Page 50 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

L ife had to go on.

As much as we wanted to hole up and wait it out, we couldn’t. Jihoon especially couldn’t – and if he had to keep going, so would I.

ENT released an official statement later that morning, and even though it contained all the information we’d gone over in the meeting, every line still sent pulses of anxiety shooting through me.

We have become aware of a video currently circulating online involving Jihoon of GVibes. This footage was taken without consent or knowledge in December of last year, during Mr. Baek’s personal time while overseas.

After confirming the video's authenticity, we wish to address the following:

The footage in question was recorded covertly and constitutes a serious invasion of privacy.

The individual(s) responsible for filming and leaking this content did so without permission and in violation of privacy laws.

Legal action is already underway. We are working closely with relevant legal authorities to identify the source and hold all parties accountable.

At this time, ENT will not be commenting on matters related to our artist’s private life. While we understand public interest in our artists, we kindly ask for restraint and respect regarding unverified speculation or the personal identities of those not confirmed to be involved.

ENT affirms that Mr. Baek is not under any contractual dating restrictions. However, all our artists are entitled to privacy and dignity, both on and off the stage.

We request that fans and media outlets refrain from sharing or engaging with the video and instead allow the legal process to proceed without interference.

We thank you for your understanding and continued support.

— ENT Entertainment

“Well, all things considered, that’s a pretty good response.” I said to Jihoon, as we sat at the kitchen drinking coffees a few hours later.

He grunted, but wouldn’t look at me. He’d been avoiding looking at me directly since we’d come back from ENT, although he touched me whenever possible.

Light touches like running his hand over my hair, twining his fingers in my shirt, or like right now, holding my hand and running his thumb across it.

It was like he couldn’t bear to look at me, but he couldn’t bear to be apart from me.

We had plans to head upstairs later. The whole group were meeting for dinner, which included me.

It was supposed to be a very low-key, very casual event, but Seokmin had messaged me privately to confirm this is what they did whenever a scandal, or negative story came out about them.

It struck me as both sad and sensible that they even had a protocol for things like this.

Neither Jihoon nor I were interested in seeing what the public reaction would be. It would be one of two things: Either people were cool with it, or they were not, and nothing we could do would influence that.

I must have repeated that mantra dozens of times by now, but it had yet to help.

It seemed clear to me that he had unresolved trauma about the media, and the often more vocal anti-fans.

His reaction was completely understandable given the circumstances, but it made me feel…

powerless. I couldn’t erase his past, and every time I looked at his face and saw the shadows in his eyes, I was reminded of how useless I was.

It was made worse, because I had become the one thing I'd always worried I would become: a burden.

I knew he’d never admit to such a thing – maybe he didn’t even consider it to be a truth – but I felt it. I felt it as keenly as I felt the heat of the coffee mug in my hand.

But, even worse than the bone-crushing weight was the insight that whether it was me or… someone else, this would always be the case. He would always need to fear the public scrutiny for the simple crime of loving someone. For choosing someone. For not being an accessible fantasy.

It made me feel ill.

Two days later – I couldn't tell if it was good timing, or bad – Jihoon had a scheduled appearance in Toyko.

He was the ambassador for a Japanese fashion house, and he had two days of photoshoots, and public appearances booked.

Obviously, I wasn't going with him, and since it was the first time he'd travelled since I'd moved to Korea, it was already a fraught time.

But coupled with the footage leaking… we felt like an elastic band being pulled too taut.

"It's only for two days," he'd reassured me for the third time that morning as we waited in the kitchen for the car that would take him to Incheon airport.

"I know," I said again, as much for my benefit as his.

"And the guys are just upstairs," he added, as if the thought had just occurred to him. But he'd already told me that. He was as nervous as a mother hen, and on another day it would have been cute.

It wasn't me that I was worried about, though.

It was always him. Because the fact was, he was front and centre in this 'scandal'.

While I'd been resolutely avoiding the gossip columns, it didn't always stop whispers of the story drifting towards me, like faint refrains of a song playing somewhere nearby.

Hana had been less than subtle. All day Monday, she'd crowed about how she "knew it all along" and "no one goes to LA so often for no reason." I'd had to stop myself from laughing at her use of the word 'often'.

When a loud knock sounded at the door, we both jumped – even though we'd been expecting it. Youngsoo was accompanying Jihoon to Japan, along with a security team.

"I'll be back soon," he said, running his thumbs across my cheekbones.

"I know." I smiled at him, willing braveness into the lines of my face.

He pressed a kiss to my lips – part sweetness, part apology, part something else – before he pulled away to sling his bag over his shoulder.

I watched as he pulled a black surgical mask over his mouth and nose, pulled his cap down low and flipped up his hoodie.

Just like that, he looked as anonymous as any other traveller.

But I knew the crowds at the airport would have no problem identifying him.

Helped, no doubt, by the fact that ENT would have already alerted their media and influencer contacts that he was due to arrive.

It was an unspoken agreement, and largely those people behaved themselves as a trade-off.

But the crowds of fans they attracted – like pilot fish – had no such agreements.

As I watched the front door shut behind him, I worried.

If Jihoon was in a relationship, he would tell us!"

My mouth twisted as I read one particular comment that stood out to me, almost immediately followed up by derisive replies.

Lol! Look at the way the crowds are treating HIM – how do you think they would treat her? And Would you want your partner to go through that? Smdh some Vibers don't know how to behave. Keeping her a secret is protecting her.

Comments flew in under a video of Jihoon going through Incheon airport.

He'd been mobbed – there was no other word for it.

Even his security had struggled to hold people back.

Usually, fans were pretty polite when going to see idols at the airport.

But not this time. My blood had run cold watching those clips.

His distress was plain to see in the way his shoulders were hunched, his eyes downcast. I wondered how he endured it.

Questions were screamed at him from people crowding into the bubble of space his team attempted to create around him.

They followed him all the way through the airport, as far as security, but even then they hovered at the partitions, hurling words at him like projectiles until he was finally able to escape into the area beyond.

I hadn't known about any of this until Hana showed me, later that morning, as we took the Hellevator downstairs.

"I don't know what he expected," she smirked around a mouthful of apple.

"No one deserves that," I snapped. I hadn't intended to reply, but the words were out of my mouth before I could think better of rising to the bait.

"Maybe not," she conceded, "but it's the price you pay for being a celebrity." She shrugged.

I gaped at her, even though this wasn't the first time she'd displayed such callousness towards celebrities. "They're all grown men, why shouldn't they be allowed partners?"

"Because they belong to the fans," Hana replied nonchalantly, chewing her apple. "Don't get pissy at me, England. It is how it is."

"How it is, is bullshit." I muttered, folding my arms around myself to disguise the way I felt my body trembling.

I'd meant that to be the end of the conversation, but Hana continued.

"You don't get it because you're not from here."

I opened my mouth, but she held up her hand.

"I don't just mean Korea – I mean this world .

You think you know this industry because you like K-pop?

You don't. I'm not trying to be mean, you just don't get it.

You see everything through a certain lens.

You don't understand that not everything fits into your worldview.

You can say it's 'bullshit', and yeah, maybe it is.

But it's the way it is. Who's gonna change it? You?" She scoffed.

Just then, the doors slid open, depositing us in the warehouse.

"This is why I'm gonna be an amazing manager," Hana said, sauntering through the doors, throwing me a look over her shoulder. "Because I do get it, and I'm not afraid of the way this world works."

Becka

Are you ok?

Sent 20:21

What could I possibly say to that? ‘Yes’ would be a lie.

‘No’ wouldn’t be quite right either. I was sitting upstairs in the apartment Joon shared with the two youngest members.

Lee and Ace were making a good production of pretending ‘the big bad’ wasn’t unfolding online right this moment.

They'd come round just after I'd gotten home – on Joon's orders, I suspected – to invite me upstairs and keep me company.

I’d done the thing I wasn’t supposed to do: I’d gone online – briefly – to make sure no one was constructing any gallows.

Honestly, I had been surprised at the overwhelming amount of support there had been.

Most people had fallen firmly – and loudly – into the camps of ‘he’s a grown man’, and ‘he’s allowed to date’.

Which had been so encouraging, and so unexpected, that I’d had to quickly excuse myself into Jihoon’s bedroom to catch my breath very quickly, and very quietly.

The relief was so powerful I’d been inconsolable for several minutes, before I was able to pull myself back together, to stuff all the bits back in that had come pouring out of me.

But of course, not all were so supportive.

A lot of people were pointing the finger at the girl – me.

‘She’ must have seduced him, ‘she’ is only using him for fame (ha!), ‘she’ must be an American, which made ‘her’ easy.

Various other comments like that had me swiftly closing the apps, berating myself, because what had I expected?

I was pleased that Jihoon was coming out of this largely unscathed.

For my part, I was disappointed, but not surprised to see that I was being made out to be some villainous harlot.

It wasn’t even so much that I was being labelled as this, or that; it was the fact that I was being proved correct in my assessment that the women in these situations often had it far worse.

Because I was effectively anonymous, I had been able to emotionally detach myself from the situation… mostly. In a way, it made it easier. Because netizens were calling someone else a whore. Not me. They were threatening some poor, unsuspecting slut. Not me.

So, even if the comments did make my stomach twist, it wasn’t about me. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So, no. I didn’t know how to respond to Becka. I tapped out a brief reply, then put the phone on the bed beside me, heart much too full, while the rest of me felt empty.

Me

I’m fine.