Page 12 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

T he shrill tones of my now pointless work alarm pierced the quiet, still air as effectively as an air-raid siren, making me – and the arms wrapped tightly around me – jump. I must have forgotten to unset it.

Jihoon groaned from behind me. “Oh my god, turn it off.”

I smiled sleepily. “Can’t. Gotta go to work.” I shuffled forward and reached for my phone on the nightstand, pressing the side button to silence the offending device. I made a mental note to delete the alarm later.

Silence fell, allowing the watery, grey morning light to come into focus as the dominate sensory experience. The arms that had loosened to allow me to stretch forward, now re-tightened around me, swiftly pulling me backwards.

I yelped as I slid easily across the soft, bazillion thread-count sheets, until I was clamped firmly against Jihoon’s muscled chest, the warmth of his body overwhelming me.

“Not so fast, jagiya,” he mumbled against my hair.

“But I’ve got to go to work,” I grumbled.

“Your work is here, with me,” he insisted, making a breathless giggle escape from me. For a few moments, I allowed myself to relax into his warm embrace, but the niggling thoughts weren’t so easy to suppress.

My alarm going off had been like a literal alarm, reminding me of a life I’d lived until recently. A life where I’d gotten up and gone to a job I hadn’t necessarily enjoyed – and it certainly hadn’t given me much purpose – but it had given structure to my days.

Working at Pisces was part of the reason I now knew at least what I didn’t want to do with my life, and while I didn’t know what I did want to do with my life, it was perhaps a step in the right direction.

As I lay there, in the fluffy cloud that passed for a bed, listening to the deep breaths of the man I loved as he drifted back off to sleep, I watched the grey skyline of the city I’d moved to on a whim.

I needed to have a real think about what came next, and I needed to be firm with myself – and Jihoon – because I hadn’t come over here to sit in a hotel and… do what?

I was frustrated that Jihoon didn’t see my predicament as the pressing matter that I did.

Maybe I should try to work at ENT. I was absolutely sure they wouldn’t let me anywhere near a studio, but maybe they had an intern program I could join? It might help me to find something I was passionate about.

When I thought about music, and what I loved the most about it, all that came to mind was the beauty of it; the enjoyment of a piece put together, the artistry of the method in practice.

I’d spent so long – years – pursing music production because I thought I wanted to be on the side of the booth that made it, putting it all together.

Somewhere along that path, I’d realised that not only did I not enjoy it, it was making me not enjoy music anymore, and that had been intolerable.

Admitting to myself that something I’d worked so hard for, for so long, was not my passion anymore had been a kind of devastation.

Jihoon was so certain I would find my ‘purpose’, but I wasn’t sure I shared his certainty.

When Jihoon had woken up a little more fully, I’d made the decision to talk to him about working at ENT. It didn’t make me feel good – it felt a little bit like nepotism, my boyfriend getting me a job – but after rolling the idea around in my head, it made the most sense to me.

I’d also decided I would look for somewhere to take Korean classes. My daily app lessons were not going to cut it. It might have been good enough for a holiday jaunt to the country, but it wasn’t gonna fly if I was actually going to stay, live, and work here.

I’d given Jihoon the courtesy of letting him wake up fully before I laid all my plans out to him.

He listened patiently, waiting until I was done before saying anything.

I’d had to admit to learning some basic Korean on the side.

He’d been delighted, called me all manner of complimentary things I wasn’t sure I quite deserved.

And he’d tested me, obviously. He sat me at the dining table and excitedly listened as I ran through my repertoire of introducing myself, announcing I was British, labelling off various items in the room, and claiming that I like small cats.

It didn’t seem to matter to him that I was just saying random words; he listened intently. When I was done, he clapped his hands together like an excited seal, with many appreciative noises.

He was adamant my accent was very good (it was passable, at best), and made me repeat the word ‘aniyo’ – no – several times, because I apparently sounded like I was from Seoul – which has a very distinct accent, he said.

I suspected he was being enthusiastically kind, but his praise made me feel warm inside.

He laughed uproariously when I described the infamous ‘chicken’s message’ that had plagued me – and by default, Becka – for weeks. We’d eventually become convinced it was a conspiracy perpetrated by the app’s developer.

“Why didn’t you tell me, cheonsa?”

I’m not ashamed to say that whenever Jihoon called me ‘angel’, my knees went weak, no matter how many times he’d said it.

“I wanted to wait until I could at least introduce myself.” I shrugged. “Just because you speak my language, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to speak yours.”

“Ky,” he said in a slightly rebuking tone, “it took years of living in the US, and years of lessons here in Korea. I didn’t learn quickly. I don’t expect you to learn Korean overnight.”

“I want to take lessons,” I stated, firmly.

“Okay.” He agreed easily. “We’ll find you a tutor.”

Impulsively, I leaned forward and pressed a peck to his lips, but when I went to pull away, Jihoon wrapped his strong arms around me, holding me to him as effectively as steel bands as he deepened the kiss.

When at last he released me, I could only stare at his grinning face while mine was, I knew, dazed as I pressed my fingers to my lips.

“Ky, it’s fine, no one is looking.” Jihoon tugged my hand to keep me close to him as we walked down the packed street.

I knew I was more likely to attract attention with my suspicious behaviour than Jihoon was for looking like, well…

him. When he’d proposed exploring the nearby Myeongdong neighbourhood, I'd thought he was having a laugh.

But an hour later and here we were, strolling down the busy street towards the Lotte Young Plaza, it’s rainbow coloured windows standing out next to the otherwise colourless high-rises surrounding it.

He’d been right though; no one was paying us the slightest bit of attention.

Even though the day was overcast, we were both wearing sunglasses.

Jihoon had packed no less than eight different pairs, I’d discovered.

It was an extraordinary amount for one person to own, let alone to pack for a brief hotel stay.

We were also bundled up in several layers.

I was swiftly coming round to the realisation that I was woefully under-prepared for winter in Seoul.

Jihoon had given me a jacket to wear over my hoodie and jeans, and I was still cold.

Jihoon was dressed far more practically.

I’d joked that if lumberjacks had winter fashion shows, he’d be the main event.

His pristine Timberland boots, frayed jeans, red plaid shirt, and padded coat were very ‘it’.

He’d laughed and given me a twirl before stalking towards where I’d been standing by the suite door. I had been smirking, but seeing the look on his face as he cat-walked towards me… I was not laughing by the time he backed me up against the door.

My cheeks heated as I sneaked a peek at the man beside me. The duality of this man…

Walking into the shopping centre was a sensory overload.

The bright lights, the shiny, well-polished floor, the colourful pop-up stands and, on either side, the eclectic mix of different shops, all boasting a different vibe.

In a way, it was just like any other shopping centre I’d ever been to, so there was some comfort in that.

There were Christmas decorations everywhere.

It was as if someone had gotten down the decorations out of the loft, and they’d exploded on the way down the ladder.

They spilled out of every storefront and they dangled from the ceiling.

The glow from the multicoloured fairy lights bouncing off the polished floors, spraying splashes of colour every few feet.

I kept forgetting it was nearly Christmas.

“Come on.” Jihoon gently tugged my hand, pulling me out of my festive reverie as we walked further into the plaza.

I wanted to stop and look at everything, but Jihoon steered me forward until we were outside a clothing shop. I looked up at him, frowning.

“As good as you look in my clothes,” he said, his lips curving lasciviously, “you need your own.”

He moved forward, but I pulled him back before he could walk into the store.

“Joon, this isn’t in the budget,” I hissed, eyeballing the well-dressed mannequin in the windows.

“I don’t have a job yet and it’s not like I came over here with much to begin with.

” True. I think that swimsuit from the hotel’s store set me back a fair chunk, and my utilities payment to Becka had already come out of my account a few days earlier.

Jihoon straightened up, and though he still had his mirrored sunglasses on, I felt the way he regarded me through the reflective glass.

“Jagiya, you cannot seriously believe I would expect you to pay for this? You moved to Korea. For me.” He looked away for a moment, and when he turned back to me, his voice was rougher. “You have given me much. Let me give you nice things. I want to.”

“But…” I wavered.

“Please?” He said it so quietly I needed to strain to hear him.

It was true that I didn’t have a lot of outfit choices, which ordinarily wouldn’t be a problem for me, but…

“As long as we get a good, cold-weather coat,” I relented.

His grin was quick to materialise. “Deal.”