#fangirlproblems Read online

  “Time out!” He’s out of breath, but I’m having too much fun.

  One second, I’m winning, and the next second, I’m on the couch. I was so focused on my torture I didn’t consider the retaliation. He’s standing over me, hands keeping me from sitting up. He goes for my ribs, and I try to push his hands off. It doesn’t work.

  Laughter spews from my mouth against my will. I try to get him back—to find the sweet spot I was in before—but his arms are too long.

  “Stop!”

  “Stop what?” he says with a smirk. “This?”

  I’m giggling, but it hurts. “No!”

  There’s only one way I’m getting out of this. My arms might be too short to tickle him, but his knees are right next to my feet. I hook my toes into the back of his kneecap, and he falls over, right on top of me.

  We’re nose to nose, out of breath, and searching each other’s eyes. In the overcast morning light, he looks like he’s been dipped in amber. His pupils widen with desire, the honey color of his eyes barely visible.

  “Talitha,” he says, his voice lighter than air.

  “Yes?”

  Powdered sugar has stuck to his lips, and his kiss is sweeter than before. His hands are hot on my back, pulling me closer.

  I want to give in. It would be so easy to get lost in the desire. Every inch of me comes alive with his touch. His arms are hard, muscles flexed as he holds onto me. A bit of stubble has grown on his chin, and it feels rough on my cheek.

  “Chansol, we can’t.”

  “I know,” he says, not kissing but not moving away, either. “I won’t.”

  When I think about it, I start to believe what he said to me last night, that he really does like me. I mean, the boy can’t leave me alone.

  I press my palms into his chest and give a gentle shove. He gives me one last kiss, right at the corner of my mouth, and stands.

  “Three feet,” he says again, his voice hoarse. “From now on, I promise.”

  My laughter still can’t be contained, and I lay my head on the arm of the couch. “I think we just need to avoid lying down again.”

  “You’re right,” he says, taking my hands and pulling me up. “Let’s eat breakfast.”

  I nod, going back to my seat. He sits next to me, pulling his plate over to my side. His hand rests on my knee.

  He digs in, taking big bites of the pancake, not looking at me. I start to eat too, slower than he does.

  “This is so good,” he says. “I have a new favorite breakfast.”

  I smile, glad he’s enjoying it. As for me, I’m enjoying having him by my side. Watching him eat makes me all warm and gooey inside.

  “You’re really not leaving, are you?” I say.

  He chokes, the back of his hand covering his white-spotted lips. His gaze meets mine, and he coughs for a minute, eyes watering.

  “Talitha,” he says, once he gets his composure. “If my life was my own, I’d never leave.”

  #fangirlproblem18

  The word bias should be a synonym to pain.

  I keep my eyes closed, fighting my drowsy senses as I listen to the soft chatter of the T.V. in the background. Chansol and I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, though I don’t remember when.

  “Now to our Korean correspondent, Nana, with a story about a Korean boy band visiting us here in Houston.”

  My brow wrinkles as I pinch my eyelids tighter. Nana. Why is it that I don’t like that name?

  “Fans gather outside NRG Stadium, eagerly awaiting the popular group X-O. But a mystery surrounds one of the members. After rumors of one of the boys dating, Chansol Park has gone missing.”

  My eyelids pop open. It’s that witch. The one who was there at the hotel, trying to get a gossip scoop from me. I hate her.

  “Although representatives claim Mr. Park is fine, there’s been no proof to back up their statements. Fans, both here and abroad, are making signs and holding candles to show their support for the beloved member of the boy band.”

  I search the couch for the remote. Mostly, I just want something to throw at the screen, but I also want to turn it off before I hear another word.

  The second I press the power button, the sound of the television is replaced with the sound of screams. I cover my ears and stand.

  “What’s going—” It’s Sam. She’s standing in the doorway, mouth open, and designer bag carelessly dropped to the ground.

  She stops screaming for a second, and then starts up again. I follow her gaze to Chansol who’s just outside the bathroom, brushing his teeth. I’m not sure where he got the toothbrush from, but he’s also wearing an I ♥ NY t-shirt, so I’m guessing he did a little shopping—although I have no idea where he got money.

  Also, not sure where you can find a t-shirt like that in Texas, but it’s cool.

  “Calm down,” I say, running to Sam and taking her shoulders.

  Sam is gasping. “Why is he in our house?”

  I’m still trying to kick off the sleep. “I didn’t think you were coming back today?”

  “It’s already early evening, the rain stopped,” she says, crossing her arms.

  Oh. I guess I slept a long time; it was just so nice in Chansol’s arms.

  Sam stamps her foot and points to Chansol. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Oh gosh, Chansol’s here and I fell asleep on him. I know now that he’s going to hold onto me, but he still has to physically leave me for the concert tomorrow.

  I cross the room and stand between the two of them, surprised at how huge Sam’s eyes have gone. There’s no doubt she knows who he is, but I still feel the need to introduce her. “Sam,” I say in English. “This is Chansol. From X-O.”

  Sam’s face has gone tomato red. An arm reaches over my shoulder as Chansol extends his hand to shake. His abs are pressing into my back. I can tell Sam’s thinking about Chansol spending the night here. Chansol rests his chin on my shoulder, putting his free hand around my middle.

  Great. That clears everything right up.

  I feel him leave and hear the bathroom door shut. Sam grabs both my arms, the goofiest grin on her face. “What the heck happened? I kept trying to call you again, but you didn’t answer, and no one was picking up the hall phone.”

  I’m still kind of high from Chansol’s touch. I give her a lazy smirk. “I had to leave my phone at work because of the paparazzi.”

  Sam flips. “Paparazzi?!”

  I try to hush her, but I realize Chansol might not understand her anyway since she’s speaking English.

  Chansol comes out of the bathroom and drapes an arm over my shoulders. I freeze. He gives me a squeeze, pulling me closer to him.

  I look up and he’s smiling at me. He leans down and kisses my cheek. “Morning, babe,” he whispers in my ear.

  Giggles bubble out of my mouth. I can’t help it. I’m a total sucker around him. I hope I don’t have circles under my eyes. Pretty sure I smell like B.O., too. I’ve been in the same clothes since last night.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I say in English, hoping he understands. “Just...talk.”

  Yeah right, like they even can. Chansol spins me around before I can walk out of his embrace and gives me a tight hug. “You’re cute when you sleep,” he says.

  So embarrassing. I can’t leave fast enough. It was fine when we were alone, but in front of Sam... I haven’t had a chance to explain everything yet.

  Time for another speed shower and dressing. I don’t want to waste time being away from Chansol.

  When I come out, they’re sitting across the table from each other. Chansol is back to eating the cold pizza, while Sam stares at him like she’s feeding a lost puppy.

  I sit next to Sam and link my arm through hers. “How are you doing?” I try to speak slowly for Chansol’s sake.

  “Did you guys sleep together?” Sam says really loud.

  Wow, she doesn’t waste any time. Technically, the answer is yes, but I know what she really means. “No,” I
reply. “Chansol’s a gentleman.”

  Sam has a guilty smirk on her face. What on earth is she thinking? “So...how did this happen, then?”

  “Samantha,” Chansol says suddenly, shocking both of us. “Samantha, Sam. Yep.”

  That was strange.

  “Bangapsumida,” Chansol says, standing and bowing to Sam.

  Sam bows back, and it’s adorably awkward. Chansol winks at her and gives her a thumbs-up.

  What the heck is that about?

  “Is he okay?” Sam says, leaning sideways to be closer to my ear.

  I put my hand in front of my mouth. “I’m not sure.”

  She nods like it’s all cool. “So. Who wants to clean up?”

  Typical Sam, thinking about cleaning at a time like this. Wasn’t she complaining to me about me not having a man? Now she wants me to clean when we have so little time left?

  “Let’s go for a walk,” I say in Korean, pulling at Chansol’s hand.

  He laces his fingers with mine and tips his head at Sam. “You awesome.”

  I try not to laugh at his English attempt, but it’s too cute.

  He shoots her another thumbs-up as I drag him from the room. Glad to know he likes my roommate.

  We skip down the stairs, and I keep catching Chansol looking at me. I wonder if he thinks it’s crazy we’re together, too. It still doesn’t seem real.

  He stops me before I open the door outside. “One kiss?” he asks.

  How can I say no to those puppy-dog eyes?

  He still tastes as good as I remember, all sweet and spicy and just...perfect.

  This time he breaks away first, gripping my arms for a silent moment before releasing me. Our hands lace together again before we step out into the evening sun.

  I blink a few times. That isn’t the sun―they’re camera flashes. I’m not sure how it happened, but we’re surrounded by paparazzi—and they’re all snapping pics of Chansol holding my hand.

  Chansol lets go and steps in front of me to try and block my face, but we both know it’s too late.

  The exact thing we’d tried to avoid earlier happened, but how?

  “Chansol!” someone screams.

  Actually, a lot of people are screaming for Chansol, but this one voice makes him turn his head. I look up to see Taehyun standing on a lamppost, waving to us. He beckons us to come, another big black van waiting to take us away.

  Chansol takes my hand again and says, “Keep your head down.”

  I do as he commands, but I don’t know how much that’ll help. We’re pushing our way through the crowd, flashes assaulting our eyes. People are trying to separate our hands and I’m terrified. What if they hurt Chansol?

  Worse still, I know they all hate me for being with their idol. The dislike is palpable, pulsing on my senses. I hear a few reporters shouting questions, asking who I am. I swear, all of them sound like Nana.

  The crowd presses in on all sides, squishing me out. I’m so disoriented, so lost in the crowd, and it takes me a minute to understand the situation I’m in. They’re calling out for Chansol, not me. They’ll never call for me. Why? Because I don’t belong in his world.

  If the roles were switched between me and the crowd, wouldn’t I be the one who’s hating the girl Chansol’s with? This whole time I’ve known it’s too good to be true.

  Early today I felt so sure about us, but now that I’m here, I’m doubting. It’s because I’m a fangirl. Trapped in my own bubble had given me rose-colored-glasses, but they’ve been shattered by the situation. Why do I always let myself get caught up in a dream when I know how the world really works?

  He’s not going to be around forever. I live here, and he lives on the other side of the world. The crowd is so thick, Chansol’s hand starts to slip. I know then what I have to do, because I don’t own him. No fan does.

  By trying to stay with him, I’ll be causing him―and the fans―pain.

  As much as I feel for him, as much as I want us to be together, it’s not realistic. There’s too much fighting against us. This is just the start. If I go with him now, the torture will never end. How can he be happy if he spends all his time protecting me?

  It takes less than half a second to release his hand. In that moment, a wall of bodies rises up, blocking me from being with him again.

  The last thing I see before the crowd swallows me is Chansol opening his eyes wide, reaching for me. But there are so many people between us now.

  Before I know it, I’ve been spit out from the crowd like chewed gum. The black van starts driving away. A few of the paparazzi turn, trying to take pictures of me, but I’m not going to let them. I dash into the building, up the stairs, and slam the door behind me.

  My knees give out, the reality of my choice rushing in quickly. I let him go.

  I did it for him, though. He’ll be better, happier without me. I’m sure he can find an idol that’ll suit him, one that’s really deserving of his love.

  Time passes, that much I know. Whether it’s passing fast or slow doesn’t matter. All I know is that each second I sit here, the farther Chansol is from me.

  Eventually, Sam is there. Patting my arms and asking if I’m okay.

  Okay? What does that mean anyway? Can someone be okay when their world explodes? Chansol and I had one amazing day, and now it’s over.

  Turns out he wasn’t the one who stuck the knife in my heart. It was me.

  I’ve pulled it out with such force I’ll probably die from the bleeding, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  It’s my fault. I was the one who loved Chansol when I knew better. I was the one who let him stay when I could’ve walked away. I was the one who was selfish enough to let him in when hurting was the only real end.

  Me. I’m the one who needs to be sorry. Chansol is innocent.

  At least he can move on. He’s perfect enough to get any girl he wants.

  For one shining moment that girl was me, but it never will be again.

  #fangirlproblem19

  Crying over a bias is the norm.

  “All right,” Sam says the next morning. “I have an idea.”

  Idea? I don’t like the sound of that. All I want to do is sit in my sweats, drink tea, and think of Chansol.

  “I’m not going to let you mope. We’re going out tonight.”

  That’s the last thing I want to do. I need at least a week to recover from everything. There’s no one I want to dress up for, anyway.

  “You’ll want to come, trust me,” Sam says.

  Yeah, just like she wanted me to go to the store last night for some milk. That all went sour when I saw some baseball caps and thought of Chansol. Crying in the middle of the aisle is not a great way to spend a Saturday night.

  I know it was my choice, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

  Sam slams her hand on the table so I’m forced to look up. “I’m taking away your computer until you get up and come with me.”

  Like that’ll work. I haven’t even been online since I left Chansol. Almost twenty-four hours. That has to be a record for me.

  I sip my tea until I make annoying slurping sounds, and then I sip some more―looking pointedly at Sam.

  “Disgusting,” she says, leaving the room. Good. Maybe that’ll make her keep her distance.

  I am curious, though. I’ve stayed away from the Internet, so I don’t even know if Chansol is okay. Were the pictures of us posted online? What are people saying about them?

  The same questions have been going through my mind since yesterday, and I’ve been too chicken to find out.

  If nothing else, I need to check it to put my mind at ease. Then I can start moving on. Maybe I can even quell the rumors. Come out as that girl and tell everyone Chansol and I weren’t dating. Even though we were. Kind of.

  The computer takes forever to load, and I bounce my knee the whole time. Even when the browser opens, it takes a few seconds for anything to show up. Stupid Internet.

  I go to Twitter first. If anyt
hing is happening, I’ll find out there. I scroll through my notifications and don’t see a single thing about it.

  Is it wrong to be disappointed? I mean, I thought there would be something. I didn’t even get to take a selca with Chansol—which means our time together will only live in my dreams. I can’t tell anyone, either. Only Sam knows, and she doesn’t care enough to back me up.

  Maybe my savvy friends on Twitter just haven’t heard yet. Either that or they don’t care.

  I click on the search bar and type in Park Chansol followed by yesterday’s date. Yes! An Everythingkpop article. It wasn’t totally ignored.

  The link pulls up a picture of Chansol—wearing his jeans and my hoodie. He’s carrying a shopping bag, and he still has bed head.

  Park Chansol was spotted shopping in Houston today, relaxing before his performance tomorrow. The concert is expected....

  I don’t read the rest because I don’t need to. All I know is that someone spotted him when he bought a toothbrush yesterday, and that’s probably what brought the paparazzi to my house. If I hadn’t fallen asleep, I could’ve gone to the store for him, and none of this would’ve happened.

  I wonder what it took to block the story about the two of us from leaking. I can’t imagine it was easy.

  How can I give up on him when he’s still trying to protect me from afar? I may have been the one to start this mess, but if he didn’t care, he’d let the photos go. If only I could see his face and ask him what he’s thinking.

  What an idiot I’ve been. I didn’t even get his phone number.

  “Sam,” I call.

  She comes running from her room, slipping a little as she sits across from me.

  “I think you’re right,” I say. “We need to go out tonight.”

  Sam’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

  “Yeah, we’re going to the X-O concert.”

  Sam furrows her brow. “We are?”

  Even if Chansol rejects me for what I did, I need to give him an apology at least.

  “I don’t care how long it takes, I’m going to wait until the concert is over. When they come out, I’ll see Chansol one last time.”