“And you’re saying none of their songs are bad?” I find that hard to believe.
He shrugs. “There are one or two cuss words in a couple of the rap parts, but nothing I’m sure your kids haven’t heard you say when you stub your toe. Their songs are about self-love. If it’s a love song, the lyrics might be romantic, but not sexual, and they sing about empowering women. There’s a song about giving hope to the underdog. Because of a couple members’ pasts, they are big on non-violence, especially toward children and teenagers, and were chosen to give a speech at UNICEF about it. And Suga, one of the rappers, even did a solo song as Agust D that talked about his depression and obsessive compulsive disorder.”
I give him a surprised look. I don’t recall ever hearing a rap song about that before, not that I listen to a lot of rap. But anything I’ve ever heard in English is usually about money, women, sex, and violence.
He continues, “I don’t know if you know anything about Korean culture, but there is a huge stigma on mental health there. Even worse than here. It prevents a shit load of people from getting the help they need. And when he came out with that song, not only admitting that he has those mental illnesses but that he also got help for them, it was huge. Imagine all those little kids, teenagers, even adults going through something they grew up being told they should be ashamed of, hearing this badass world-famous rapper openly saying yeah, I’m going through this shit, and I got help, and now I’m doing much better, and you can too. The suicide rate in South Korea is… obscene. So BTS has taken it upon themselves to try to bring as much joy as they can to their country through their songs and dancing, going so far as to have reality shows of them goofing off all the time just to provide a distraction to those watching who might be going through something bad. You won’t hear them rapping or singing about the shit people sing about here.”
I smile softly. “You’re very passionate about these guys.”
He nods, putting on his blinker and turning into a nice neighborhood. “They’ve gotten me through some rough times. I’m sure it might seem weird to you that a man likes K-pop as much as I do, but it’s different where I was stationed in South Korea. Yeah, the K-pop fanbase is more than halfway female, but it’s not really anything to think twice about there for anyone to love their music. It’s like… country music here in Tennessee. It doesn’t matter if you’re a dude or a chick, or whatever you identify as—or your age either; it doesn’t really register as a thing.”
“Do you have a favorite? Lola always mentions one, but she says his name different every time. It started as V, but then she said his name is Tae, and then Taehyung.”
He chuckles. “First, he’s not her favorite. He’s called her bias. V is his stage name in the group, Kim Tae-hyung is his actual name, and it’s Tae for short. And yes, my bias is J-Hope.”
I tilt my head at him, needing more than just a name.
“People call him sunshine in human form. He’s the head dancer and is one of the rappers. He’s like… a goofy badass, if you can imagine.”
“Like Jackie Chan?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, like a Korean Jackie Chan.”
He slows then turns into a driveway, and my eyes widen at the beautiful house before me. At least, what I can see illuminated by his headlights is beautiful. It’s white brick with black shutters framing all the windows, giving me serious Fixer Upper style vibes.
“Holy Chip and Joanna Gaines, Batman. This is gorgeous,” I breathe, and he laughs, unbuckling his seat belt.
“I thought you’d like it after all your references to Joanna being your idol. Wait until you see the kitchen.”
I’m still gawking at the beautiful house when he opens my door, holding his hand out for me to take. I grab my purse with my left hand and put my right in his, and I hop down from the truck. As he closes his front door behind me, turning the deadbolt, my mouth hangs open, because it’s just as gorgeous inside as it is on the outside. The farmhouse elements give it a homey feel, totally not what I was expecting for a single dad’s place to look like. I imagined a bachelor pad, bare walls and mismatched furniture. Instead, it looks like a magazine spread.
It makes me wonder if this was the house he shared with his ex and all this loveliness was her doing. I try to be nonchalant about finding out, but by the look on his face, he can see right through me. “Have you lived here long?”