AJ threw me over his shoulder and I grabbed hold of his butt for balance as he hauled me back up to the loft over at his place.

Wasn't the safest way to carry me, drunk as I was. Oh, yeah, I was hella hammered. On that soju stuff his people drink like it's soda.

It's so not soda, though.

It's like...okay, a slightly sweet and stingless vodka. And we weren't drinking that "green bottle" soju that's only 17 percent alcohol or something like that. He got out the good stuff. In the brown bottle—40 percent and some change.

So, yeah. I got all drunk and disorderly on a school night. Wasn't the plan, of course.

I was supposed to go over to his place just long enough for him to show me how to mix the batter for all these other crazy corn dogs they sell on the street in South Korea. Because the fam went batshit nuts over them.

There are two batters, you see. One that's kind of like the one we're used to here only richer tasting. And then there's a yeast one that fries up into a soft, moist bun around the dog—that's the one they thought would corner the market at the food festival.

And I was getting the hang of both when he got this video call from someone he called Tyrone though that wasn't his real or stage name—don't ask. I'll fill you in later.

But after that call he went to whoopin' and hoppin' and poppin' and lockin'—which I thoroughly enjoyed, of course. And then he picked me up, twirled me around, and said, "Presales! Two million and counting!"

"Pre whats?"

"We did this little mini album thing, just stuff we were dinkin' around with that the company decided to release almost just for fun on their little...experimental label after it did so well on YouTube. And it's gone platinum before it even ships!"

I had no idea what he was talking about. But he let out this big old wolf howl then that made me double over laughing.

And when I said, "All those greasy corn dogs are gonna come back up if you keep makin' me laugh like that," he scooped me up and carried me to the kitchen again. Where he suggested the soju to "settle that problem."

So we sat there tossing back shots while he showed me "teasers" on YouTube. Opened up a whole new world to me, of course.

"Teasers" were short video versions of each song designed to get the fans all lathered up.

The title one was called "F!re." And it was AJ and this Tyrone guy—super cute with the sugar white K-pop "modified mullet" and big doe eyes—dancing so hard they actually went up in CGI flames at the very end. Very clever.

"Since I can't do all the promotional appearances and stuff, he's gonna be like that guy dancing with the dummy in Singin' in the Rain," AJ said. "He'll have this rag doll looking thing that's supposed to be me—the choreo is hilarious. And sometimes, on tours and stuff, he'll toss it offstage and then the real me will come out. He thought of that, too."

"So, it's his album?"

"Oh, absolutely! All I did was sing and maybe suggest a few things—wait, let's..."

He got this Tyrone back on the phone doing shots with us--Tyrone's English was as cute as he was, too. Kept me giggling as much as the booze.

I mean, he'd say, "What is? Please teach me," like a sweet little kid when he didn't understand something. I wanted to pinch him right on his fashion model cheekbones.

But when my English started getting a little bit weird, too, AJ threw me over that shoulder and lugged me up to the loft. Where I yanked him down on top of me in his big bed, with a boozy smile that had exactly the effect I was hoping for.

I mean, that man had me speaking in tongues like the sanctified sistas at church in a few minutes. Worked himself and my jeans down past my hips and made it feel like I was a cone he was trying to lick every last bit of ice cream out of.

Felt like I was going up in flames. No CGI necessary.

In fact, he was so worried about me getting seriously overheated that he trotted off to the kitchen to get me ice water right quick afterwards. It was the time of year when it's still 100-degrees plus after dark, even. Seems like it dries you out even more with the AC on, too.

And just as he handed me that water, his "side cell," as I'd christened it, started chiming.

He glared and let it stop once. But I glared at him and said, "That's the one you answer, right?"

"If it's you."

"You got it 'way before me, son. It's somebody serious. Hit 'em back."

He sighed really deep before making that call and giving them a, "Yup," with a wee bit too much "WTF?" on it.

I slid onto my side of the bed. And he reached over to pinch my hip and give me a "Damn these people," look.

And the more he sparred with "these people," the more his brow started to furrow and his shoulders to sag. Until he was no longer the playful, passionate man I'd just made love to.

They controlled him like a dog with one of those remote control choke collars on. Whenever he got too close to that open gate and a little bit of freedom: bzzzzzzzzzz...

And I had to make the same decision every time: should I ask what happened and prolong the pain or do a little song and dance to distract him from it?

I mean, both were good in a way. But after they'd beat him down like that...I just didn't want to get all serious—I hadn't even asked him about the day Hae-Won tried to end it all for the same reason.

I wanted to be his happy place. I mean, for real, not just the girl in that newspaper clipping he looked at when things got weird.

So, I just rubbed his back in "solidarity" while whoever it was kept yammering at him. And I was relieved whenl he finally tossed the cell into a chair near the bed, sighed and said, "My legal eagle, Payne. The one I met with in Cali."

"Sounded kinda heavy."

"Well, I guess the company guys—the new ones--are upset that the spotlight's on Ty. But like I said, he did all the actual composing. I mean, you should see this guy! He uses all these AI things now, too."

"Like how people make fake Drake songs that are actually better than real Drake songs?"

He stared—playfully--and I slapped his thigh and said, "What is? Teach me, please."

His eyes danced a little when he heard that. And he slid down beside me and said, "We never start out with AI. We take what we have and filter it through a few programs that will offer up a bunch of ways we can improve on that."

"So, it's like Word nagging you to rephrase things?"

"It's like Word on steroids. But that's close."

He started playing with my hair again, as always. "But the problem, for me anyway, is that while it's learned my style over time in a very...logical, objective way, it's missing that part of me that can't be predicted by an algorithm. That part of me that might not write a song like any of the songs it analyzed trying to get to know me. For emotional reasons or...just for the hell of it."

"You're the first person who has been able to explain that so well."

"Came to me when we made these AI models of ourselves that can talk and move and smile like we smile. Sometimes they smile when they shouldn't. Or pick the wrong smile, you know? Something that doesn't go with the words. Because they don't know the 'why' behind those smiles."

He nuzzled my shoulder a little then. And said, "And they'll never know this..."

And I thought, but didn't say, "Like I'll never know the 'whys' of your world..."

Because he lived in a world where something he'd done had sold millions of copies. And millions of people were out there talking about him, listening to him, waiting to see him...

All I could offer from my little world was a kiss on the nose and a lame but heartfelt, "God, I really like you." Like we were two kids on the playground again.

But you know what? His eyes shimmered as if I'd just recited a Rumi love poem.

And I realized how happy he was just to be there next to me in my world, where he'd wanted to be since we really were two kids on that playground.

And he kissed me like he wanted to make sure I understood that.

I was his happy place.

But y'all know the universe wasn't gonna hang out there for long, right?