Rewrite the Rules

Found Friends: Part 64

Where were J-Hope and Suga? A gnawing suspicion gnawed at me as Namjoon scrolled through his phone, his brow furrowed in growing frustration.

"Apparently, they went to their girlfriends' hometowns," he finally announced, his voice tight. "Management's not happy about it."

"Girlfriends? You mean Samina and Daisy?"

"Looks like it," Namjoon said.

The later in the week Namjoon share a story with me.

The storm broke. Yoongi, usually the picture of quiet stoicism, stormed into the practice room, his jaw clenched tight. The air crackled with unspoken defiance as he slammed a document on the table.

"You can't make me!" he growled, his voice laced with a barely controlled fury. "This schedule is insane. We're not robots!"

Hoon, the usually unflappable manager, paled visibly. This wasn't the compliant Suga he was used to. Yoongi laid out his demands, his voice firm and unwavering.

"One day," he declared, each word punctuated by a beat of silence. "That's all you get for news conferences, magazine shoots, content shoots – everything. Concerts Thursday, Friday and Saturday's. The rest of the week? Ours."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. The other members, tired of the relentless grind, stood by their bandmate. This was a line in the sand, a collective act of defiance against the machine that threatened to consume them.

The negotiation was swift and tense. Yoongi and Hobi would have Sundays through Thursday morning free, a chance to escape the relentless demands of the tour and spend time with Daisy and Samina in their home towns. They'd rejoin the group in time for the next concert, a fragile truce forged in the heat of rebellion.

This shift extended beyond the boys. A strange silence had fallen over our friendship with Daisy and Samina. Gone were the late-night gossip sessions, the whispered secrets shared between girlfriends. Our once open bond had morphed into something guarded, unspoken rules hanging heavy in the air.

It was as if our years of friendship had been relegated to a bygone era, replaced by a cloak of secrecy surrounding their relationships with the guys.

A pang of sadness lanced through me. I knew, with a chilling certainty, that this wasn't just about them. This was the harsh reality of their world, a world where love came with a hefty price tag of silence and shadows.

Las Vegas had been a blur of stolen glances, late-night conversations, and the intoxicating excitement of a new connection with Namjoon. But amidst the thrill, a voice inside me whispered a warning. Things were moving too fast. It felt like a runaway train, and I desperately needed to hit the brakes.

So, when Namjoon extended the invitation to join him in LA that week, I declined. My stomach churned with a mix of guilt and relief. Guilt at the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, relief at the chance to slow things down, to gain a semblance of control. Call it intuition, a woman's gut feeling, whatever you want – I just knew we needed some space.

Thankfully, fate intervened in the form of Rose. Our saving grace, she wasn't just the road manager, she was a friend in enemy territory. Her understanding of the challenges of dating a K-Pop idol was a breath of fresh air.

Rose, a woman with a mischievous look in her eyes and an even more mischievous streak, became my confidante and my guide. She retrieved my backstage pass, the forgotten symbol of a world I wasn't quite ready to fully embrace.

Taking her advice, I traded the loneliness of a front-row seat for the vibrant energy of the VIP section, rubbing shoulders with Hollywood A-listers and music royalty. This subtle shift also served another purpose – it kept me off Hoon's radar and out of management's line of sight. Being seen less, according to Rose, was a surprisingly effective strategy.

With a playful smirk, she took my credit card and started booking flights and hotels for me, weaving me seamlessly into the tour's itinerary. We became a team, her English lessons blending seamlessly with my crash course in Korean.

The members, meanwhile, enjoyed the luxury of private planes, while Rose arranged commercial flights that landed me discreetly in the same city.

One day, a curious detail piqued my attention – my swanky hotel room in Fort Worth for the concerts there wasn't billed to my card. Rose's smile widened, revealing the secret. "Namjoon," she confessed, her voice dripping with amusement. "The sweet man switched out your cards."

There was a silent code of conduct amongst the staff – an unwritten agreement of "see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil."

Whether it was the members playing cards well past curfew in my room, or Namjoon's late-night room arrivals, the staff remained blissfully unaware. They even developed their own warning system – a discreet text from a friendly face letting me know when Hoon was on the warpath.

The staff, it seemed, were our unlikely allies. In a world of strict rules and watchful eyes, they had become our silent guardians, our protectors in the whirlwind that was BTS's world.

The thrill of Vegas was fading fast, replaced by a tangle of anxieties. Rose, my newfound ally within the management labyrinth, had just revealed the code system to stop booking cancellations by other managers.

Each reservation – hotel, flight, event – had a codeword that ensured it would not disappear. But there was another layer of secrecy, a final verification known only to Rose and me, like a secret handshake in a world of watchful eyes.

The reason for the elaborate measures was clear – Hoon couldn't be trusted. With a sigh, I rubbed my temples. This wasn't the life I'd signed up for, this constant cloak-and-dagger routine.

The days blurred into a whirlwind of airport goodbyes and rushed hellos. Vegas gave way to Fort Worth, Texas, and with it, even less time with Namjoon. He was a whirlwind of activity, barely a glimpse of his handsome face for three chaotic days.

Then came LA, a double dose of concerts spread over three frantic weekends for a total of 9 concerts. Here, another challenge emerged. Namjoon had rented a studio, planning to use the LA leg of the tour to work on new music. Cancelling now wouldn't just derail his schedule, it meant losing time with a producer and engineer he'd been collaborating with for weeks.

And amidst the chaos, our relationship simmered, a pot left unattended on a high flame.

Intimacy, an unspoken agreement forged in Vegas, remained frustratingly off the table. Fort Worth, we'd said, would be the start of something 'more.' But time, that precious commodity, had become our enemy.

Now, in LA, with my demanding work schedule, his recording commitments, and the logistical nightmare of LA hotels, the situation felt like a pressure cooker ready to explode. We hadn't even managed to hold hands, let alone take the next step.

Then, with a quiet determination that surprised me, Namjoon put his foot down. He had a solution. The week after the final LA concert, before they flew to New York (or was it New Jersey?) for 6 more concerts, he'd rented a cottage. A romantic getaway at the famed Beverly Hills Oasis Hotel. Nine weeks into our whirlwind romance, it seemed, Namjoon was ready to turn up the heat.

I was ready for things to get hot!