Page 3 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

F rom the air, Seoul was strikingly similar to LA the last time I’d seen it.

Below, the city shined, scattered hues of silver and gold brightly delineating the grid patterns of the city, so much more ordered, less chaotic than older cities, like London, which sprawled outwards from Heathrow in creeping country lanes interspersed with newly laid motorways.

I wondered when I’d see that sight of home again.

The captain was true to his word, as no more than twenty minutes later, we touched down, tyres squealing, engine roaring powerfully as we slowed down the course of the runway.

I began to feel a nervous thrum throughout my body, but what in particular was I nervous about?

Maybe it was at the thought of having to navigate my way around an airport in a completely foreign country with only the most rudimentary grasp of the language.

Maybe it was the ever-increasing realisation that I had just uprooted my entire existence (again) to move to a foreign country, where I knew exactly one person, didn’t have a place to live, and didn’t have a job.

Or, maybe it was the more abstract thought that I’d just shifted my whole life to follow my boyfriend around the world. A secret boyfriend who couldn’t even tell anyone he was in a relationship. A boyfriend who had to sneak around to see me.

Oh, holy hell, couldn’t I have saved that veritable doom-scroll of panicked introspection for later? I really was nervous now. It was more a deep-seated fear, if I was honest with myself.

Before I could fall further down the rabbit hole of self-doubt and existential dread, the seatbelt sign above my head dinged and turned off.

All around me there was a flurry of motion as people from this cabin, and the ones behind the thick curtain, all began to unbuckle and get up to take their bags out of overhead compartments.

Pushing down the lump in my throat, I took my own bag out of the little cupboard and pushed open the pocket doors.

I joined the other handful of First Class flyers – all looking far more ‘First Class’ than I did in my rumpled jeans, scuffed Vans, and hoodie – as we queued up next to the curtain segmenting us from the rest of the plane, where a pleasantly smiling flight attendant stood.

“We’re just waiting for the ground crew to attach the sky bridge before we can open the doors.

It won’t be much longer.” She repeated (I assumed) the same information in Korean.

Just as she’d finished speaking, there was a slight jolt to the plane, and then the loud clanking sound from beyond the curtain as the door was opened.

She waited a brief moment before pulling open the curtain.

I hadn’t noticed on the way up through the plane last night, but First Class was right next to an exit door, and we seemed to be exiting the plane first. Another plus of being in First. My, how the other side lived.

I snorted to myself, earning me a side-eye from the well-dressed gentleman in front of me.

Eventually though, we all deplaned and as a stream of weary travellers, we all filed onwards, to wherever our final destination was.

For me, it was navigating through the bureaucratic process of immigration before I could reclaim my meagre possessions in the form of my beat-up, borrowed duffel and other rucksack.

The look the immigration official gave me when I told her I was moving to Korea with no fixed address, no job and no family was…

suspicious. I’d tried to tell her I had friends here, and that I was intending to get a job as soon as possible.

Given that she’d had no formal reason not to, she begrudgingly stamped my passport, but left me with a stern, if polite warning that I had ninety days to either find a job and get a Visa, or – she’d said with a shark’s grin, “your friend could always marry you.” She said this as she stared pointedly at the silver and amethyst ring on my left hand.

I was too tired to have any other reaction than a slightly nervous chuckle, even – if I was really honest with myself – my heart had skipped a beat.

It was close to 5:00 am by the time I’d reclaimed my bags, and, finding the nearest bench out of the way of the morning parade of luggage wheels and polished loafers, I slumped down and pulled out my phone, powering it on for the first time in, what? Fourteen hours?

Unsurprisingly, my phone wouldn’t connect to a network, but Incheon had free Wi-Fi, so I connected to that. Immediately, several notifications from KakaoTalk – the Korean equivalent to WhatsApp – popped up, dragging a tired smile across my face.

Joon

Hey sleepyhead. I’ve just arrived. It’s so cold! Put a coat on before you leave the terminal, okay? Call me when you land. Sarangae.

Sent 00:48

He’d arrived nearly four hours before me. Surely he’s going to be asleep? I chewed on my bottom lip as I stared at his message, debating whether to go get something to eat just to pass the time until it was a more palatable time, but in the end, I decided to just call him.

Feeling inexplicably shy, I pressed ‘call’ on Kakao and waited as the call connected.

“Ky.” His sleepy voice, octaves deeper than normal, made me smile widely, still capable of making my heart skip a beat.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” I said carefully, wincing at my awkward pronunciation.

“Annyeong,” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You’ve been practicing.”

“It seemed rude not to.”

Jihoon chuckled, but it was more of a rumble and honestly, it kind of did things to me – toe curling, blushing things.

“Where are you?” I asked, suddenly breathless.

“Hmm, not far. Have you got your bags?”

“Yes. Is there a way I can call a taxi? I haven’t got any phone signal, only Wi-Fi.” I frowned, this newest inconvenience just another problem to add to the list I intended to solve.

“Go to the main arrivals exit. There will be a car waiting for you. A black SUV.”

“Have you sent a car?” That would make sense, and probably far less likely for me to end up in Busan, accidentally.

“Just head there now, jagiya. The wardens don’t like people to park there for too long.”

“Yeah, okay, hang on,” I stood up and looked around, scanning the signs that were helpfully written in Hangul and English until I spotted one that read ‘exit’.

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

It wasn’t a long walk, just long enough for me to regale Jihoon with every amenity I’d had in my little First Class cubby. He’d been particularly amused by my comparison of how I’d looked compared to the other passengers in First, all scruffy next to their neatness.

“They’d be horrified to see what we wear when we travel,” he laughed.

I frowned. “I’ve seen photos of you guys going to the airport, you’re all wearing immaculate, designer clothes. I think you’d fit in just fine,” I laughed.

“That’s what we wear to the airport,” he clarified, “we usually change on the plane into something more comfortable.”

That conjured all sorts of images I’d want some clarity on later, but right now, I was approaching the automatic doors to the outside, and already I could feel a cold chill emanating from the still-closed doors that had my steps slowing.

“It’s gonna be cold out there, isn’t it?” I asked, wincing.

“Jagiya, tell me you’re wearing a coat.”

“I’m wearing a hoodie.”

“Where’s your coat?” He sounded incredulous.

“Um, in England?”

When I’d moved to LA earlier this year, I’d moved over with exactly two bags.

My trusty dino rucksack, and a slightly smaller one I’d started taking to work, just big enough to fit the essentials and my lunch.

A coat hadn’t counted as a necessity, given that I was coming from London to the far sunnier, less wet clime of LA.

I always figured I’d buy whatever I was missing, and I’d just never needed to.

“Oh, Ky…” I could hear his quiet sigh. “The car is right outside the doors; can you see it?”

Cautiously, I stepped closer to the doors, wary of triggering them to open, and peered through. There was indeed a black SUV idling at the kerb.

“How do I know that’s the right one? I don’t want to get into some axe murderer’s backseat.” I voiced, rather reasonably, I thought.

Jihoon sighed again. “The driver is going to get out to open the car door for you, so you’ll be able to see there are no axe murderers in the back seat.”

Just then, the driver’s door did indeed open, and out stepped a uniformed man, cap and all. He held a hand up to me, leaving no doubt that he was indeed expecting me, axe or otherwise.

“Okay, I see him,” I said, “hang on.” I held the phone to my chest as I braced myself before stepping forward, activating the motion detector above the doors, sliding them open.

And boy, I was not prepared. Being from the North of England, I always considered myself of hardier stock than our more southern neighbours: Southern Fairies, as we liked to call anyone even remotely south of Leeds, but since moving down to London, then to LA, I’d obviously softened up.

I hustled the few meters to the waiting car, forging forward like an arctic explorer, not caring how ridiculous I looked. It was 5:00 am and it had to be hovering around freezing, or colder.

“Annyeonghaseyo, Kaiya imnida,” I said carefully, with a slightly awkward bow, having practiced introducing myself so many times, it was possible I’d repeated the Korean of it more times than I’d said it in English my entire life.

The older man looked startled, but bowed in response before responding, “Annyeonghaseyo, Kaiya-ssi,” and held his arm out to indicate the rear door, which he then opened for me after divesting me of my bags.

I turned to the older man to thank him, when a pair of hands grabbed me from inside the car, pulling me into the dark backseat before I could so much as squeal.

The door was closed behind me as I was pulled against a warm, hard body I recognised as well as I might have recognised my own.

“Is this the part where you murder me?” I murmured against his neck, breathing him in so deeply that any chill I might have brought in with me was immediately banished.

“I left my axe at home.”

I huffed, tightening my hold around his neck. He grabbed hold of my hips, pulling me closer until I was in his lap.

“Mmm, can all international travellers expect such a warm welcome, or do you reserve this only for unemployed interns?”

“You have VIP privileges.” He kissed a line up my throat to my jaw before capturing my lips in a slow, decadent kiss that had me panting, pressing my body against his in a deliberate, needful search for friction.

Too soon, Jihoon pulled away with a low groan, leaning his forehead against mine. I whined in response.

“We need to stop,” he panted.

“Why?” I grouched, running my hands up his chest, delighting in the way his firm muscles jumped under my inquiring fingers. He grasped my hands in his, bringing them slowly to his mouth before placing a kiss on each fingertip in turn.

“Because I cannot have you in this car, and if you keep kissing me like that, I will, and that would upset the driver.”

Oh. I’d forgotten all about the older man. I twisted my head round in the direction of the front seat, but all I saw was a dark partition.

“Can he hear us?” I whispered, realising suddenly that we were moving. I hadn’t even noticed.

“He can’t hear us talking, but he will hear us if I lay you down on this back seat and-”

I slapped my hand over his mouth, a startled laugh bursting out of me.

“Joon!”

In response, he narrowed his eyes at me and licked my palm. I gasped as a shower of tremors ran down my spine, involuntarily arching my back and pushing me further against him. I bit back a groan.

“Sexy magic,” I hissed at him.

His dark eyes crinkled at the sides and he gently removed my hand, giving it a soft kiss where he’d licked it.

“I’ll stop doing it, when you stop liking it,” he said in a dangerous tone. I only sighed in response, as much frustration as exasperation.

Then, something occurred to me.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, trying to push aside the needy way my body still thrummed. “I thought you were asleep? You landed hours ago. Didn’t you go home?”

Jihoon leaned back against the plush leather seat, pulling me with him so I leaned up against his chest from where I still perched on his lap.

“I was asleep, but I didn’t go home.”

Maybe it was the early hour, but my brain was not braining at that moment. I could feel my whole face scrunched up in confusion as I peered up at him.

He smirked and placed a kiss to my forehead. “You’re so cute when you over-think things.”

I blinked up at him, finally understanding. “Have you been here this whole time?”

He hummed, the sound vibrating against me.

“It’s a 90-minute drive from here to Seoul, it was easier to park up nearby and sleep instead of driving 90 minutes there, and 90 minutes back.”

I bit my lip. “You didn’t need to wait at all. I would have gotten a taxi.”

He huffed a quiet, tired laugh. “As if I would have made you come all the way to Korea, and then not be here when you arrived?”

He looked down at me, one eyebrow raised.

The look was meant to be chiding, but it just made me blush.

I always blushed when confronted with the full force of his attention.

Everything about him – from his other-worldly good looks, to his well-practiced expressions - made my heart pound.

To be so ordinary in the presence of someone like him was… a lot.

“You didn’t make me do anything,” I mumbled. “I wanted to come.”

Jihoon pressed a kiss to my nose. “I’m so sorry you couldn’t come on our plane.”

He blew a sharp breath out and leaned his head back against the headrest. I lifted my hand to his jaw, smoothing away the lines of tension I could feel there.

“Your plane may be cool, and all, but does it have little bottles of perfume?” I asked, very seriously, somehow keeping up the facade, even when Jihoon’s brows knotted in evident confusion.

I pulled out the little fabric bag from my pocket that I’d swiped from the plane – double checking with Graham, the flight attendant, that I was allowed to – and unzipped it to show Jihoon the little samples inside.

My stoicism quickly turned into glee as I proudly displayed my new moisturiser, cleaner, toner, perfume and hand lotion.

“And look! It even comes with these bamboo facial pad things!” I held the little ivory cleansing pads up to Jihoon’s face. He laughed.

“Don’t you have these things in your bag?”

“Pfft, I don’t have bamboo face pad money. My skincare was basic, and on sale. But look! Now I have samples!”

“You’re so cute,” Jihoon said, indulgently. “But we’re fixing that. My girl deserves good skincare.”

My skin might not have been glowing, but I felt like I was.