Page 11 of A World Apart (Between Worlds #1)

The lounge was as the name suggested, a relaxed space with couches and smaller tables and chairs. This was technically a client relations room, but we rarely ever had clients in here, so it was the unofficial staff room.

There was a flat screen mounted on the wall that was currently tuned to a music channel, the volume turned low enough to serve as ambiance.

The far wall was floor-to-ceiling windows that faced out on the busy streets of LA, but the glass was so thick that only the very loudest of noises made its way up here.

The other side of the room was hospitality focused.

Counters ran the length of the room, home to a fancy coffee machine that I rarely bothered with ? a kettle and freeze-dried instant was good enough for me ? snack displays containing various treats, fruit bowls and all the utensils and containers you could need.

I didn’t bother looking at all this, of course.

Instead, I sat down on the thickly padded sofa.

I stood back up, then moved to one of the little bistro tables before getting back up again.

I stood for a while in front of the full-length windows, feeling restless.

Finally, I circled back to the sofa, took out my phone, and pretended to check my social media.

I have no idea how long I stayed like that. Somewhere between five minutes and five days, approximately. Or at least, that’s how it felt.

I was just taking off my beanie and scarf when the door to the lounge snicked open and in slipped Jihoon, pressing the door closed behind him like he was trying to make sure he wasn’t seen coming in here. Perhaps that was the case.

He turned to look around the room, his eyes searching until they fell upon where I sat. He smiled, a wide smile that made his eyes crinkle at the sides. He made his way over to me, sitting down on the sofa a respectable distance away.

“Hi,” I said, my voice taking on that weird, breathy quality again.

He smiled. “Hi.”

“Have you managed to escape?” I asked, fiddling with the threads of a hole in my fashionably-ripped jeans ? I think I actually did rip that bit though, caught on a cupboard door.

To my surprise, he tipped his head back against the sofa and let out a big puff of air.

“That bad, huh?” I asked, scrunching my nose. He looked tired, now that I noticed it. I mean, he was still crazy good looking, but there were shadows under his eyes and his hair had that fluffy look that was usually only achieved by copious amounts of time spent running your hands through it.

He was silent a moment, before he replied, “It’s a lot. We have a lot of work to do before we have a vacation, so we’re trying to do it all now before the comeback.” He ran a hand down his face before he turned to me.

“Sorry to complain...” He sat up a little straighter, as if he thought I was going to judge him.

I held up my hands to wave him off. “No, please don’t say sorry.

You’re human. I can’t imagine how hard you must have to work.

I’m amazed you even have a vacation.” I admitted, pulling my leg up in front of me so I could angle my body to face him.

I leaned my arm up on the back of the sofa and rested my head in my palm.

The small smile he offered damn near broke my heart .

“I am human. But I am also a performer. It can be…” he paused, took a breath and then said, “hard.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, putting as much empathy into the word as I could.

He closed his eyes and waved a hand. “Don’t be. It’s hard, but I am happy.” And this time, when he smiled, I believed him.

We lapsed into silence for so long that I thought he might have fallen asleep. Not that I could have blamed him.

While I had the opportunity, I admit I creeped a little. My eyes ran over his face, greedily taking in every little detail. The fan of his dark eyelashes as they rested against his cheeks, the curve of his neck. The slight throb of his pulse was endlessly fascinating to me.

The silence was broken by the door opening and the two of us jumped as if we’d been caught doing something immoral.

Well, maybe I had been. My face flamed as I met the eyes of Youngsoo as he entered the lounge.

He said something to Jihoon, who had stood up.

Youngsoo lifted a white paper bag and Jihoon pointed at one of the bistro tables, replying in Korean.

Youngsoo made a ‘hmm’ noise and deposited the bag on the table and then turned and left.

I watched this exchange in surprise, thinking for sure he was going to insist Jihoon leave, or at the very least that he was going to stay, as a sort of chaperon.

I very much got the impression from Youngsoo that he did not think I should be around Jihoon.

“I, ah, ordered food,” Jihoon said, holding his arm out to the bag on the table. “I wasn’t sure what you might like…” he looked so shy, I couldn't help but smile.

“Wow,” I said, getting to my feet, “you didn’t need to do that.” I walked over to where he stood. “But thank you, that was really kind of you.”

Jihoon ducked his head and began to unpack the bag.

I recognised some things right away, whereas others not so much.

Once we had it all laid out on the table, including the utensils and drinks, Jihoon surprised me by pulling out a chair and indicating that I should sit.

For some reason this made me unspeakably shy, but I sat ? as ladylike as I could manage ? and he pushed in my chair before taking the chair opposite me and sitting down.

There were two dishes each of rice and a soup of some kind and a bunch of other, smaller containers filled with colourful, delicious looking things. I recognised the kimchi, which I am a big fan of. There was marinated tofu, mixed vegetables and… that’s where I drew a blank.

Jihoon pushed one of the containers of rice towards me as he pulled the other towards him. He picked up his chopsticks, and I tried, I really did; to copy the way he held them in his hand, but I’m sure I embarrassed myself.

He picked up a bit of the kimchi and put it on top of my rice.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile, my chest doing that silly, fluttering thing again.

He began to eat, picking at bits here and there and I did the same. Albeit, when I ate, it was with far more awkward hand gestures.

The second time I dropped the cube of tofu, Jihoon pursed his lips, having the courtesy to pretend he was not laughing at me.

“Hey!” I scolded, pretending to scowl, “I’m trying here.”

He waved his hands and said, “I’m sorry, it’s just…” his eyes darted away before coming back to mine, still crinkled at the sides with mirth, “You’re so cute.”

Holy hell. I almost slumped in my chair.

Instead, I played it off, by cupping my face in my hands in the universal symbol of aegyo ? acting cute. I even poked my tongue out, which was absolutely worth the cringe when I saw his red ears.

“Here,” he said, scooting his chair around the table until he was sat next to me, instead of opposite me. Gently, he picked up my hand holding the chopsticks and positioned my fingers around them until they felt more secure. Which is absolutely not what I was focused on.

What I was focused on was the way he leaned so close to me.

So close that I could clearly see the little mole on the side of his nose.

I saw the way his hair fell over his face; it was wavier than I’d seen it before and for some reason this surprised me.

Which is obviously the reason I couldn’t stop staring. Absolutely no other reason.

“Now try,” he said, interrupting my reverie as he looked up at me.

The trouble with closely inspecting something is that you sometimes get closer to it than you mean to .

Which is why, when Jihoon lifted his head, my face was mere inches from his own. Certainly, close enough to see the way his eyes widened in surprise, close enough to see the way his mouth fell open slightly. Close enough to notice when his eyes dipped down to my lips, his pupils dilating.

Close enough to know I was dancing dangerously close to a boundary I wasn’t sure I could cross.

With effort, I leaned back, dipping my chin to focus instead on the way my hand now held the chopsticks.

I cleared my throat and gave them a few experimental clacks.

“Hey! That’s much better!” I exclaimed.

Jihoon blinked several times before he said, “Good.”

It took real effort on my part to keep the disappointment off my face when he scooted his chair back to his side of the table

We made small talk as we ate. Safe subjects like foods we did or didn’t like – he hated shellfish, I hate mushrooms ? what song was his favourite to perform ? a song from their second album, ‘Earthquake’ ?, which was my favourite to listen to ? it had been ‘Stardust’, but now it was ‘Broken Promise’ ?, countries we’d been to, which ones we’d like to ? both of us had too many mention on our list of ones we’d like to visit, although he thoroughly trumped me on countries he had been to.

GVibes had toured all over the world, whereas I had seen but a small fraction.

There was an expectation that GVibes would announce a world tour soon; it had been a couple of years since their last one. When I asked Jihoon about it, he ducked his head.

“I’m not allowed to talk about anything that isn’t public,” he said softly, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips. The reminder of who sat across the table from me sent a flush to my cheeks, and I felt embarrassed for even asking.

“It must be so hard to travel around so much and do such big shows,” I offered quickly, hoping to fill the awkwardness.

Jihoon lifted his head, chewing thoughtfully before responding.

“It is hard,” he admitted. “We go to sleep in one country and wake up in another. Sometimes, we forget where we are when it’s just show after show. ”

He paused, his gaze drifting momentarily before it locked back on me.

“But it’s also fun,” he continued, and I watched in wonder as a small, genuine smile tugged up the corner of his mouth.

“We get energy from our fans. When we’re up there on stage, we want to do our very best for them. So, we forget about all the airports and how much our bodies hurt, because we have our fans ? and they have us.”

I studied his face carefully as he spoke, looking for any hint that his words were rehearsed, but he meant every word.

His fans truly mattered to him, to the group.

It made me pause, my admiration for him growing as I saw yet another layer of the man I was beginning to suspect he was, not just the idol.

I just couldn’t imagine that life. The mind truly boggled at the amount of effort and dedication and talent that his every-day called for.

“Your life is crazy,” I remarked, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Yes.” He laughed.

We fell silent for a while, concentrating on our food, when Jihoon suddenly asked, “How old are you?” I blinked. While not a weird question, it was unusual to just come out and ask, but then I remembered that in Korea, age was an important factor.

“22,” I replied.

He nodded. “I’m your elder, then,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“How old are you?” I asked, putting down my utensils.

He cocked his head to the side, a small smile pulling the corners of his lips up.

“I’m used to people knowing such little things about me.

It’s… nice, to start fresh.” His eyes crinkled at the side, and he fell silent again.

I could only imagine how bizarre it must be to have so many people know so much about you and for you to know nothing about them, like you’d always be playing catch up.

“I’m 25 in Korean age.” He finally said, glancing up at me as he wiped his mouth on a napkin.

“Is that different from the rest of the world?” I asked, frowning.

He nodded, a serious expression on his face, “We say that a child is age one from the day they are born. So, in Korea, I am 25 ?”

“And you’re 24 in western culture?” I finished for him, and he nodded .

“It must sound strange to you,” he smiled and hunched his shoulders, like he was used to writing this off as an oddity, as opposed to what it was – a unique, cultural difference.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “In England, we roll cheese down a hill and then chase after it.”

Jihoon frowned, his mouth pinching slightly as if he was trying to figure out if I’d just started talking nonsense.

“And that’s not all. A lot of the time, people get hurt. Badly. Broken arms, legs, noses. One time, a man even died.”

“This is a… story?” He said slowly.

“Oh no.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Totally true, they do it every year. Does Korea have any weird traditions?”

“Not like that,” he said, raising his eyebrows. I laughed and took a sip of my drink.

After we’d eaten, we each cleared away the containers.

“Would you like a coffee?” I asked, moving towards the shiny, chrome machine. Normally I’d not bother, but, when in Rome…

“Something sweet?” he asked, hopefully.

“I can certainly try,” I laughed.

For me, a simple white coffee with a pump of hazelnut syrup was perfection. For him, I looked at the menu card from the pocket taped to the machine before I tried my hand at ‘something sweet.’

A couple minutes and a lot of hissing steam later, I walked over to where he was standing in front of the windows, watching the Saturday traffic.

“Jihoon?” I said, tentatively. He turned around and I handed him the mug with a flourish.

“Caramel macchiato. Or at least I hope so.” I laughed.

He took it from me, his long fingers sliding against mine.

“I like the way you say my name,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was telling me a secret he hadn’t meant to say .

The breath in my chest seized and I knew I was biting my lip again, but this time it was less to do with feeling self-conscious and all to do with the way those words made me feel. Like I was too hot, but not because of the room temperature.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink and then making a ‘mmm’ sound which would have sent me somewhere, had he not paired it with the cutest face. The duality of this man…

“No,” I said, with genuine regret. “I don’t think I could come up with a good reason for me to be here on a Sunday.”

His mouth turned down at the corners and he frowned.

But naturally, our time was up.

Youngsoo at least had the courtesy to knock on the door before he opened it.

Jihoon looked… annoyed? Frustrated? Both. I heard him sigh under his breath before he turned to look at Youngsoo. He said something that had him backing out the door.

I looked at Jihoon, my brows furrowed.

“I asked him to give me five minutes.”

“Oh,” I said, puzzled. “To drink your coffee?”

“To ask for your number.”

Holy hell.