My Summer In Seoul Read online

  My Summer In Seoul

  by Rachel Van Dyken

  Copyright © 2021 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  www.RachelVanDykenAuthor.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  MY SUMMER IN SEOUL

  Copyright © 2021 RACHEL VAN DYKEN

  ISBN: 978-1-946061-91-1

  Cover & Interior Design by Jill Sava, Love Affair With Fiction

  Editing by Kay Springsteen and Jill Sava

  Content Warning

  Just so you know, there are some triggers in this book. While it’s a romance and supposed to be super fun to read, it still deals with real life issues including suicide, eating disorders, and death. These are not discussed graphically, but rather as part of the storyline. I would like to think that the subject matter handles all of those topics beautifully but if you are someone who is triggered by those sorts of topics this may not be the book for you.

  At the end I’ve also included links to resources if that’s something you or someone you know struggles with.

  As always, thank you for reading!

  Hugs, RVD

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Author Note

  K-pop Glossary

  Meet SWT

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Part Two

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Part Three

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Want More RVD?

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Also By Rachel Van Dyken

  Dedication

  Jill, I know I’ve dedicated many books to you, but this one is special; this one reminds me of all the reasons it’s important to live every day to your fullest.

  So this is for you and for the Chronic Book Warrior Facebook group

  who show what it’s like to fight every day when the world seems to be against you.

  Fight like a girl. Win.

  Author Note

  You hear authors talk about passion projects, projects that they do because they want to because if they don’t do them, a part of their soul feels like it’s dying—this was that project for me.

  Back in 2019, I had this idea to do a K-pop book while sitting at Apollycon in DC. There were so many readers, and the vibe of the entire place was off the charts. And because I was a huge fan of K-pop already and had a friend constantly sending me music videos, I decided that our table needed to have a bit of BTS’ Mic Drop playing on repeat.

  It was insane how many people would start dancing, singing, or how their nerves would just dissipate (let’s be honest, book signings in the romance community can be insanely nerve-wracking for both authors and readers, just another reason I love the romance community!).

  I told my agent and a publisher that I was going to do it, I was going to write this book—after all, I’d written a ton of rockstar romances; how different could this be?

  HAH! Well, I knew that idols had a lot of pressure and that the K-pop industry was vastly different, but the minute I dove in, I realized that I seriously had no clue, NO CLUE. It was hard to include all of those details in just one book, so fingers crossed I can do more!

  This is also a passion project for me because I was told by several industry professionals that I couldn’t write it. Or that it wouldn’t sell. Or that it was too new. What genre did it even fit into? I’ve written diverse characters my entire career and have always been careful to research and use sensitivity readers no matter what, so I was a bit shocked. I had a few very key people tell me that if this story was in my soul, I needed to write it. If I listed all the people here, the list would be so long but thank you to everyone who reached out, who helped me, people from all over the world, from Korea to China, Africa, the States, Canada—this book would be nothing without your input. Truly.

  Once COVID hit, I decided I would dive deep into K-pop that I’d spent nearly a year already attempting to write, little did I know that the pandemic would be ongoing and that I was forced to take some “free” time indoors and continue my research, and not just researching but watching YouTube videos (I swear my youngest probably knows Korean at this point). I even decided to start learning Korean and attempted to stick to a K-pop idol schedule to fully immerse myself—I didn’t last long, and as a parent, I am used to zero sleep! It was so much fun, and now I’m happy to announce that’s literally all my kids want to listen to. How amazing, right?

  I’m so thankful for the experiences I had with this book, and I’m SO SO SO thankful to Seoul Street & Q4 Entertainment, along with Content Group, Will Yung Lee and Mark and Christine Holder, for believing in this story and adapting it for TV. You guys are amazing.

  I hope you guys enjoy this book!

  No, this experience ;)

  K-pop Glossary

  K-pop: Korean Pop (music)

  Idols: The term for a Korean pop star or K-pop star.

  Visual: The idol in the group with the best features and is also a main focus for their good looks. Think Jin from BTS or more recently in 2021 V, after 13 fancams reached over ten million views.

  Trainee: Someone under a record label who is training to be an idol with others in an attempt to debut either on their own or typically with a group. This can include as little as a few months of dance training, singing with coaches from the label as they invest their money into you, or it can take years. Some people train for years and never debut. Think of it as a record label boot camp.

  Maknae: Youngest of group.

  Sasaeng: The fans who don’t respect the idols’ privacy—stalk them, put them in dangerous situations, and feel ownership over their idols’ lives. Another one of the reasons idols don’t date or are encouraged to hide dating is because of these “fans.”

  Netizens: Online commenters, keyboard warriors

  Bias: Your crush.

  Comeback: When an idol or musician releases new music and makes their “comeback” into the public eye with a new look, music video, tracks, mini album, or full album (collabs included)

  Va
riety Show: Shows that idols perform on. It can be musical performances, acting, skits, an intro to them, competition, etc.

  MV: Music Video

  Showcase: Typically set for debut groups who don’t have enough songs to do an entire concert, groups will pick up to five songs to perform. A newer group like SWT might also do this if they’ve only been releasing mini-albums and not a full-length one yet. For a good example of a Showcase, check out newer groups like Enyphen, Aespa, Treasure.

  Meet SWT

  Something Worth Taking

  Part One

  The Beginning.

  Prologue

  Naive: Having or showing a lack of experience, judgment, or information; Credulous. See Also: Grace Lee.

  Grace

  August 2020

  I stared down the exact same gate that had brought me to Seoul three months ago.

  Of course, it would be the same gate.

  With exactly seventy-two uncomfortable blue chairs that I’d had the chance to count since I’d gotten to the airport three hours early.

  I’d run away.

  After the yelling.

  After the fight.

  After the tears, though some of them still lingered on my cheeks. It was no use wiping them away; more just managed to leak their way from my burning eyes down onto my blotchy skin.

  Perfect country to cry in, someone almost always pointed out that you looked tired, or old, or just plain ugly when expressing any sort of emotion. Add that to the fact that I was tan—well, you can imagine the horrified looks I got.

  I couldn’t bring myself to think about it, his hollow stare, the way he didn’t even flinch like he had no intention of coming after me despite his confession, and couldn’t fathom why I would even be upset after waking up to the chaos. To the looks on their faces.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and rested my head on my hands as my elbows dug into my denim-clad thighs.

  They weren’t coming.

  Mainly him.

  He wasn’t coming.

  Stupid, that with all of the Korean dramas I’d been subjected to over the last few months, I still held out hope that he would appear at the airport, at the last minute, like the perfect hero expressing his undying love. We’d stare longingly into each other’s eyes for what would almost seem an uncomfortable amount of time, and then I would close my eyes, he would close his.

  Fireworks.

  True love.

  Marriage.

  Okay, maybe not marriage, but at least a declaration that what we’d shared was more than just a summer fling with a foreigner. Maybe that was what made my skin crawl—the fact that my insecurity caused me to wonder if the only reason he went after me was because I was different.

  And he was famous.

  I sucked the tears in. It caused a painful tightening in my throat like a golf ball that refused to progress through my esophagus; it had been there for hours and would probably continue to make its presence known the entire eleven-hour trip back to Seattle.

  The airport was silent except for the few conversations taking place around me and the constant announcements over the PA system.

  Ridiculous, how it used to annoy me, all the shrieks from girls.

  Now? I would do anything in the world to hear the screaming.

  Anything.

  Because it would mean they were close.

  My friends.

  It would mean he was with them.

  The love of my life.

  Another hour went by.

  And then two.

  I waited longer than I should have.

  I was just as pathetic as they’d said the day I got off the plane.

  Just as naive.

  Just as ignorant.

  “Final call for Delta Flight 9011 nonstop to Seattle.” The cheerful voice made my heart pound in my chest while at the same time stealing the last breath of hope I had that I was something more than a fling or a publicity stunt. My legs were heavy as I stood, my tears hot as they slid one after another off my chin.

  One step.

  Two.

  My hand shook as I flipped over my cell phone to scan my boarding pass with finality.

  Over.

  It was so over.

  I lowered my head and whispered, “Goodbye.”

  Chapter One

  Decisions, Decisions

  Grace

  Three months prior

  I never understood how sitting for eleven hours straight in an airplane could cause you to feel dirtier than if you just ran a full marathon and rolled around in mud for good measure.

  My hands were sticky like I’d massacred a bag of gummy worms and licked my fingers just to make sure I got all the sugar.

  My body felt bloated enough for me to wonder if they really did put something in airplane food to make sure people didn’t use the bathroom too often.

  And my once-bouncy hair was pulled into a knot on the top of my head that would make any poor college student proud.

  Eleven hours of hell.

  And we were finally making our descent.

  This wasn’t the plan.

  At least not the original plan.

  No, the original plan was to relax all summer, hang out with my friends, and soak in the last three months of freedom I had before I entered the workforce, and attempted to feed myself and pay bills without having a nervous breakdown.

  My parents had been supportive of my “time off” decision until my dad got a random phone call from my uncle in Korea. The only thing I knew about Uncle Siu was that he was super high up in some music label and only called on holidays or birthdays. I’d seen him exactly twice in my entire life, and all I remember is wondering why he was always wearing a suit.

  The phone call lasted an hour, and in that hour, my life—and my plan to chill for the summer with my friends—changed forever.

  I’d spent weeks—okay, maybe months attempting to find an internship at all the local indie record companies. I would have sold my soul to hand out coffee and donuts just as long as I could learn the industry and get my foot in the door.

  The only problem?

  You had to know someone.

  I had zero references except for professors that, let’s be honest, most likely every intern had, and no experience.

  Ergo, I was going to take time off before applying at every Starbucks so that I wouldn’t end up homeless under one of Seattle’s notorious bridges. I could just envision myself begging for pennies near the monster bridge and shivering in my raincoat.

  Not the life for me.

  The phone call came out of nowhere.

  My perfectly dressed uncle needed a summer intern and had remembered from previous conversations with my dad that I was majoring in music production with a minor in business. The rest was history. Besides, being an intern at a record label sounded like the exact opportunity I needed to get my foot in the door.

  Within twenty-four hours, I was packing for South Korea instead of the beach.

  I’d only ever been to Mexico, so going to a foreign country by myself wasn’t just stressing me out, it was making me sweat—obviously, since I was doing nothing except sitting on my rear while the plane hit the worst turbulence known to mankind.

  I had a language app on my phone that seemed harder to understand than the language itself and a trusty book my mom was able to Prime from one of the Amazon warehouses that same day.

  My mom tried practicing with me during packing, and the entire conversation had her paling by the minute.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go,” she said in a worried voice while I tried shoving another pair of Nikes into my giant suitcase. At the rate my suitcase was filling, they were going to think I was immigrating, not visiting—but a girl needed her shoes!

  “Just.” Shove. “One.” Shove, shove. “Minute.” Ah! I plopped onto the suitcase and grinned. “Care to zip me?”

  Mom looked just like me, with crystal blue eyes and blond hair, long tan legs that I used to think were gangly, and a
n open, wide smile that said more than words ever could. To be fair, my blond hair was fake while hers was real, and my eyes were brown, but still—we were nearly twins in every way that mattered.

  With a sigh, she walked over and placed her hands on my legs. “I’m worried for you. You don’t know the language, you don’t know the customs—”

  “That was an exaggeration, and you know the internet lies.” I pointed out. “Besides, I’ll make sure to always take my change with both hands, speak quietly, and act not so…” I spread my arms wide and shrugged. “…American.”

  Her eyes took me in from head to toe. “You do realize you’re wearing a Seattle Seahawks sweatshirt and a Yankees hat, right?”

  I grinned. “All I need is your trusty fanny pack, and I’ll be all set!”

  She burst out laughing and then gave me a light shove. “It’s Burberry.”

  “Still a fanny pack,” I teased.

  The sound of her zipping me up filled the silence in the room, the very tense silence. We were close, best friends. I was an only child who refused to cut my apron strings. My eyes misted up as the final zip sounded.

  Mom looked up and braced the sides of my head with both of her hands. “Please be careful.” She locked eyes with me. She always smelled like my favorite Prada perfume, and her hands felt warm against my cheeks. “Don’t walk around alone at night, and call me, text me, I don’t care what time it is, and know that if you get scared or if you hate it, you can always come home.”

  “My little girl’s not a quitter. Besides, Siu will take care of you. He’s a good man—I trust him with my life,” Dad said, waltzing right into the room with a bounce of pride in his steps. “You ready, squirt?”

  I narrowed my eyes and pointed at myself. “Legal drinking age.”

  Dad promptly plugged his ears while I sighed, hopped off the suitcase, and made my way over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist.