Page 24 of A World Apart (Between Worlds #1)

Now at the bottom of the stairs and overlooking the busy street, I began to feel a bit nervous, but then I saw the SUV with the blacked-out windows parked in the short-stay car park, right where we’d left it some hours ago.

Had they been there all this time? I guess I should have expected them to hang around.

As I stared at the car, the back door opened, and Jihoon stepped out. Closing the door behind him, he jogged over to me, and I noticed he was wearing a different shirt and a bucket hat now.

“You’re like a spy, changing outfits in the back of cars,” I smiled and gestured to his shirt. He rubbed a hand down it and shrugged.

“Seemed like a good idea.”

Silence fell between us. I wanted to say something about what had happened back there, but I didn’t know how to articulate what I was feeling. I must have opened and closed my mouth half a dozen times without actually saying anything.

“I’m sorry about that,” Jihoon said, breaking the silence. I looked up at him in surprise.

“What do you have to be sorry about?”

He scuffed his foot back and forth along the pavement as he stared back at the pier behind me, the noise of the fairground distant, but the memory of the girls chasing him still close by.

“I didn’t want to run,” he admitted, his voice low. “But you were right. We can’t be photographed together.”

It was true, I knew it was. Hell, I’d even said as much. So why did it sting when he said it? It was just another reminder of all those good reasons to not take this – whatever this was – any further.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze darting anywhere but at me. With his face hidden by the shade of his hat and sunglasses, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but there was a palpable tension in the air between us.

“Do you need to leave?” My voice wavered at the end, barely audible over the sounds of people chattering and laughing around us.

Jihoon looked up at me, tilting his head as if weighing his next words carefully. “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, not unless you want to. ”

“I don’t want to.”

I smiled. Just a quick, giddy sort of smile, but it lifted my mood immeasurably and, perhaps less obviously, it brought an unexpected burst of relief. The kind of relief you get when you pass a test you expected to fail.

“Do you want to walk? The beach isn’t too busy.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder and he nodded, so almost in unison, we both turned and started walking towards the beach.

It was a sunny afternoon, but too cold for most LA natives. I almost laughed out loud when we walked past one guy wearing a scarf.

Jihoon looked down at me and smiled, “What’s funny?”

Instead of answering directly, I asked, “Do you think it’s cold today?”

“Cold?” He seemed to think about it for a moment. “No. Are you cold? We can go somewhere inside…” he swung his head around, presumably looking for indoor locations. I laughed, holding my hand over my face to hide how cute I thought he was.

“No,” I said, waving my hand. “I was laughing because everyone else seems to think this is a cold day. Back home, this is a mild day.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Seoul is the same.”

“Really?” I was surprised.

Jihoon nodded again. “In summer it gets really hot, much hotter than this, but spring is mild.”

“I’d love to see it, someday,” I said, without really thinking.

“I hope you do,” he said, ducking his head down and for some reason, I feel my cheeks heating.

We walked like that for a while, making small talk.

The sound of the waves our constant companion, even though the sea was still quite far out.

The beach wasn’t full ? only a few dedicated surfers and families with young kids.

Runners and cyclists created a steady flow of traffic along the path bordering the beach, but no one looked twice at us.

We were just another faceless couple strolling along the Santa Monica Beach .

We’d just passed Palisades Park when my stomach gave a very insistent growl. I laughed and put a hand over it, embarrassed. “I guess breakfast and doughnuts were a long time ago.”

Jihoon grinned and nodded, “I’m hungry too.” He glanced around for a moment before looking back at me. “Wait here, I’ll be right back” He jogged away before I could say anything. Stunned, I watched as he ran over to a small beach-side eatery a little further up.

“Well, alright then,” I muttered to myself before I sat my happy ass down in the sand.

There were fewer people out here now. Perhaps they’re all heading home for their dinner, I mused as I looked out at the waves. Not so distant now, the tide was definitely coming in.

Jihoon didn’t keep me waiting long. He sat down beside me, pulling off his hat and sunglasses. With a triumphant flourish, he unpacked the brown paper bag. I moaned in appreciation as I saw the thickly stacked burgers, chips and sachets of sauces.

“And I have beer,” he crowed happily, pulling out two green, glass bottles from his pockets.

“Truly, a feast for kings,” I said appreciatively, giving him a little clap. He laughed and handed me one of the paper-wrapped burgers.

We were silent for a time as we ate, only murmuring in appreciation here and there. Then we were fighting over the hot sauce, each trying to dip a chip in at the same time and laughing when neither of us managed to get any, only bruising our chips in the endeavour.

Eventually, stomachs full, we scrunched up our wrappers and leant back on the sand, content. Jihoon twisted the caps off the beers and handed one to me.

“I’m not actually sure we’re allowed to drink on the beach,” I admitted, taking a swig.

Jihoon shrugged. “They’re non-alcoholic,” he said, taking a deep pull from his own bottle.

I coughed, surprised, and had to swallow quickly to avoid choking before looking down at my bottle and seeing that indeed, they were non-alcoholic.

I burst out laughing, giggles that had my shoulders heaving and I looked over at Jihoon to see that he was chuckling, but far more demurely than I was currently capable of.

As my giggles subsided, I said “I didn’t know you’d be so funny.” I meant it as an off-hand comment, but Jihoon looked over at me in a way that made me think I’d said something wrong. He pulled his legs up to his chest and draped his arms over his knees, facing forward once more.

“Did you know much about me, before?” he asked, taking a sip from his bottle.

Sensing my misstep, I thought about my reply.

“Not really,” I admitted, pulling off my shades and sliding them into my pocket.

“I mean, obviously I knew who you were, but not the details, y’know?

” I finally caught his eye and I could see he was listening to me.

“I don’t know when your birthday is, I don’t know what your favourite food is, I don’t know your secret fears, and I don’t know what made you want to be an idol. ” I dropped my head, smiling a little.

“I’m sure that makes me a bad fan. I just like the music.” I shrugged and turned back away to look at the sea. The waves really were getting closer now.

Jihoon was silent for a moment. “Sometimes it’s hard to know who wants to know you and who wants to know the idol. Most people want to know the group version of me.

"When I was a trainee, there was a girl I knew from school,” he paused, taking a sip from his bottle. “I really liked her, and I thought she liked me too.”

When he didn’t continue, I said, “What happened?”

“She kept asking to meet the other members, my hyungs. But we were always so busy training. When I told her I couldn’t, she got mad and threatened to sell pictures to Dispatch.”

I gasped, “She was going to sell you out like that?” At his nod, I exclaimed loudly, “What a rat!”

Jihoon barked out a laugh. “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry that happened. Making real friends is hard enough in real life. I can only imagine how hard it must be as an idol.” He nodded again.

“Tell me how you met your friend ? Becka.” He surprised me with the question, but then it’s as good a segue as any from a subject that’s clearly a little sore, although I couldn’t help the curiosity about how he made any ‘normal’ friends. But perhaps that was a conversation for another day.

If we ever got another day, I reminded myself, the pang of regret hitting me deep in my chest.

I distracted myself from that acute pain by sharing the story of Kaiya and Becka.

I told him how we’d met in London at University when she’d done a year in the UK.

I told him all about Becka’s messy breakup, which had led to her having a spare room in her apartment and seeing as how I was freshly graduated and jobless, I’d taken her up on the offer to come to LA and work for Pisces.

“But I only have a Visa until next March. One year,” I sighed, “after that I have to go home.”

“The studio can’t keep you?”

I scoffed. “They barely hire me as it is. Becka’s dad knows my boss, Jeremy, and managed to get him to take me on as a paid intern because of all the strikes. Normally Pisces doesn’t hire interns, so my Visa is only temporary.”

“But it’s ok, it’s always nice to go home. I miss my folks.” I mused, kicking my feet in the sand.

“Your parents, they live in England?”

“Yep. Married for nearly 20 years.”

“What are their names?”

“Valerie and Ernest.” I took a drink, but not before I saw the way his brows creased. I smiled, understanding his expression.

“My mum met my dad, Ernest, when I was two.”

I saw him struggling to think of the words to say before he said them. “He’s not your…”

“My biological dad?” I supplied. “No.”

I took a deep breath, deciding on how to put it.

“Before I was born, my mum travelled the world. She went to so many countries, honestly, I’m jealous,” I laughed softly, “and then she ended up in Japan. She loved it so much she tried to get a Visa to stay, but the only way she could do that was if she was working and had a sponsor. ”