Page 127 of A World Apart
“Come on,” he said, “let’s go inside.” He moved his hands down to grip my thighs before hoisting me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he walked us into my apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. I marvelled at his strength as he carried me into the kitchen, koala-style, before gently depositing me onto the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
Face-to-face now, I ran my eyes over every inch of him, greedily taking in the details I’d missed so much. The way his hair curled around his ears, how his nose scrunched when he grinned, the smell of him − like clean laundry and soap. His dark blue hair was covered by a beanie, which I swiftly took off, running my hands through his longer hair.
“I like this.”
“I think it makes me look like a peacock,” he said, making me laugh.
I frowned then. “Wait, how did you get in?”
“A nice man and a very old chihuahua let me in.”
“That’s Carlos and Milo,” I grinned. “They live downstairs.”
“Milo was very fond of me,” Jihoon casually pushed my thighs apart, moving closer between them as he ran his fingers across my cheeks to tangle in my hair.
“Hmm, he’s not the only one.” I sighed in contented relief as he pressed his lips against mine, a slow, exploratory kiss, the kind you fall into and just stay awhile in. I wound my arms around his neck, drawing him so close to me that his chest pressed up against mine, our breaths mingling until I could no longer tell when each of us inhaled or exhaled.
But eventually, one of us, I wasn’t sure which, pulled back. Jihoon rested his forehead against mine, both of us content to just… be still.
“Oh wait!” I gently pushed Jihoon back so I could jump off the counter, leaving him standing there with a dazed look on his face as I dashed into my bedroom. I grabbed the parcel off my bed and walked back to the kitchen, trepidation building with each step.
“What’s that?” He nodded at the brightly coloured thing I held so tightly.
I bit my lip and I debated playing it off, but then, cheeks colouring, I thrust the crinkly thing at him.
“Happy birthday.” My face burned as I ran through all the reasons why it was a stupid present, now that I came to think about it.
But Jihoon just held out his hands, taking the wrapped gift and looking at it as if it was the best thing he’d ever received. A smile stretched across his face so wide, that on anyone else it would look affected, but on him it looked joyous.
“Can I open it now?” His eyes pinned me to the spot. I nodded, fiddling with the ring on my finger.
He carefully peeled off the hastily applied sticky-tape, folding back the edges of the wrapping paper until he was able to slide out the thing inside. He looked at it for so long I thought he was going to ask me what it was.
“This is the book you told me about.” Not a question.
“Yeah. I found a Korean book store in the city and they had a translated copy, so... I wanted you to have a copy. I know it’s not-”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” He put the book on the counter − a Korean translation of the Time Traveler’s Wife − my favourite book, and pulled me in towards him. He kissed my forehead and smiled down at me, the kind of smile that made everything else disappear. The apartment, my job, his job, the weeks of separation. Everything outside the bubble of this moment right here.
But just like Clare in the novel I’d given Jihoon for his birthday, I was all too aware of the passage of time so, reluctantly I pulled back just enough to ask; “Are you hungry? I made pastries.”
He grinned and kissed the tip of my nose. “Starving.”
We ate breakfast together at the kitchen counter, barely letting go of each other, even as we ate. We held hands, or stroked each other’s arms, and my heart even skipped a beat as he put his hand on my knee, so casually it was as if it had always belonged there. My cheeks ached from smiling so much while trying to eat, and when I said as much to Jihoon, he laughed and said he had the same problem. We ended up rubbing our sore cheeks, laughing together.
The laughter came easy, the kind of light-headed giddiness of first dates and exceeded expectations. The bubble of joy that seemed so unpoppable.
When we moved over to the sofa, it seemed natural to fall into him, leaning back against his chest as I doodled my fingers up and down his strong arms while we talked about everything, and nothing.
He told me what it was like to film music videos − surprisingly repetitive, hot, uncomfortable and not nearly as much fun as it seems, apparently. I told him all about filling in for the guitarist for the Smoking Guns. He laughed so hard that I jiggled up and down, which made me laugh until we were both crying.
Eventually, we settled. His heartbeat against my ear lulled me into a calm so still I almost fell asleep. I might have actually fallen asleep, even if only for a little while. I was loathe to move, feeling more peace in this moment than I had in so long.
But I had plans. And they weregoodplans.
So, I reluctantly peeled myself off of him, smiling to myself at his groan of disappointment.
“I know my apartment is super entertaining, but how would you like to celebrate Halloween in LA?” I raised an eyebrow at him, at the same time appreciating the image he presented, reclined on the sofa, one arm behind his head. I mentally shook myself. Focus.
