Page 23 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

“Her son died, and they took pictures of her house. They found out where she lived, and when we had the funeral, they filmed out on the street.” His mouth twisted in disgust, and his thumbs begun to dig in a little too hard to be called comfortable, but I didn’t say anything. I just listened in ever-growing horror.

“They even talked to her neighbours; asking them things like, was she a good neighbour, how often did I visit, had they ever seen the other members.” He laughed, but there was nothing humorous in the sound.

“Anti-fans lined up across the street, live-streaming on their phones, and someone even ordered a funeral wreath to be placed on the street. But it was my name on it."

I gasped.

“My family can’t even die in peace, without people wanting to take pictures of us in mourning.”

I hissed in pain as his thumb nail scratched me, and immediately his grip loosened as he refocused on me.

“Fuck, I’m sorry cheonsa,” he mumbled, looking down at my feet, running his fingertips gently over them, like an apology.

“It’s fine, no harm done.” I waved away his apologies, wishing I could wave away his sorrow.

Listening to the way he described such a gross invasion of privacy was horrible. I’d had no idea…

Jihoon shook his head like he was trying to shake the bad memories out.

I reached for him, closing the distance between us with a hand on his knee, squeezing gently. “I don’t know what to say…”

He took my hand in his, brought it to his mouth and placed a kiss upon my palm before holding it against his cheek as we sat in the aftermath for several heartbeats.

“I don’t want that for us,” his voice caught on a knife’s edge. “I don’t want them to do that to us. I know you did not ask for this, I know being a secret is not what you want, but I can’t… I don’t…” his shoulders heaved as he exhaled shakily.

The sudden introspection took me by surprise, and for a moment I didn’t know how to reply. Shock stilled any response I might have had. I hadn’t realised he knew how conflicted I felt about our relationship. Hell, I tried hard enough to push those doubts down. But, somehow, he knew.

How the press, and the anti’s – a colloquial term for people actively spreading hate about an artist – had treated him and his family during such a horrible time was beyond words.

I found it difficult to understand how anyone could be so hateful to a person they didn’t know.

Press behaving badly, I could understand that – however repulsive I found it.

Morally bankrupt news outlets were the unspoken price paid for fame.

But antis, and saesangs… I didn’t have the words.

So, I stopped trying to find them, and gave him the only thing I could – myself.

I pulled my feet out of his lap until I could put them on either side of his legs, and scooted forward until I could pull him against me, offering him the safety of my body.

He wrapped his arms around me tightly, burrowing his head in the crook of my neck as he took deep, juddering breaths, trying to breathe around the traumatic memories of that awful time.

I ran my hands up and down his back, just trying to be the calm he needed, while I digested the information he’d disclosed.

Suddenly, his overt distrust of the media made complete sense, and why – out of all the members – he was the least engaged on social media.

And while I didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want it to stick in my mind like a nagging thought, I couldn’t help the way my brain repeated, “I don’t want that for us…”

And I couldn’t help wondering, would there ever be a world in which I didn’t have to be the secret he needed to keep?

Later, after the heavy shadows of the afternoon had faded into the more mellow glow of early evening, we sprawled over the sofa, battling each other on a mobile game Jihoon had gotten me hooked on.

The sun had begun to fall further down the sky, painting the mostly white room in splashes of weak pinks and golds, the day’s last hurrah.

When the chime from the front door sounded, it surprised us both, a jarring sound that cut through the tranquillity of the apartment with the threat of ‘someone’ being at the door.

I shot an alarmed look to Jihoon, who looked back at me in equal shades of bewilderment, before we quickly and furiously debated the merits of either one of us answering it. The famous singer, or someone completely foreign to both this country and this building? What if it was a curious neighbour?

As the door chimed again, we agreed on a plan: I would go and look through the peephole, and if they looked harmless, I’d open the door and… go from there.

So, while Jihoon hid round the corner to the living room, I approached the front door and tentatively put my face close enough to the thick wooden door to be able to see through the small glass lens.

My head shot back almost immediately and I blinked a few times, before pressing forward again, not trusting my brain to correctly interpret the image.

“Um, Joon?” I called hesitantly. Immediately he came over, his face a mask of trepidation and confusion.

“I think it’s for you,” I said, dazed.

Jihoon’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t hesitate to lean into the door to look through the peephole, pulling back after only a moment and then, though I didn’t know the words he said, from his tone, I could tell they were colourful.

I just stood there, as if rooted to the spot, thoughts a fuzzy stream of incomprehension.

“Jagiya,” he started, as though talking to a startled animal, “I would have warned you if I knew they were going to turn up. I’m sorry.” He sighed, while my palms had started to sweat, even as my mouth went as dry as dust.

Jihoon hesitated another beat, before he unlatched the door and swung it open.

There, on the threshold, stood Seokmin and Sungmin. Otherwise known as Ace and Lee. And they were holding a Christmas tree.

End Of Part One.