that coming."
Haein leans back in his chair, contemplating. "Maybe he's just busy? You know how these actors are—always filming or doing press tours or commercial shoots. He's probably just as busy as you usually are."
"Or maybe he's just not that into you," Ara says bluntly, though her tone is gentle. "Guys can be weird about these things."
"That's very confidence boosting, thank you," I mutter, stirring my coffee absentmindedly.
"I'm just saying," Ara continues. "Don't get too hung up on him. You've dated like a hundred actors, anyway."
"How high do you think my body count is, exactly?" I ask her, narrowing my eyes.
"Maybe he just doesn't know how to reach out to you," Haein counters.
"He was the one to ask me out," I remind her.
Haein shrugs. "What if he doesn't want to seem clingy?"
I sigh. "That would be better than ghosting me. At least then I could turn him down."
Haein reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "Maybe give it some more time? If he doesn't reach out soon, then you can decide what to do next."
Ara nods reluctantly. "Yeah, okay. But don't wait forever."
The conversation helps a little but doesn't erase the ache of uncertainty gnawing at me. Back at my apartment, I pace restlessly from room to room. My phone lies on the coffee table like a silent judge of my impatience.
A notification pops up—a comment on Dynamix's latest video—but it's not what I'm hoping for. Frustrated, I toss my phone onto the couch and sink down beside it.
Frustrated, I toss my phone onto the couch and sink down beside it. My thoughts swirl like a storm, each one more turbulent than the last. Should I have been more guarded? Did I let my guard down too easily with Jaewook? His interest seemed so genuine, but now I can't help but question if it was just a casual thing for him. Something to satisfy his curiosity.
I grab a pillow and hug it to my chest, staring at the blank wall ahead. My mind drifts back to our date—the way he looked at me, the way he listened so intently. It felt real, but maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see. Maybe Jaewook's charm is just that—a facade.
Unable to resist, I pick up my phone again and open Instagram. I search for his profile and start scrolling through his posts. There's nothing new, no updates that give me any insight into what he's been up to or why he hasn't reached out. His last post is from two weeks ago—a behind-the-scenes shot from his latest drama set.
I swipe through the comments, looking for any hints or clues. Fans fawn over him, leaving heart emojis and declarations of love. But there's nothing personal, nothing that gives me any idea of what's going on in his life right now.
I switch to Twitter, hoping for more recent updates. His tweets are just as cryptic—promotions for his projects, retweets of fan art, but nothing personal. Nothing that tells me why he's been silent.
My finger hovers over the message icon. I kind of want to reach out, to ask him what's going on. But I hold back, worried about appearing too eager or desperate. What if he's just not interested? What if reaching out pushes him further away?
I throw my phone back onto the couch and let out a frustrated groan. This isn't like me—I'm not the type to sit around waiting for a guy to call. I've always been independent, headstrong, defiant even. But Jaewook has gotten under my skin in a way I didn't expect.
I get up and start pacing the room, trying to shake off the restless energy. Maybe Haein and Ara are right—maybe he's just busy with work. But even then, wouldn't he have found a moment to text or call?
It's infuriating how much control this situation has over me when I'm usually the one in control.
A few days later, I'm backstage at a weekend music show. The buzz of activity around me is usually enough to get my adrenaline pumping, but today, my mind is elsewhere. Jaewook's still ghosting me, and it both hurts my pride and irritates me.
I sit in the makeup chair, trying to center myself as the stylist works on my hair. She's chatting away about some new product she's using, but her words blur into white noise. My eyes keep darting to my phone, lying silent on the counter. No messages. No calls.
"Iseul, you okay?" the stylist asks, noticing my distracted state.
"Yeah, just tired," I lie with a forced smile.
She nods sympathetically and continues her work. I know I should be focusing on the performance ahead, but every time I try to concentrate, thoughts of Jaewook invade my mind. Why hasn't he called? Did I misread everything?
I shake my head slightly, trying to clear the fog of doubt. This isn't like me. I've faced worse and come out stronger. I need to pull it together.
"Five minutes till stage time!" a crew member announces.
I take a deep breath and stand up, smoothing down my outfit. The familiar routine of pre-show preparations should be comforting, but today it feels like I'm going through the motions without really being present.
As I walk towards the stage entrance, my assistant catches up with me. "You got this," she says, giving me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.
"Thanks," I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm.
The lights dim as I step onto the stage, the roar of the crowd washing over me. Usually, this is where I thrive—where every worry fades away under the spotlight. But tonight feels different. My energy is off-kilter, my focus splintered.
The music starts, and I force myself into action. My body moves through the choreography I've practiced countless times, but there's a stiffness in my movements that shouldn't be there. Each step feels heavier than usual.
I glance out at the audience and see their expectant faces staring back at me. They're here for a show, for an escape from their own lives. I owe them that much.
Pushing down my distractions, I try to immerse myself in the music. But every beat seems off-tempo, every note slightly out of tune with how I'm feeling inside.
Halfway through the performance, there's a tricky sequence of spins and jumps that normally comes naturally to me. Tonight though, it feels like wading through molasses. My footwork falters for just a split second—barely noticeable to anyone else—but enough for me to feel it like a punch in the gut.
I catch my assistant's eye from backstage; she's watching intently with a look of concern etched on her face. Her silent support helps ground me momentarily as I push through to finish strong.
As soon as the final note hits and the applause erupts around me, relief floods in—but it's tinged with frustration. I'm rattled and I don't like it. I don't get hung up like this.
Backstage again after what feels like an eternity under those bright lights and scrutinizing eyes—I collapse onto one of those uncomfortable folding chairs they always have lying around back here somewhere amidst all this chaos—and bury my face in my hands for just one moment before someone else needs something from me or another interview demands answers only half-formed inside this foggy brain right now.
I slip away to the rooftop, needing a breather. The night air is cool against my skin, a welcome contrast to the heat and noise backstage. I lean against the railing, taking in the sprawling cityscape of Seoul. The twinkling lights below seem so distant, almost like another world.
I close my eyes, trying to shake off the frustration from my lackluster performance. It all comes back to Jaewook and his infuriating silence. Why did he have to worm his way into my head and then vanish?
The sound of the rooftop door creaking open snaps me out of my reverie. I turn, expecting one of the crew members or maybe even my assistant, but instead, I see a face I recognize but not one I've had the pleasure of talking to in person. He moves with easy confidence, dressed in a fashionable but not flashy jacket and slacks, hair styled gracefully over his brow and dyed a deep chestnut brown. His angular eyes dark and intense and immediately striking. There's a sultry grin hanging from his full lips as he catches sight of me and his dark brows rise slightly. He stops walking and gives me a half-bow.
"Iseul-ssi. It's nice to see you," he says breezily, grinning ear to ear. Yoon Seonho, who doesn't need an introduction because of course, I know who he is.
My lips curve. He's so handsome in person, but then I'm not surprised. I am surprised to see him up here, though.
"Seonho. I didn't know Orion was performing tonight," I greet him. I wonder self-consciously if I should have admitted that. Not knowing Orion would be here would be not a small oversight. They're the biggest names in K-pop right now and have been for a few years. They would be the main attraction if they're performing tonight and that's something I should know.
Honestly, I'm a little starstruck. Seonho is like K-pop royalty. I've never had the luck to meet the Orion guys in person, though we've been on the same music and award shows several times. I've heard nothing but good things about them, though, which is unusual when most of the male groups have at least a few bad apples that all the female idols know about.
"We're not," he says, his voice smooth and deep. "I'm here for moral support. A junior group from my company is performing tonight."
"Ah." I nod with realization. I do, in fact, remember reading the name of one of the junior male groups on the roster for tonight's performances. I'd forgotten they were from the same label as Orion, though, so that is on me.
"Then what are you doing up here? Shouldn't you be downstairs cheering them on?" I ask, though I'm not at all disappointed he's decided to detour up here.
"Oh." Seonho flashes me a guilty grin and holds up one hand, where I can now see the pack of cigarettes he's holding.
I let out a surprised laugh and then tip my head to one side.
"My, my. So the media darling has a vice after all," I tease, softening the jibe with a sympathetic smile.
Seonho snorts and approaches slowly, propping himself on the wall beside me with one elbow. He opens the pack and slides out one slim stick.
"Do you mind?"
I shake my head. Though I'm not above teasing, I'm used to it. A lot of idols, male idols, specifically, picked up the habit of either smoking or vaping as a way to relieve stress and relax. A lot of my exes did too, and though it's not one of my particular vices, I've gotten used to being around it.
Seonho gives me a grateful nod and slips the cigarette casually between his lips. I wait while he lights up, using the distraction as an excuse to look at him up close. He's not wearing makeup tonight. Obviously he didn't plan on being on camera. As a result, I'm getting an unfiltered look at the superstar. He's a little darker-skinned than most idols, which I find suits him quite well. He has a pretty strong bone structure, more masculine than they typically like male idols to be, but so refined that it would be a mistake to call him anything but beautiful.
I see things that I didn't on screen now, though. A small scar at the corner of his lips, a small sprinkling of moles across his right cheekbone, faint lines around his eyes. Not age, just from the natural shape of them. He looks better like this, I think. More real. Without the makeup I can see that his features are natural, not surgery-enhanced like is so much more commonplace in this industry.
Seonho's label was small when Orion started. They had a smaller budget and gave the group more creative freedom, which seems to have worked in their favor and led to their eventual sky-high success. It also seems that factored into the Orion members keeping their natural looks and avoiding the industry-influenced push to adhere to beauty standards.
Seonho notices me looking and blows out a breath, wincing slightly.
"Sorry. I know it's a bad habit. I don't do it often these days, but it's a bit like a crutch when my schedule's busy."
I wave away his apology.
"Not judging. I think it makes you seem a little more real, actually."
Seonho meets my gaze and grins. "And I didn't before?"
"Oh, come on. You're a superstar with a spotless image. What am I supposed to think?"
Seonho takes another drag and narrows his eyes slightly.
"You of all people know better than to assume what someone's like by their public perception."
I shrug. "For most people, I know something about them from my idol friends in addition to their image. That's not the case for you and your bandmates. Not a single person has a bad thing to say about you."
Seonho arches a brow. "That's not nothing. Isn't having nothing bad to say a good thing?"
"Not necessarily." Nothing bad doesn't automatically mean good. It means that Seonho and his bandmates have done a good job of keeping their private lives private. I don't think they have anything to hide necessarily, but experience has made me a skeptic, and I trust men in the industry about as far as I can throw them, even the ones with no reputation.
I do know some things about Seonho, though. I know a few of his exes, not personally, just for a fact that they dated, which is more than the media knows. They don't run in my personal circles, but I know enough to know Seonho has a taste for high-profile partners and he's very good about keeping it quiet. I know he and his bandmates keep their side of the street clean. They don't come to the celebrity parties or show themselves at the clubs. They're not in any of the private chat groups or backstage cliques that are kept out of the public eye but are an open secret among idols. Their friends are unproblematic and their dates discreet. They're probably the industry experts at keeping a low profile, and that, to me, makes them intriguing and also means I can't trust what they choose to show everyone.
"You don't trust me," Seonho states, though his mouth is curved slightly with amusement.
"I don't know you," I point out casually.
Seonho straightens and puts out his cigarette on the ground. He thinks for a second.
"How do Americans do this again? Ah."
He holds out a hand to me with a flourish. I stare at it for a second before I understand what he wants and then give him an ironic look as I put my hand in his and let him shake mine.
"I'm Yoon Seonho," he says, smiling mischievously, "I'm twenty-eight years old, son of Gong Hani and Yoon Inseong, one of three siblings. I was born in Gangwon-do and came to Seoul at fifteen where I was signed to my current label. I have two dogs, I play piano and violin, have a minor degree in philosophy, and I don't like dark chocolate. Oh, and I have a bad smoking habit."
I blink, startled, and then laugh once, amused.
"There," Seonho says with satisfaction, "Now you know a little bit about me."
"You have a degree in philosophy?" I repeat, staring at him.
Seonho grins. "I'm not all looks and charm."
I roll my eyes. "And you're incredibly humble," I say sarcastically.
Seonho lifts his shoulders. "When the occasion calls for it. But I don't think it's very useful when I'm trying to impress a beautiful woman who's successful in her own right."
I shoot him a questioning look. "Why would you need to impress me?"
"Now you're the one being humble," he says with a discontented snort. "Let's not talk about me, then. What are you doing up here?" He gestures grandly at the rooftop, empty besides the two of us.
I sigh, but I don't see a reason not to be honest with him.
"Did you watch my performance earlier?" I ask.
"Uhuh," he grunts, but when I glance at him, he's watching me with obvious curiosity.
"Did I look … off to you?"
Seonho frowns. "Like, distracted?"
I nod.
He shakes his head. "Though I will admit to having watched your videos a few more times than is probably socially acceptable, I don't think I could say I'm familiar enough with your usual performance level to be able to say for sure."
I smirk slightly and give him a sardonic look.
"Well, basically I came up here to clear my head."
"Ah, well, glad I could help by filling it up with nicotine fumes instead." Seonho winks to match his playful smile.
I giggle, unable to help myself. he's actually amusing me, though I'm still not sure what to think of him. He seems honest, at least.
"And how often did you say you watch my videos?" I tease, raising my brows.
Seonho raises a hand and shakes his head. "If I answered that you would probably want me to stop talking."
I smile. "I'm flattered, actually. It's a compliment, considering you were my phone's wallpaper for a good six months at one point."
Seonho's eyes brighten for a second and I brace myself for the mischief I can see brewing.
"Oh? Which picture was it?"
I hold his gaze, refusing to say it. Seonho though, damn him, gets a wicked smile on his lips and his gaze seems to sparkle.
"It was the Vanity Fair Korea photoshoot, wasn't it?"
"No." But my denial is too quick. I should have acted as though I had to think about it first, and Seonho immediately can tell I'm lying because he laughs and claps his hands together victoriously.
"It was!"
I feel my cheeks heat and glare at him. The picture in question was a very sultry black-and-white image of Seonho stretched casually over the top of a picnic table … in nothing but a picnic blanket.
"Shut up," I tell him, rolling my eyes at his amusement.
"It's okay, really," he laughs. "I'm flattered."
"I'm an adult woman and I have eyes, so obviously I have certain interests," I say defensively.
Seonho leans against the wall and flashes me an inviting smile. "You know, if you were curious, you could've just looked me up. I'm sure we have mutual friends who would've given you my number."
"The problem with that is, of course, that you're very good about keeping your private life out of the gossip mill, so I had no way of knowing if a message from me would've been welcome from whatever partner you might've had, and I'd have to be presumptuous enough to assume you'd respond at all."
Seonho flips his hands palms up. "Well, now you know. I have no attachments for you to offend, and I would welcome your attention. It's a good thing we met like this, isn't it?"
I shake my head wryly. "It must be fate."
Seonho seems to think of something, giving me a thoughtful look.
"Are you finished filming today?" he asks.
"I have an appearance during encore to make," I answer.
Seonho glances up at the sun, which is starting to set on the skyline.
"You'll be here quite late then. Are you driving yourself back?"
The studio we're filming today's music show in is located in Gyeonggi, which is not far from the city but is not Seoul either. We don't normally travel out this far for weekend performances, but the show is a holiday special and required a bigger set.
"No," I say, shaking my head. "I have a hotel room for the night. No schedule tomorrow, luckily."
I give him a gauging look.
"Are you going back to the city after?"
"I'm staying in Gyeonggi for a few days, actually. I have another variety show filming on Sunday, not far from here."
He meets my gaze and gives me a small smile.
"Since we're both staying, maybe we could get dinner together after the show. I know some good places nearby."
I cock my head and flash a bemused smile.
"Yoon Seonho, are you asking me out?"
Seonho shrugs one shoulder, easy grin on his lips.
"What, don't think I'm good company?"
I consider him. I want to say yes, obviously. I mean, it's Yoon Seonho. He's obviously gorgeous, and he's charming, and fun. And fuck, the sex would be fantastic. But … but I just went on a date with a totally different man a few days ago. A man who now appears to be ghosting me, but it was meaningful to me, nonetheless. And Seonho, well, he's another unknown.
Though everything I know about him seems true and he seems like an honest person … he is technically a seasoned veteran of the music industry, and men in the music industry tend to sour with time, if they don't come in to it already with issues. I don't know what Seonho's deal is, what shadows he's got lurking around him, and I know he has to have some. No one makes it in this business without collecting scars.
"You think I'm going to take you for a ride and then sell the story to the tabloids?" he asks, and I glance up sharply but relax when I see the amused look on his face.
"No, I don't," I admit. "But I've been horribly wrong about men before. The men that don't go to the tabloids sometimes don't because they've done worse things they don't want getting out. I'm not saying that's you but—"
"But you've been burned before," he guesses, and I'm glad to see he looks sympathetic rather than offended.
I sigh. "I'm sure you've read the articles."
Seonho shakes his head slightly. "I don't read gossip, but I've heard some of your story through … well, friends."
I give him a meaningful look. "Male friends or female friends? Because that usually changes the angle of the story significantly."
Seonho lets out a short, guilty laugh. "Ah, well, I do hear things from female friends occasionally, but I would be lying if I didn't hear the majority of my information from the men around me."
"Mhm," I hum, knowing exactly what he probably heard.
Seonho waves his hands in front of him, like he can read the look on my face.
"It's nothing like that. I'm not friends with your exes, for a start. I know what you went through. I promise, I just want to take you out to get to know you. No expectations. I mean, we could go out for one dinner and you could never talk to me again afterward and I'd accept that," he assures me.
I hesitate for a few moments, holding his gaze and thinking about the possibilities. I think Seonho is an honest person, and he's right, one dinner surely couldn't hurt. There's just one thing I feel like I have to know before I make up my mind. A test.
I watch his face as I ask. "Did you look at them? The pictures of me?"
Seonho knows what I'm talking about because his expression instantly softens. He doesn't look at me like he feels sorry for me, but there is understanding in his eyes.
"No," he says after a moment. "I know you might find that hard to believe. After that, I can imagine why you might assume all men are pigs. But I didn't. The pictures went around my friend circles, of course, but I always deleted them without looking. It didn't feel right. And as far as I know, all my bandmates and anyone I'm still friends with did the same."
I pause, trying to detect any hint of deceit in his words. "And what about the ones I shared?"
Seonho shakes his head. "I never looked them up. Honestly, the whole incident just made me angry for you."
He catches my eye and I can see the honesty in them. "I know who did it, the person who leaked them originally. I've never had the displeasure of meeting him face to face, luckily for him. But he and his team haven't been welcome around us or anyone of our close friends since."
I gave him an interested look. "I heard a rumor," I say, "That Orion has never interacted with him or any of his bandmates on camera since the pictures came out. A couple of my friends told me they heard you guys refused to show up at any event they were invited to. In essence, the rumor was that Orion and all the idols you guys were close to had blacklisted them."
The rumor, admittedly, was part of the reason I've always liked and respected the members of Orion. They were among the only male idols at the time of the incident who were always polite and welcoming to me when I first started to appear solo on music shows and programs. Though I never spoke to any of them privately, when I saw them in passing, they went out of their way to acknowledge and welcome me.
The rumor that Orion had blacklisted my ex, Jihyun, and by extension, the rest of his group, Voxx, was less of a rumor and more like common industry insider knowledge. Orion were visibly cold to all of Voxx backstage, and staff frequently talked about the problems it caused whenever Voxx was invited to a program because several female and male groups alike would drop out if Voxx were in the program. Earning the disapproval of Orion was like getting the plague in this business. Orion were on top and they were well respected among our peers. If Orion collectively shunned you, the rest of the idol community was almost guaranteed to follow suit. By making their disapproval clear, Orion had made my ex and his bandmates outsiders among idols. I appreciated it more than I could put into words.
Seonho nods slowly, with no hint of humor.
"It's what the industry should have done in the first place. What he did was a crime. It's as much justice as we could give you."
"It helped," I assure him. "More than you can know."
His expression lightens, and I see amusement in his eyes again.
"But you still won't go on a date with me."
"I didn't say that," I say with a smile back.
"You didn't say yes," he counters.
I chew on my bottom lip in indecision. I like Seonho, and I do believe his intentions are pure. Mine, however, are not. And I don't know if my conscious is alright with slipping into someone else's bed so soon after getting out of Jaewook's.
"How's this? You give me to the end of filming tonight to think about it. If I decide I want some company after, I'll come find you."
Seonho presses his lips together in thought for a long moment and then eventually, he nods, satisfied.
"Fine. Here's hoping then."
***
Back in the studio, the buzz of activity swirls around me, but my mind is miles away. I keep replaying my rooftop conversation with Seonho, dissecting every word and glance. His sincerity felt real, but then again, Jaewook's interest seemed genuine, too. My heart tugs in two directions, each pull stronger than the last.
As the cameras roll and I take my place for the final performance, I catch sight of Seonho backstage. He's talking animatedly with a staff member, his smile infectious even from a distance. My stomach flips. I shake my head, trying to focus on the choreography I've practiced a thousand times. But every move feels mechanical, my thoughts drifting back to those wide eyes and mischievous grin.
Jaewook's silence gnaws at me, too. He had seemed so interested, so present during our date. And then nothing. Maybe he's busy with filming, or maybe he's just not that into me. Either way, the uncertainty is driving me mad.
The performance ends in a blur of lights and applause. I bow, smiling through the noise, but my heart isn't in it. As we exit the stage, Seonho catches my eye and gives a small nod. My pulse quickens.
I make a snap decision. What the fuck, why not?
Back in the dressing room, I find a scrap of paper and scribble my hotel room number on it. My hands tremble slightly as I fold it neatly and slip it into my pocket. I glance at myself in the mirror—eyes sharp with determination but shadowed with doubt.
The awards show drags on interminably after that, each minute stretching into an eternity as I sit through speeches and performances.
Finally, it's over. The crowd begins to disperse and people start milling around backstage. I spot Seonho near the exit and take a deep breath before weaving through the throng towards him.
I make my way over, weaving discreetly between people and keeping myself hidden in the sea of idols and staff. I come close enough to hear his voice, speaking to his labelmates. I step around them, I'm at Seonho's back and as I make to move around them, I shift my hand subtly at my side, blocking sight of it with my body.
I press the piece of paper into Seonho's relaxed hand at his side. I feel him stiffen, but he doesn't turn his head, doesn't make any indication he's noticed the touch besides the slight stillness. Then his fingers close around the piece of paper and I step away.
I wait until I get to the end of the hall before I look back, searching him out over the heads of the crowd. He's still in the same spot, and though his head is turned toward his labelmates, his eyes flick in my direction.
He holds my gaze for the briefest of moments, and then I see his chin dip just slightly. That and the dark look in his eyes is enough to confirm he understands.
I turn on my heel and making my way out of the building as fast as I can without drawing attention. My heart pounds with each step towards the waiting car that will take me to the hotel.
The ride feels like an eternity, but also like no time at all. My thoughts whirl—what if this is a mistake? What if Jaewook calls tomorrow? What if Seonho isn't what he seems?
But then I remember his eyes on that rooftop—steady, kind—and decide that sometimes risks are worth taking.