Page 28 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

T he next morning was… tense. I woke up, tangled in Jihoon, arms and legs thrown around each other haphazardly, making it impossible to pull myself away from him without waking him up, though I tried.

The light that trickled in through the window was weak and grey. It was still raining, and though I’d always appreciated the acoustic of a good rainstorm while safely tucked inside a building, that morning, it lent an air of claustrophobia to the apartment.

“Morning," he murmured, throwing an arm behind his head as he watched me sit up in bed.

“Hey,” I replied, somewhat awkwardly. I ran a hand down my face, cringing at the crust around my eyes. I scooted towards the edge of the bed, intending to get up and wash my face, when a pair of strong arms wound around me, holding me in place.

He placed a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Don’t go, yet,” he murmured into my neck, his breath easing across my bunched muscles, and I forced myself to relax into him. Allowed myself to relax into the warmth of his body.

We sat like that for a few moments, merging back into each other in a semblance of the people we had been last night, before…

I sighed, and my head fell forward. “We are going to need to talk about this, Joon.” I said quietly, tentatively. Apprehensively.

His arms tightened around me fractionally, before loosening again as he took a breath.

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to where my pulse thumped in my neck.

“Maybe not now, but soon. Because… because I can’t be hidden away for eleven years, and then brought out of storage. It’ll make it worse, Joon. It’ll make it all worse.”

I expected him to argue, maybe. I felt my entire body tensing under the strength of his arms, but to my surprise –

“I know,” he repeated, and he pulled his arms away from my waist, instead running both of his hands up and down my arms, the pressure gradually increasing until he was massaging me.

I flopped forwards slightly under the increasing pressure of his relaxing hands, soothing muscles that had tightened until I was limber again.

“It’s hard for me.” His voice was still laced with sleep; his accent was more pronounced, and his tone slightly rumbly. It matched the weather.

“I have thought about it,” he admitted, “going public, making a statement. Or maybe, not denying it if the story comes out.”

I forced myself to remain calm, to let him speak, but still, my hands fisted in the sheets on either side of my thighs.

Jihoon blew out a gust of air, and it’s like he had to force himself to keep talking.

“Every time I think about it, I remember other performers who admitted they were dating. It doesn’t always end well.” His fingers twitched.

I knew the kind of reaction he was talking about.

I’d seen it myself. Singers, or actors being secretly photographed and having to admit that yes, they were seeing someone.

I’d seen grown men bowing for forgiveness at press conferences, forced to admit they had private lives.

I had some pretty strong feelings about that, but Jihoon did not need me mouthing off right now, and honestly, I didn’t think it would help my own mental peace, either.

I took a breath. “I hear you. And I’m not suggesting we go marching down Itaewon, holding hands and kissing in bus stops.

But I feel like you’re not seeing all the couples who have gone public and were – eventually – accepted.

I think…” I took a second to make sure what I wanted to say was also the correct thing to say.

“I think you need to give more credit to your fans. I know you don’t really go online anymore, and honestly I think that’s for the best, but it also means you don’t get to see all the people who would support you.

” His hands had stilled where they cupped my shoulders, and I raised one hand to put over his, squeezing gently.

“For every person who would demonise you for being a real person, in a real relationship, there are dozens who acknowledge that not only are you a grown man, but that you have the right to choose your own life.”

I let the words settle, leaning back slightly so that we were more connected. I needed to feel his warm body against mine, and I think he also needed to feel me against his.

A few minutes had passed in silence, before I said the thing that had been sitting in the back of my mind, ever since he’d told me about the funeral, and the way people had terrorised his family.

I couldn’t even begin to imagine what living under that spotlight would feel like.

To go from having millions of fans supporting you, buying your records and streaming your songs, to then seeing people you didn’t even know picketing your grandmother’s house and screaming for you to die – all because of who you were and what you did.

I straightened, holding his hand tighter. “Joon, have you ever considered going to therapy?”

To my surprise, he laughed. I looked over my shoulder at him, but his face was pinched.

“The company insists on it,” he replied, leaning back, pulling out of my hold. “Every month we have to go.”

I frowned. “You never told me that.”

“Do you tell me every time you see your doctor?”

I swallowed the automatic response that I probably would have done, if I’d had cause to go during the course of our relationship. Instead, I twisted on the bed to face him, watching carefully. “Does it help?”

He blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Would it help you?” His eyes flashed to mine, and while the words were a challenge, the gleam in his eyes was a shade of vulnerability so stark in the dim light of the morning.

I bit back my knee-jerk reaction, and instead I considered my response.

“I think, maybe it might help if there were things I could learn, like, coping mechanisms, or something.” I shrugged. My knowledge of therapists stretched exactly as far as seeing them on TV shows.

Jihoon rolled his eyes, and I flinched in surprise.

“I cope just fine, Kaiya.”

I looked down, more to hide the emerging irritation I knew would show on my face than any real desire to inspect my bitten fingernails.

Because what I wanted to say was, ‘clearly you don’t’.

But I was trying very, very hard not to get into an argument with him right then. Even if he was being a complete ass.

I took another breath. A nice, big deep one.

“I’m sorry if it feels like I’m prying,” I said calmly, “I’m just trying to understand.”

He muttered something under his breath, and I didn’t understand because he’d said it in Korean, which meant he didn’t want me to understand it.

Breathe…

“Sorry, what was that?” I gritted my teeth.

“Nothing, just a joke.” He shuffled off the bed, and I watched him, incredulously, as he walked across the room. I felt a tic across my jaw.

“About me? Because you said it in Korean.”

He slammed the dresser door closed. “I speak Korean.”

I stood up. “And you know that I don’t.”

“Not my problem.” He turned away, walking across the room to the wardrobe.

“No,” I followed after him, “but we’re about to have a fucking problem, Baek Jihoon.”

He turned around, leaning against the wardrobe like we were having a casual conversation. I put my fists on my hips, irritated that even slouching, I still had to tilt my head up to look at him.

“What problem?”

Was he fucking kidding me right now?

“Right now, you’re looking at it. Don’t talk to me like this. Don’t talk to me like I’m an inconvenience, like I’m being a dickhead for wanting to know if my boyfriend is going to therapy to work through his obvious trauma. I’m caring, Jihoon!” I spread my arms. “This is me caring!”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

I blinked at him, my arms flagging. “Care about you?”

“Care about my ‘trauma’,” he made a face. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“Doesn’t conc– Jihoon, of course it concerns me.” I took a step forward – just one, but he held a hand up, halting me.

“I don’t want you to.” His face had a cold expression I hadn’t seen before. It made him seem almost unfamiliar to me.

“Why wouldn’t you want me to care about something like that?”

“Because this is my life!” His almost-shout made me flinch, and I took a half-step back before I even intended to.

But then, I pulled up my big-girl pants and reclaimed that step.

“It’s my life too.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter? This is my life too,” I jabbed a finger in his direction. “I told you this last night. You don’t get to make decisions about us without involving me. This–” I gestured between our two bodies, “only works if both of us are working together.”

His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth a couple times before I guessed he finally settled on what he wanted to say. His words were calmer now.

“Why would you expect to make decisions about my therapy?”

I dropped my arms to my sides. “I don’t. I’m not. I’m not telling you how to figure your shit out, I’m telling you that you need to, because you’re making decisions about us – about me – based on that.”

“I’m not–”

“You are,” I insisted, but softer now, seeing the look of resignation on his face.

“You are, Joon. You’ve been treated like shit from the press, and the public, and because of that, you’re letting it colour how you think the rest of your life could look like.”

I took a breath before continuing, “I’m not, and I’ve never said ‘lets go public’, because honestly, I don’t even know if I want that, but you don’t get to take it off the table for the both of us.

What if someone leaked something about us tomorrow, what would you do?

Deny it all? Say it’s fake? You can’t hide me forever.

And… and I won’t allow it.” I raised my chin.

“So, you do want to go public.” His eyes narrowed on me.

“No,” I said emphatically. “But I am saying I will not be your dirty, little secret until it’s no longer convenient for you.”

“You think this is ‘convenient’ for me?” His lips curled around the word.