Bias Wrecked: The Fangirl Chronicles, #3

By C.M. Kars

A K-pop fangirl finally meets her idol bias wrecker, who happens to be her oldest friend from a lifetime ago. Now that they're both all grown up, can an idol and his biggest fan find true love?

 

Raleigh Montgomery, K-pop fangirl and new Seoulite, gets the opportunity to attend a fansign event with her favourite K-pop band of all time, Trickshot. At that point, she's able to reconnect with Min Jaeyong, her oldest best friend, the one who left a hole in her heart when he left their high school to pursue his dreams.

 

Reuniting after so many years feels like the second chance Raleigh has always wanted. There's even a possibility of renewing a friendship that she sorely missed.

When that friendship could turn into something more, Raleigh has to wonder if the fact that Jaeyong is instantly recognizable in 30 countries can ruin a relationship that hasn't even begun.

 

Can a fangirl fall in love with her bias and live happily-ever-after?

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.M. Kars
• Release date: Aug 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781990603044

Book preview

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OTHER WORKS BY C.M. KARS

The Never Been Series

Never Been Kissed

Never Been Nerdy

Never Been Loved

Never Been Under the Mistletoe

Never Been Boxed Set

Sera & Hunter: A never been collection

The Fangirl Chronicles

Fangirling Over You

To All the Footballers I Loved Before

Bias Wrecked

Pucked Romance

Never Say Never

The Cuffing Season Series

Get Cuffed

Cuffing and Turkey Stuffing

Cuffing and Tree Trimming

Cuffing New Year’s Resolutions

Cuffing and Loving

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BIAS WRECKED

Book Three, The Fangirl Chronicles

by C.M. Kars

Copyright © 2021 C.M. Kars

All rights reserved.

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Cover design by Indigo Chick Designs

Editing by Aquila Editing

V 1.0 D2D 2022-02-11

ISBN (ebook) 978-1-990603-04-4

ISBN (paperback) 978-1-990603-05-1

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Hello Reader,

I would like to clarify a few points about this story.

As such, I have taken creative liberties with music shows and other aspects of idol life to help fit the story I wanted to tell. This is by no means a story about the K-pop industry; it is not a story about what K-pop is and what it is not.

This is a story of two childhood friends finding each other again and restarting their relationship and eventually finding love. One of these people just happens to be an idol.

You will find a page of terms I use in the following pages, and the Korean romanization next to those words.

I’ve been slowly self-studying Korean for the past couple of years (with spurts of really heavy studying, while neglecting my language learning for months at a time, because you know, 2020).

By learning any new language, you become exposed to new words, new concepts, and of course, the culture. I have tried my best to depict the Korean culture with as much respect as possible, but in the course of my research and this writing (I was actually supposed to go to Seoul, but then 2020 happened), I could have misrepresented concepts, or brought too many of my own preconceptions to what I’m talking about.

No offense was intended in any way, shape, or form. All mistakes are my own.

If you see something in this book that concerns you, please send me an email at: [e-mail].

Thank you for being here, and I hope you enjoy this story.

Sincerely,

C.M. Kars

TERMS

Sasaeng(s) –shortened form of sasaenghwal, meaning private or personal life. These are overzealous, delusional (and sometimes dangerous) fans.

Annyeonghaseyo – Formal greeting of ‘hello’, how you would greet someone who is older than you, or higher status than you (i.e. not to children).

Yeoboseyo – How Koreans say ‘hello’ when answering the phone.

Algessumnida – a formal way of saying ‘yes, I understand’ or ‘understood’.

Hyung – the term used for older brother if you’re a male; also used as a title of sorts to describe a closer relationship between two males, a younger male will address the older male as such (when given permission).

Oppa – the term used for older brother if you’re a female; also used as a title of sorts to describe a closer relationship between a female and an older male (when given permission).

Noona – the term used for older sister if you’re a male; also used as a title of sorts to describe a closer relationship between a younger male and an older female.

Eomeonim – Formal address for ‘mother’; you would use this term when speaking about someone else’s mother or greeting someone else’s mother.

Abeonim – Formal address for ‘father’; you would use this term when speaking about someone else’s father or greeting someone else’s father.

Eomeoni/Eomma – a more casual address of ‘mother’/‘mom’

Abeoji/Appa – a more casual address of ‘father’/ ‘dad’

Adeul – the term for son

Yeobo – term of affection ‘honey’

Maknae – youngest member of the group

Banchan – small side dishes that accompany the main Korean meal (some of these include: kimchi, pickled radish, soybean sprouts, etc.)

Japchae – a dish of stir-fried glass noodles and vegetables

Gochujang – red chili paste that’s used as a base for most Korean dishes

Chapssaltteok – Korean-style mochi; a rice cake filled with sweet red bean paste.

Tteokbokki  – a popular street food, also known as spicy rice cakes.

Netizen – slang word for a citizen of the internet

-ssi (suffix) – A suffix you would attach after a person’s full name (or just the first name if you’re closer) to sound more polite. Pronounced as ‘she’.

- nim (suffix) – A suffix you would attach after a person’s name or title to give the upmost respect, the highest form of honorifics.

Samgyeopsal – grilled pork belly

Selca – the Konglish word for selfie

Soju – a Korean distilled alcoholic clear beverage that’s made from rice, wheat or barley.

They come in green glass bottles and you drink it neat. It also comes in an assortment of fruit flavours with a lower alcohol content.

OT5 – your bias is all five members of a given group (like Trickshot)

Fancam – a video taken by a fan in the audience of their idols (some focusing solely on their bias), during a live performance or an award show

Fansign – a signing event for fans of K-pop groups (and other Korean celebrities). Fans for idol groups at these events are chosen through a lottery system after purchase of a physical album

Bias – your own favourite member of a given K-pop group

Bias Wrecker – the member that threatens your bias (i.e. favouritism) of another member and becomes your bias (usually, not always).

Comeback – the event where any K-pop artist releases new music (could be an EP, mini album, full-length album).

Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

PUCKED ROMANCE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ONE

Waiting in line is always a sucky place to be, but this line in particular really takes the cake. And now I’m thinking about cake.

Great.

I hand my I.D.—Quebec issued—and watch the Korean security guard frown at it, looking up at my face and then back down to my driver’s license, confirming that I am, in fact, who I say I am, Raleigh Montgomery.

I also have to point out where my birth date is—the first time I’ve spoken real Korean aside from the hellos and thank yous to the bus and taxi drivers, and the cashiers at convenience stores—we both do confirm that I am indeed born August 12, in the Year of Our Lord, 1993, and am of age to attend this event.

The security guard is smartly dressed, standing next to a staff member (I know this because she’s wearing a t-shirt that says STAFF in English on her chest), wearing a headset, a phone in her hand as she welcomes me to the fansign event that’ll start whenever the members of Trickshot take their seats, and they open the doors into the auditorium.

So I’m still waiting, having hit the first checkpoint in a series of checkpoints that confirms my identity and the identity on my ticket, as I pull up my email confirmation and the date it was issued.

I’m nodded through, thanking them for their time, because even I’m overwhelmed in the face of all these fans, even if I do count myself among them.

It’s my first time doing this, too, going to a fansign, or what we’d call a meet-and-greet back home, having won the lottery when I purchased the latest Trickshot album and the end of an era before the band goes on their six-month hiatus.

That’s not why I’m so nervous and excited though, even though I’m an OT6 stan, and love each member equally. No, my heart’s kicking hard at the prospect of standing in front of him, of seeing him again, after all this time.

I take my place back in line after I’m buzzed down with the security wand, the thing buzzing when it hits my ears and belly button from my piercings, my cheeks burning at the potential that I could have had my nipples pierced but chickened out before I could get them done, aware that it would make for an awkward situation.

I fidget from foot to foot, ignoring the odd looks I’m getting, sticking out among the ninety-nine-point nine percent of Korean girls—most of them high schoolers judging by their class uniforms—uh, being not of Korean descent, instead a mish-mash of Irish, Scottish, some Italian and a whole lot of French-Canadian. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to make my five-foot-eight frame smaller, hunching down and ignoring the way that people are looking at me, curious.

I try to home in on conversations, translating them in my head, letting my mind drift as I think about what our first meeting is going to look like, after all this time, sometime in the very near future when I get to stand in front of him again, the first time I’ll see him in person in almost fifteen years.

Because in the weirdest turn of events, the one and only Min Jaeyong, one of the members of the K-pop idol group burning their way through the charts much like their predecessors, used to be my best friend, a lifetime ago, back when we were both awkward.

He wasn’t as tall or as built as he is now, and I didn’t even have my boobs yet, my teeth encased in braces, embarrassed twenty-four seven about having food stuck in them so I wouldn’t smile, and if I did, it would be through covering my mouth with both hands.

And now we’re here.

Min Jaeyong’s taller than me now, and my chest filled in (along with the rest of me) and so much time has passed that I’m sure we don’t look like the kids we used to be, like the best friends we used to be.

Of course there’s the definite possibility that Jaeyong won’t recognize me, won’t know who I am even when I’m standing directly in front of him and decide to speak to him in French, the language he was most comfortable in since I didn’t speak Korean back then.

Well, other than the bad words that he taught me at the time, when he went by his English name, Lucas, because Jaeyong is kinda hard to pronounce in French.

And it’s weird, too, that ever since I found out—realized—that Jaeyong was my Lucas from all those years ago—famous now, working hard, looking more beautiful than ever, I became a fan of his too, blurring the lines between an old friendship and dying to find out about what kind of person he’s become, all these years later.

Does he still watch old Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z episodes like we used to back then, maybe occasionally binges them like I do, remembering a time when we were happier? Does he still have absolutely shitty writing that I couldn’t even read when he passed me notes in class?

What about that bright yellow Jansport backpack he had a million years ago that he let me decorate when I got my second period (after a six-month hiatus, the bastard) during one of our classes (was it geography or history?) and he took me to the nurse who helped me out, letting the decorating distract me from the embarrassment of leaking through my pants.

I didn’t know becoming a K-pop idol was a dream of his; it wasn’t something he vocalized, something he said out loud to me. I just knew that he loved to dance, and he loved Taekwondo, and he was apparently very good at both while I tried to manage my abysmal hand-eye coordination and my love of all things that dealt with the fantasy book genre.

Will Jaeyong still be that boy, who, instead of being grossed out like the rest of the guys in my class would’ve been at the mere mention of the word period, sacrificed his backpack for me to use as a shield for me to take the bus home after the leaking incident?

Will he still be that one true friend I had, the one I felt I could talk to about anything, anyone, and he’d always answer me truthfully, honestly and calmly? Will he still be one of the best friends I’ve ever had in my entire life?

Now that I’m older, I know it’s true that I was friends with some people in high school by pure virtue of the fact that I spent eight hours of my day with them, like I do now with some of my work colleagues, searching for something more, something deeper, trying to get that connection back that I felt I had with Lucas—Jaeyong.

Fuck, will he even remember me?

And so what if he doesn’t? So what?

I’ve got a new job here in Seoul, teaching English at a local elementary school in Dongdaemun-gu. My contract is up for renewal after one year, and I’m taking the golden opportunity to get away from home, from Montreal, and looking for a different me in a different place, needing a change of pace so I can kickstart my life in a direction I want it to go in, instead of feeling stuck in a rut like I’ve been in for what feels like forever.

My stomach twists uncomfortably, and I shake it off, shaking my hair back out of my face, trying to remember if my hair even looked like this back then, now that I finally understand what to do with my thick, wavy hair instead of the frizzy mess it was back in the beginning of high school.

Oh, shit, what if I look too different, what if he doesn’t recognize me at all?

Didn’t we just go over this?

I remember when I first saw him, realized that it was Lucas (Jaeyong) I was looking at as I only got into K-pop three years ago when it took over the radio stations, first with that record-breaking English track from that band that blew up, and then the Korean songs were played more often than the English ones.

I liked the vibe, but most importantly I liked the lyrics after I looked them up, and it caused me to down spiral into K-pop and find other groups that I could vibe with, finally finding Trickshot among them and their debut song ‘Tricking You’, something poppy and sweet.

I liked the song and stayed for the music video, the gorgeous outfits (who knew men would look so incredibly amazing in velvet suits and vampire king aesthetic that I didn’t even know I was into?), and the crisp and sharp choreography was just a bonus had me going oh, yeah, I’m into this. More please!

My bias, and hence my favourite member of the group, wasn’t even Jaeyong in the beginning of my early fangirling over Trickshot.

I ended up taking a deep dive into the fandom, wanting to know everything about Hoseung, the leader of the group (and also the oldest member) and the rest of the guys, finding so much content on their livestreams, on their variety show.

I binged those half-hour episodes that included the group shenanigans and utter chaos that had me looking forward to every Wednesday morning (on account of the time difference) where Trickshot’s staff would set the guys up with treasure hunts for their fans’ entertainment.

It was like nothing I had ever watched or experienced before.

And that’s when Jaeyong finally caught my eye, when I learned that he was a foreign member, Korean-Canadian, and didn’t speak Korean as naturally as the others, who were all born in South Korea and therefore native speakers.

Jaeyong would fumble his words, and I remember freezing when he swore in Québécois French, the words tumbling out of him, muffling his mic so the editors wouldn’t catch the words and erroneously translate them for their international fans.

My scalp tingled and I felt a little sick, pausing the video at the close-up of Jaeyong’s face, scrutinizing it until I could see the boy I once knew, hidden in the man’s features. I remember feeling a little lost, looking at him, recognizing that smile that used to belong to me and me alone, now for all the fans watching their streams, Jaeyong looking more and more familiar in that disembodied way the longer I looked at him.

And like the total fangirl I’d become, I looked him up, the group’s bio, each member’s bio, until it was confirmed. Min Jaeyong was my Lucas Min from a thousand years ago, the friend I mourned when he moved away after the summer before the ninth grade, crying into my pillow more nights than I could count at how much I missed him.

How much I kept missing him.

He was here, in Seoul—becoming a trainee at Hana Entertainment at the age of fourteen, putting his dancing chops to the test, learning how to sing, and becoming one of the visuals (the most good-looking member) of the group, enticing more female fans to watch them with his good looks and insane dancing talent.

It was almost like getting my friend back, poring over all of their online content, learning as much as I could about the band, about Jaeyong, what he had been up to all this time when we were apart, what he was willing to tell the cameras over the last fifteen(ish) years of how he got to where he was, what he was doing while he moved away, and it became clear that he probably forgot all about me.

The livestreams and the variety show interviews don’t even hint at the other aspects of Jaeyong’s life, how he really is, his mental state, his emotional state—did he find someone he could love and who loves him back in the way he needs? Is he happy, exhausted, sick of the idol life?

I don’t know what I’m looking for here at this fansign, popping out like a ghost from Christmas Past and hoping Jaeyong will remember me, remember that we were once friends. That maybe, if he wanted, he could have one of those friends who knew him before he got crazy famous, when he was that awkward, bird-like boy that I thought the world of.

I’ll be happy if he does recognize me, and I’m going to make myself settle for that, not hope for anything more.

Like, what’s going to happen—he’s gonna wanna hang out?

If I’ve learned one thing about K-pop idols—male or female, rookie or senior—it’s that they work hard, super hard, seemingly putting the West to shame. Honestly, I don’t even think they get enough sleep on a regular basis, and Korea loves its work culture. I don’t know much about it, but I don’t think work-life balance exists over here from what little I’ve seen since I got into Seoul. Maybe I’ll figure it out when I start officially working next week, once I’ve settled in.

The line finally moves forward, jolting me out of my inner monologue and all of that unnecessary thinking. Whatever happens, happens, right?

My heart kicks against my sternum, and I pull in a deep, deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that are partly from excitement, partly from dread at meeting Jaeyong again.

As much as he’s changed over the past decade and a half...I haven’t really.

Stuck in a rut, like it feels I’ve always been.

Jaeyong’s been over here, chasing his dream, living his dream, making bank (if the projections on the Han Music Hot 100 Trickshot has received for their last mini-album is any indication), and I’ve been doing anything but.

Work is work, and while I thought it would be more fulfilling, it just isn’t—for me, anyway.

So I took a chance, bought a physical album and entered the raffle to get to Trickshot’s fansign in Seoul, not really thinking I’d win.

I had already made myself a promise that I would get to Seoul when I could, whether on a tourist visa or a work visa—that I would do whatever it took and got whatever accreditation I needed to teach English in my back pocket.

When I got into the K-pop fandom, I started to self-study Korean, hiring a tutor about a year and a half ago, and I think I’m good enough now (even if I do still make a ton of mistakes) to hold a conversation, to get my point across, even if the conversation I’m having isn’t as eloquent as I’d like it to be.

And the rest is history.

Oh, Jesus, we’re moving, we’re moving!

My attention sinks back into the present, the noise from excited conversation around me practically assaulting my ears, the energy along the line skyrocketing as the time between meeting our favourite idols and staying in line dwindles and dwindles.

Fuck, I might do something stupid like pass out, or hell, pee my pants.

Is there time for a bathroom break? No?

Suck it up, buttercup.

I bite on the meat of my inner cheek and ignore the rapid beating of my heart, the way it feels like I’ve run sprints instead of just standing around, thinking of seeing Jaeyong again, nervously pulling at my t-shirt (plain and black), looking down at my distressed jeans (also black), and down to my Chuck Taylors (black, duh), burgundy-dyed hair falling in soft waves to hit either side of my rib cage.

I have a zit coming in on my chin ‘cause it’s that wonderful time of the month before I start bleeding and aching and all that other fun shit that I have to deal with for having a uterus (and having the audacity to not have a baby this month), but I put some makeup on and if he doesn’t look at me directly, he won’t even notice.

I’ve never felt so self-conscious about my skin before I got here. Seriously, every person I’ve seen in Seoul is gorgeous—there must be something in the water, that’s the only explanation, that or the tteokbokki that I’ve fallen in love with.

I’m sweating a little, the hair at the back of my neck going damp, my skin warming through like I’ve drunk two cups of scalding hot coffee in a row and there’s a nervous jitter playing along the muscles of my legs so I can’t quite keep still.

It isn’t long until the steel entrance doors are opening to let us into the convention hall/auditorium, a giant room filled with seats, something like a dais in the front of the room, tables currently empty, clad in black tablecloths, bottles of water set up for each of the six members of Trickshot.

I fish into my bag, hot panic licking my insides before I finally grasp the old Dragon Ball manga that Jaeyong had lent me a million years ago that I never got the chance to give back to him. Now I want to return it, once and for all. I fish out the physical copy of their first mini-album too, the one with a very special place in my heart, hold it with the manga, and wait for my turn, peering over the heads of teenage girls, phones out, taking as many pictures as possible of the room alone.

I guess I should be doing that, too, but I think I want to remember everything instead of just watching through my phone camera.

The members finally do come out to screams and cheers, and I think I’m going to start hyperventilating when I see Jaeyong come out, looking as handsome and beautiful as ever.

Nothing about the way he looks is reminiscent of the boy he was as he takes his seat at the very far end of the table (because of course, of course, I have to wait until the very end to see Jaeyong again), and I know I have maybe another hour to wait before I face him directly.

Which means I’ve got less than an hour to get my shit together, to show him all I can be and not how I feel.

To hide the parts of me that missed him, that thought about him over the years while sending him good thoughts and vibes, dismissing that part of me that wondered if he ever thought about me, too.

The line starts moving.

And I put my game face on, staring straight ahead, waiting for my turn. Waiting and waiting and waiting...

I hold my breath; I’m up next.

TWO

Istumble up the stairs and glare down back at them as if to check that they actually didn’t move to trip me up. I take my place in front of the leader of Trickshot and coincidentally the oldest member of the group, the hyung , Park Hoseung, my original bias. Nothing but a long table separates us and I allow myself to fangirl, just a little bit.

Hoseung’s beautiful, as all idols I’ve ever seen are, his hair dyed an aqua blue, long enough to reach his shoulders, something like a sardonic grin hovering over his mouth as he looks at me, nodding his head towards me in an approximation of a bow. He keeps twisting the black Sharpie marker between his fingers, his ears are twinkling with his piercings, the eyeshadow around his eyes smoky and mysterious, skin pale with all the makeup under the harsh lights.

It’s the end of an era, the last show of the tour tonight, and none of us Trixies actually know what’s coming next now that Trickshot is going on their six-month hiatus. All we know is that the members will be pursuing their solo projects, and hopefully eat all the good food and sleep all the sleep. It’s still a shame, though, saying good bye to the vampire royalty aesthetic, once and for all.

I take a quick glance down the table, finding Jaeyong talking with another fan, looking like he’s giving her all of his attention, glancing up at her from his seated position, a soft smile on his mouth.

I glance back at Hoseung, flushing now, monster butterflies in my belly using their mutant superpowers to make me nauseous and nervous as I hold out my album with a shaky hand, before plopping it on the table for him to sign.

And because my brain’s screaming at me to say something, anything, I blurt out in Korean, Thank you for all your hard work; this album is my favourite of yours so far.

I keep my hands to myself, even if I can tell from my peripheral vision that some fangirls are able to hold their idols’ hands and have quick little conversations with them. It’s almost as if they mean something, like us fans aren’t just a faceless person in the middle of a crowd.

What? You speak Korean? Hoseung blurts, covering his mouth with a hand, eyes wide, his voice dipping into satoori, the regional dialect from where he’s from, making me wish I understood. It’s the same language, sure, but you take a person from the streets of Brooklyn, New York and toss them in downtown Glasgow, there’s gonna be something lost in translation, and that’s what I’m experiencing now.

Uh, yes, but not very well. I’m not going to tell the Park Hoseung that I don’t speak Korean like a native yet, but that’s just me sweating my Korean skills.

Where are you from? he asks, and my heart swoops down to my toes only to be rocketed back up to my chest, and I want to get off this roller coaster ride from hell, thanks. I’m high on his attention, and he’s not even Jaeyong. America?

I shake my head, swallowing hard. Canada. A city called Montreal.

So far! How long was the plane ride? Hoseung asks, grinning, before he signs my album, holding onto it with both hands, kinda like he’s holding it hostage. I fidget from foot to foot, trying to keep my focus on Hoseung, trying hard not to be rude, but I’m so close and yet still so far away from what could be the pivotal moment of my life.

Oh, shit, not this again, Raleigh. Not again.

I know. I’m trying to chill out on my expectations.

Having zero expectations for any given situation always guarantees a good time!

I cough into my fist, turning away so I don’t breathe on Hoseung, and stammer out a response. About sixteen hours.

Hoseung’s eyes bug out, mouth falling slack. Sixteen hours? Sixteen?! Thank you so much for coming today, all the way from Canada! Oh, I didn’t get your name?

And because I had the forethought to do this, I approximated my name into the Korean alphabet, Hangeul, in the best way I could on a post-it, showing it to him.

Raleigh-ssi? Isn’t that a city?

I laugh, nod at him, trying to be discreet about wiping the sweat off my forehead, and fan myself because it is hot in here.

Again, thank you so much for coming to see us today. I look forward to the question-and-answer period. He waves at me with both of his hands, jewelry glinting off his fingers and wrists, smile wide.

I move down the line, now standing in front of the maknae, the youngest member of the group, Kim Kyungmin. The kid’s barely nineteen years old, all teeth as he smiles at me, round cheeks, looking adorable. When I was nineteen, guys didn’t look like him, not one bit, and I had to come all the way to Seoul to figure that out.

We stumble through a conversation, the kid freezing when I speak to him in Korean, slapping Hoseung’s shoulder and looking at me, like he’s caught in some sort of elaborate scheme.

Two members down, two more to go, and then I’m going to be standing in front of Jaeyong.

My hearing goes in and out, trying to ignore the din of conversations going on either side of me, trying to ignore those fans that have sat down already, waiting for the line to exhaust itself so that we can have our question-and-answer period before leaving for the day, before having to go back to our normal lives.

I greet Choi Joontae, get my autograph, and a two-minute conversation, and then move down the line to meet Kim Heejoon, stumbling through stilted conversations because my mind’s blanked out all of the Korean vocabulary I know, making me sound like a complete idiot, or like I’ve gone and had a stroke.

I bumble my way through the last thirty seconds of a conversation until I’m just about to stand in front of Jaeyong, pulse heavy at the base of my throat like a second heartbeat, hands clammy and cold. My fingers slip along the cover of the beat up Dragon Ball manga from a lifetime ago that I’m holding in a death grip, Jaeyong’s English name scrawled on the first page: Ce livre est à Lucas. Rends-le moi!

I take a second, like a nanosecond, just to take a deep, deep breath, pull it into my lungs through my nose, let out a shaky exhale as I glance over and take in Jaeyong’s profile. I notice that he grew into his nose and his ears, the sleek undercut showing off his inky black hair, the top of his head also freshly dyed back to his original hair colour, parted on the side.

I stifle a grin when he goes to take a swig from his unopened water bottle, missing out on the whole grabbing part and tossing it to the ground, disappearing underneath the table for a few seconds, and from this close, I can hear him swearing in a mixture of French and English, making my heart thump hard.

I’m moving without giving the input to my brain, but here I am, standing in front of Jaeyong, waiting for him to break the surface of the table and look at me, and hopefully, hopefully, recognize me.

And then what?

It’s not like you’re going to get your friend back.

At least I’ll have the chance to say goodbye properly this time around, at least there’ll be that.

Jaeyong moves back to his sitting position, holding the water bottle aloft like he’s re-enacting that scene from The Lion King, something he used to do all the time when we were kids. It used to embarrass the shit out of me when I always wanted to have a low profile when it came to other people noticing me.

He flashes me a quick smile, uncapping the bottle, and takes a few gulps, then puts it down, gently wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his expensive-looking blazer, patting gently so as not to disturb his makeup. After all of that is done, he finally gives me his full attention.

And I choke, smile plastered to my face like some weird-ass version of a Stepford Wife, a robot, a doll, as he looks at me, his eyes shaking from side to side in his sockets, practically screaming for help as the silence lengthens, and we just stand there, staring at each other.

I nearly fumble the manga, nearly throw it at him because in a horror of horrors, I can’t seem to control my limbs when I’m nervous and around him.

"Dragon Ball?" he asks, frowning down at it, looking back up at me, confusion written all over his face. When the hell did he get that sharp jawline? What about that thick, long hair? He was always in buzzcuts back in the eighth grade, soothing and prickling against my palm when I wanted

Reviews for Bias Wrecked

[charles · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love this book, definitely the best one in the series. Well written, plot developed well and good main characters. I wish there was a second one!