Page 17 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

O n Sunday, as we ate breakfast in bed, Jihoon had declared he wanted a ‘lazy day’, which considering neither of us was currently working – I’m unemployed, he’s on Christmas break – didn’t outwardly seem that dissimilar from what we had been doing for the past few days.

Once we’d eaten our weight in pastries and fruit, he disappeared into the big changing room, emerging soon after with a Nintendo Switch, some cables, and a spare controller.

I sat on the sofa and watched, bemused, as he set it up on the TV, which required some careful manoeuvring of the flatscreen away from the wall – in a move it was clearly not designed to do – so he could plug in the HDMI cable.

For the rest of the morning, we battled each other in Mario Kart, before calling it a draw. He never seemed to mind how gleefully I threw bananas at him, which is why I didn’t mind when he inexplicably seemed to beat me despite that.

We then spent the afternoon lazing in the hotel’s tropical swimming pool, floating around under the palm fronds, or bubbling away in the jacuzzi. It had been suspiciously empty, and eventually I’d asked if he’d had something to do with that.

“I might have arranged for the pool to undergo some ‘essential maintenance’,” he said with a wink.

I couldn’t even fathom what kind of influence that must have taken, but right then, as I lay beside my boyfriend in a steaming sauna, I couldn’t bring myself to feel guilty.

We finished off our ‘lazy Sunday’ by lying on the sofa, wearing sheet masks and watching a K-drama about a K-Pop group attending high school. Jihoon took great delight in pointing out things that had been similar to his time attending school as a trainee, and what parts were absolute nonsense.

“I wish our teachers had been so kind to us,” he scoffed. “It felt like they hated us.”

I turned to stare at him curiously, the bite in his tone not at all matching the light-hearted episode playing out in front of us.

“Why?”

He sighed. “Minjae thinks it was because they thought we were…” He hummed, searching for the word. “Big head?”

“Egotistical?” I supplied.

“Ego, yeah.” He nodded. “They thought we had big egos. But when we fell asleep in class, it was because we were tired, not because we did not care.”

I watched his lips twist in an expression I rarely saw on his face.

“They treated you badly?”

He shook his head slightly. “Not all. But I was very happy to graduate.”

Secondary school was difficult enough, with all those raging hormones, the teenager hierarchy, to say nothing of the pressure to do well in exams. I couldn’t imagine having to do that and hours of dance and vocal training.

I’d fallen asleep somewhere after the third episode, only waking up when Jihoon had picked me up to carry me through the suite to the bed.

I hadn’t tried to protest the capability of my own two legs. He wouldn’t have put me down, and I wouldn’t have wanted him to.

Truly, it had been the perfect Sunday.

Today, we sat in the back of the car, driven by a driver from ENT. Apparently, it was the managers who mostly drove the group, but similarly to the members of GVibes, the managers were also on Christmas break – although they were on call, of course.

“Not even a hint?” I whined, for probably the fourth time since we’d gotten in the car half an hour ago. Turns out, mid-morning traffic was just as bad in Seoul as it was in LA. Which is to say, wherever we were going, we probably could have walked there faster.

“No, Ky. No hints, only surprises,” Jihoon replied, maddeningly.

We were on a mystery trip somewhere, and since telling me the bare minimum – I wouldn’t need my wallet, and we weren’t meeting anyone – he’d been remarkably tight-lipped, if one didn’t count the quiet glee I could see in every smile line on his face.

I looked out of the window as we drove through the unfamiliar city. Nothing about the view gave me any indication of where we were going. Seoul was so completely foreign to me. I didn’t recognise any landmarks, and the signs that did have English on them still meant nothing to me.

I watched crowds of people walking purposefully past, all of them with lives, jobs, friends. Even the people I saw meandering clearly had somewhere to be, unlike me, and I couldn’t help but draw parallels between us. Being idle did not suit me.

But alongside those wry thoughts still existed the sense of wonder at all of the things I had no names for; colourful signs in Hangul, cheerful cartoon characters that clearly had some meaning I couldn’t begin to understand.

Just like LA, Seoul projected an outward image of sleek modernity, as carefully curated as an art gallery, but beneath the veneer of polish and gadgets, it was still a working city, with as many rough edges as refined ones. LA just felt a little more honest about its jagged bits.

It made me weirdly homesick. There were no high-rises in the Lake District, unless you counted the craggy peaks and rolling hills of the rugged countryside.

In the four years since I’d left my parents’ house to move to university, and then for work, I’d moved from city to city to city.

Being so alien in yet another city made me feel… isolated, and alone, despite the warm, reassuring hand that had not let go of mine since we’d gotten into this car. I tried to shake the melancholy away, but it clung to me.

Eventually, we seemed to turn away from the busier part of the city, and traversed down less hectic streets, although we were still surrounded by high-rises and busy businesses at street level.

Coffee shops were everywhere, closed up al fresco dining areas that were too cold to be used – even by the hardiest of city dwellers – convenience marts, and dozens of other storefronts I could only guess at.

We then turned into what was clearly a residential complex.

Parking lots the size of concrete playing fields bordered on either side, which is why I was surprised as we took a sharp turn down a slope, the sudden descent making my stomach dip as we drove down before levelling out into a well-lit parking garage.

We drove the length of the cavernous space until we pulled up outside a set of plate-glass double doors.

“We’re here,” Jihoon announced with an excited grin. He slid across the seat, opening the door and pulling me with him. He said something to the driver, who nodded his agreement before pulling away and leaving Jihoon and I standing in front of those double doors.

“Joon, where the hell are we?” I tried again, but in response, he tapped my nose and said, “Follow me.”

We walked towards the doors, where Jihoon slid down a black panel, revealing a keypad.

He tapped in a series of numbers, and the light on the keypad turned green, before an audible click from the doors indicated they were now unlocked.

He pushed them open, holding the door for me to step through into a well-lit, small lobby area.

There was nothing about this area to indicate the purpose of the building, bar the two elevators side-by-side.

Jihoon pressed the button for one of them, opening the doors almost immediately.

The elevator, whilst smart and clean, was unremarkable.

No branding, or advertising in it. Jihoon pressed the button for the eleventh floor, and the doors slid shut before we launched upwards.

The whole ride up, Jihoon lightly bounced on the soles of his feet, and I couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm – but for what, I supposed I’d find out.

When the doors opened, it was immediately clear to me we were in a residential building. The hallway we walked out to was long, and kind of fancy-looking.

We walked down the hallway until we stood outside one large, dark wood door with the number 111 in shiny chrome affixed to the front.

“Who lives here?” I said quietly, nervously. He’d specifically said we weren’t meeting anyone, yet here we were, outside someone’s apartment.

Jihoon just flashed a grin at me, before sliding down the panel on another keypad and entering in a code that unlocked the door. He still held my hand tightly, so when he pushed open the heavy door, he pulled me in behind him.

My eyes darted around the apartment. It was big. The entryway we were in gave a clear view from the front door to the expansive windows at the end of the apartment, the bright light from the clear morning sun streaming in.

Jihoon led us further into the apartment whilst I anxiously looked around for the owner.

Someone clearly lived here because there were personal touches everywhere – from the acoustic guitar propped against the wall, to the occupied shoe rack by the front door.

But it echoed as we walked through, in that way that empty places do, despite how full of stuff they are.

I could see into the airy kitchen. There were shiney appliances, mugs hanging neatly from a rack under a cupboard, and a lit-up digital display on the fridge, but it felt… empty.

The living room opened out onto a small balcony, just big enough for two chairs and a patio table.

Jihoon unlatched one of the doors and slid it open, letting a chill breeze rustle the almost-sheer curtains hanging on either side of the entryway.

We stepped out onto the balcony, looking out over the city.

The view was very different from the one from our hotel, and not nearly so postcard-worthy.

We were far further into the bustle of the city, and the building we were in had some very close neighbours, but we were on a slope, allowing us a view downwards, instead of looking up into rows of other high-rise buildings.

If I looked around, I could make out the Han River.

I turned back to Jihoon and raised an expectant eyebrow. He smirked, before finally answering.

“This place belongs to a friend, Cho Hyungsoo. He enlisted this summer.”

The name rang a bell, and I frowned as I tried to place it.

“Is he a singer?” I asked, tentatively.