Page 29 of A World Apart (Between Worlds #1)

R olling over in bed, I groaned as my brains sloshed around inside my skull, and debated how urgently I needed to go pee, versus the need to stay in bed and not move for a good, long while.

But the urge to go won out, and so I reluctantly rolled myself out of bed and took the two steps it took to get to my door.

“Morning, champ!” Becka called from the kitchen, waving a spatula at me.

I grunted a response and headed on my way, while Becka laughed merrily.

It wasn’t fair, she drank more than me, she should be heaving, but no, she’s probably making pancakes.

At the thought of food, my stomach perked up with interest but I had to shelve that in favour of more pressing needs.

On my way back from the bathroom, I paused on the threshold of the living area and leaned against the wall to watch as Becka artfully flipped fluffy pancakes at the oven top.

“You wouldn’t happen to be making enough for two, would you?” I croaked .

“It just so happens that I am,” she replied, cheerfully. Truly, she was the saddest drunk you’d ever met, and the chirpiest hungover person known to man. The duality of this woman was enough to give a girl whiplash.

Becka shook the now-cooked mini pancakes onto a warming plate before pouring more batter into the pan, each a perfect circle.

“So, about last night,” she began, glancing at me once and then quickly looking away.

I mentally ran through the night in my head in a series of snap-shots, going round in my head like film on a projector, trying to find the cause for her apparent embarrassment.

“I know I shouldn’t have sent that message, and I’m sorry. I just got so mad at the thought he was ghosting you,” and as if to emphasise the point, she slammed her mix jug on the counter harder than necessary.

And just like that, the memory came flooding back in; us here in the kitchen, me rummaging for crackers like a crazed seagull, and Becka… Becka sending Jihoon a message accusing him of ghosting me.

“Oh fuck,” I groaned, grabbing my forehead.

“You didn’t remember?” she said, incredulously. “I thought I heard you talking to him-”

“Oh fuck!” I darted back to my bedroom, flinging myself on my bed to grab my phone off the nightstand. I tried to wake it, but it was fully powered off.

“Oh, fuck,” I drew out the word in a groan as I grabbed my power cable and plugged it in before holding down the power button and watching anxiously as it powered on.

It took a hot minute to load up my home screen and connect to the Wi-Fi, despite me silently promising it a violent end.

Eventually though, my apps loaded and my screen flashed with multiple, time-stamped notifications.

“Oh fuck,” I murmured. I had four missed calls and two messages from Jihoon, all around 2:00am. I opened the messages, bracing for the worst, but instead, they just made me feel guilty.

Joon

What did you mean? You said no.

[sent 02:14]

Joon

Please call me. I don’t mind what time. I just want to know you’re not mad at me.

[sent 02:20]

I groaned and pushed my head into the pillows, but then almost immediately looked back up and checked the time on my phone. It was after 3:00am for him now, I couldn’t be the asshole that messes him around and then wakes him up at 3 in the morning.

“Everything ok?” Becka stood at the threshold to my room, holding a steaming cup of coffee that I could smell from over here.

“Not really,” I grumbled. “I think Jihoon thinks I broke up with him.”

“Is it really breaking up if you’re not technically together?”

“Yes, thank you for that, Becka,” I snapped, scowling at her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, face screwing up, “I didn’t mean that.”

I sighed and rolled over onto my back, staring up the ceiling fan. “I know.” And I did. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t right; it just wasn’t the issue right now.

“Can’t you call him to straighten things out?” she asked, not unkindly.

“Can’t, it’s past 3:00am in Seoul right now.”

“Ah, shit.” She’s silent for a moment, shuffling her feet in a way that tells me she’s feeling awkward. “Might as well come have some breakfast first. Y’know, re-group, re-nourish, get yourself ready to call him later.”

She had a point, and by the way my stomach grumbled, my body agreed. I rolled off the bed and followed her into the kitchen. We both sat at the counter, where Becka had laid out a platter of pancakes, jars of honey, syrup and a can of whipped cream. I eyed her over the feast and she shrugged.

“I really do feel bad. ”

“I can see that. I didn’t know we even had half of this stuff.” I pulled the platter towards me and started forking mini pancakes onto my plate until I had a small stack.

Becka snorted. “That’s because I went to the store this morning to buy it.”

“It’s not natural that you’re this perky after a night out and a grumpy, baby bear on a work day.” I opted for maple syrup and liberally poured it over my stack.

“That’s not the same thing,” she protested. “I’m still on a high in the morning after a night out. I’m not high on a work day.”

“I should hope not,” I replied dryly, “they test for that.”

She laughed as she drowned her pancakes in whipped cream.

“Sprinkles?” she asked innocently, holding out the little tub of brightly coloured bits.

“Stop it, now you’re just showing off.”

She laughed again, and then we both lapsed into silence as we devoured our stacks, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

Later

We’d alternated between sitting on the couch and binging Netflix shows and doing chores all day, until we’d finally moved into a zone where it was time-appropriate for me to call.

But I kept putting it off, feeling nervous bouts of anxiety that weren’t helped by Becka asking me every ten minutes whether I was going to call now.

After the fifth such time, I finally snapped, “For fuck’s sake, get off my ass, I’m going!” I stormed into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

“I’m rooting for you!” Becka called from the other side of the door, and though she couldn’t see, I flipped my finger up at her, the effect somewhat broken by my reluctant smile. She may be annoying, but she was still kind of wonderful.

It was just past 8:00am now in Seoul. Early for a Sunday and I almost used this as an excuse to chicken out, but at the last second, before my screen blanked, I hit the ‘call’ button and waited for it to connect. Anxious energy surged through me, turning my fingers to ice .

I almost dropped the phone when I heard it connect, the familiar blipping-ring of the app twisting my stomach into roiling knots.

It rang for what felt like minutes and I nearly lost my nerve again and hung up, but then?

“Kaiya,” his voice breathed, so close in my ear it was almost like he was there with me.