Page 42 of A World Apart (Between Worlds #1)

When I’d lived in Clapham, south-west London, I’d lived in a dingy little bedsit above a corner shop owned by the sweetest old couple in the world, but the old man had kept pigeons on the roof, as a kind of hobby.

So not only could I never open the window because of the smell, but seagulls would regularly fly down to harass the sweet, fat old pigeons.

London seagulls are something else. You could see it in their eyes; they’d seen some things.

“Kaiya?” Jihoon repeated, shaking me out of my mental tangent.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, let’s go out.” He put his phone on the counter and came to stand in front of me, pinching the fabric of the sundress I was wearing and pulled me towards him.

I put my arms around his neck, basking in his easy smile as his hands wound around my waist.

“Out?” I smiled up at him, an easy smile that came unbidden as his eyes roamed over my face.

“Yes,” he nodded, “there’s a market I want to see.”

“A market?” I frowned, images of fruit and vegetable stalls coming to mind.

“Yes, a flea market, it’s not far away.”

I thought for a moment, trying to reconcile the words. I’d been to a flea market in France once; it was more like an antiques fair though. In England, we had jumble sales and open-air markets. I kind of think flea markets are a mix between the two .

“Yeah, okay, sure.” I agreed easily, shrugging in the circle of his arms, but then frowned as I thought of something. “Won’t you need to wear, like, a mask, or something?” I thought back to when we’d almost been cornered visiting Pacific Park, so many months ago.

Jihoon laughed a small, self-deprecating sort of laugh and ducked his head before answering me.

“My hyungs said wearing disguises is what makes people look.” Jihoon brought his gaze back up to mine, his eyes twinkling in the light of the morning sun.

“They said?” he said something in Korean I didn’t understand. Turns out two months of a language app won’t make you fluent. At my blank look, Jihoon said in English, “hiding in plain sight.”

“Ah,” I got it. It was like when Henry Cavil went to New York and stood under a Superman billboard for like, an hour, and no one even looked at him. He’d even filmed the whole thing. People don’t look for what they don’t expect to see.

“So, no wigs?” I pretended to pout, earning me a smirk from Jihoon.

“Only if you want to wear one.”

“Oh damn, I left all of mine at home.” I poked my tongue out at him and he laughed, a sound so rich and deep it was almost a surprise. I felt myself go a little slack and knew I probably had a dazed look on my face.

“What?” He stopped laughing and frowned at me.

“You’re just so…” I sighed.

“What?” He rubbed at his face, then looked at his hand as if he expected to see the answer there.

Words went round in my head on a carousel; wonderful, dreamy, sexy, gorgeous.

But to spare both of us, I settled on a more sedate, “cute.”

“Aegyo?” he repeated the word in Korean sceptically. “Like this?” He cupped his face in his hands and made an exaggerated bubble-gum-pop pout, and then screwed his finger theatrically into the dimple on his cheek, winking at me.

I laughed and blushed, it was such a weird combination of sexy and cute and it was kind of doing it for me. Impulsively, I went to pinch his cheek, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards him, all traces of aegyo gone, replaced by a smoulder I almost collapsed under the weight of .

“Is this, aegyo?” he rumbled, the duality enough to give a person whiplash.

I just gaped at him, my pulse speeding up under his hand.

With his other, he ran his fingertips down my face before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, before he leaned in and ran his mouth gently along my jawline, stopping at my ear to whisper, “Is this aegyo?” He pressed a soft kiss to that sensitive spot where my pulse thundered and I felt the tremor that coursed through me at the soft exhale that skittered against my skin.

Jihoon pulled back from me and broke character by grinning so widely there were dimples proudly on display in both cheeks. I pulled in a ragged breath and put a hand on the counter to re-balance myself.

“Holy hell,” I gasped. Jihoon laughed, a loud and joyous sound.

I moaned, completely unabashed, my mouth full as I swiped a finger along the corner of my lips

“You like it?” Jihoon grinned at me, but with my mouth stuffed, all I could do was nod vigorously.

Jihoon took a slow, deliberate bite of his Danish ? cream cheese raspberry ?, his gaze lingering on me as he lifted it in a teasing toast to my cinnamon bun.

I finally managed to swallow the mouthful I’d probably taken too much of and licked the sweet icing from my finger.

I watched with pleasure as Jihoon’s head lolled back from his first bite.

He hummed loudly in satisfaction and I laughed.

The sweet treats had been the first stall we’d stopped at when we’d arrived at the market, which turned out to be a long, pedestrianised street crammed with an eclectic mix of stalls, musical performers and craft displays.

There seemed to be everything here, from mum and pop stalls selling home-baked goods, like the ones we were gleefully devouring now, vintage clothing, artists painting caricatures of tourists, antiques and anything else you could think of.

There was even a mime having an imaginary fight with ? I think ? a dog.

It looked like his hyungs ? the older members of GVibes ? had been right about his non-disguise.

No one had looked twice in our direction, and I had been discreetly looking for it.

Jihoon just looked like any other insanely attractive guy today in his denim shorts, plain white t-shirt and slides.

He was wearing a mirrored pair of sunglasses, but he’d left off the hat, leaving his glossy black hair to curl about his ears and the nape of his neck.

I kept having to force myself to not stare at him, but it was challenging.

Occasionally, I failed, and he always seemed to catch me looking.

Judging by his grins, though, he didn’t seem to mind.

We strolled down the street, contentedly chewing our pastries, just soaking in the vibes.

We didn’t hold hands though. I hadn’t asked, didn’t want to presume, but Jihoon had told me that if someone did take photos, we could at least avoid a dating scandal.

He’d sounded guilty when he said this, like it was somehow his fault, but I’d reassured him that I understood.

The fan culture surrounding idols was well-known to be intense, with some fans believing they had a type of emotional ownership over their idols.

It was a lot to think about, but not something I wanted to unpack today, our last day together.

We hadn’t spoken about it much, but it was another looming thing over this weekend.

We had tonight, but Jihoon had an early flight in the morning ? Sunday ? in order to be back in Seoul on Monday morning in order to prepare for the group’s international leg of the comeback promotion.

I was determined not to get too deep in my feels about that, I was just grateful for the time we had now, this unexpected pocket of time where it was just us, getting to know each other more.

I turned to look at Jihoon, who was licking a raspberry off his Danish.

It was a weirdly sensual, yet cute image.

He had frosting on his bottom lip and, feeling impulsive, I swiped my thumb across his mouth, but before I could move away, he proved he’d been paying attention after all and he grabbed my wrist, bringing my thumb to his mouth, where he intentionally wrapped his tongue around my thumb, his eyes never leaving mine.

I felt breathless when he released me, flushed like I was catching the sun and I knew I was biting my lip again by the way his eyes darted down to my mouth.

I released it with a deep inhale and mentally gave myself a shake. Would it always be like this?

We kept walking, occasionally stopping to admire ? or raise an eyebrow at ? the things we saw. If creation was a box filled with ideas, someone had chucked a grenade into it and this street is where it exploded.

Pottery, jewellery, sculpture, smears of paint across taxidermy animals, photographs of every kind of piercing mankind has conceived of… It was really quite extraordinary.

About half-way up the street, Jihoon paused at a pop-up stall for a tattoo artist. There was one person manning it, a surly looking biker-dude with more ink on him than the Oxford English Dictionary. But that tracked, given the type of stall he was running.

“Sup,” he growled from underneath a proud, bushy moustache.

“Hi,” I said cheerfully back, finding his gruff demeanour oddly charming.

I’d worked in a pub during my last year at uni. It had been a complete dive and most of the clientèle had looked like this guy, but they had all been so sweet and absolutely not shy about defending the bar staff when the football crowd came in after a game and got rowdy .

“You kids thinking about getting each other’s names tattooed? Cos that’s an A1 bad idea,” he grumbled, or perhaps that’s just how his voice sounded when filtered through such a thick layer of face fuzz.

Jihoon barked out a laugh and covered his mouth with his hand. I grinned and turned back to the stall guy.

“Maybe another day. I was just admiring the flash work,” I said, pointing to the images taped up to the sides of the awning. The man turned to briefly look at them before turning back.

“Yup, that’s all hand drawn by me. Don’t even need a stencil for those anymore.” I could have sworn that superb ‘stache twitched up at the sides.

“That’s so dope!” I crowed, "I’d love to see some of your bigger pieces.”