Page 13 of A World Apart
Because of course he was.
Baek Jihoon was standing in the doorway, witness to my complete failure at the IKEA of percussion.
“Are you okay, Kaiya?” I still could not believe he knew my name.
“Oh, hello.” The words fell out of my mouth on blessed instinct as I mentally flailed for a second. “Yeah, just... you know. Trying to build a drum set.” And then I laughed. Laughed! I might have gone mad for a second there. I rubbed a hand down my face tiredly.
"Can I help?” Snapping my eyes back to his face, I was surprised to see that he’d stepped fully into the room, and though he had his hands in his pockets, he looked genuine as he assessed the parts around me.
“Oh!” I puffed out a breath. “I’m not sure…” I trailed off as his manager appeared in the door. He said something to Jihoon in Korean. I had no idea what, but I did make out ‘Hard Rock’ in the mix, which, unless Jihoon was experimenting with music genres, I guessed meant they were going to the Hard Rock Café for dinner. I mean, when in LA…
Jihoon waved him off, replying in Korean and holding up both hands in the universal sign for ‘10 minutes’. The manager looked disapproving but left. I heard the group in the corridor start talking again before the elevator doors opened with a chime and then closed again, taking the sound of voices with it. I watched the whole interaction with interest, intrigued at Jihoon dismissing his manager. I’d always kind of assumed the power-dynamic in idol groups was the other way around, but then, GVibes had become wildly successful in recent years. Maybe that changed things.
And that’s when he took off his coat. I felt my mouth drop open the same moment I wondered if I’d lost total control of my face.
Thankfully, I managed to snap my jaw closed just before his eyes landed back on me after he’d laid his coat on the back of a chair.
It’s not that he was wearing anything particularly extraordinary, just an oversized, plain, white t-shirt and black jeans. Maybe it was seeing his arms in real life? They were very nice arms, I mused.
“Can I see?” he said quietly, holding his hand out for the manual I’d flung irreverently at my feet.
“Oh, sure!” I grabbed for it and passed it to him. His brow furrowed as he looked over it.
Huh. He was reading the manual. I kind of got the impression he’d just sort of dive in and figure it out. But when I’m wrong, I’m wrong.
He read those dog-eared pages with the kind of intensity reserved for life-or-death situations.
“Okay,” he announced before stepping over the line of nuts and bolts and dropping down into a squat next to me in the centre of the anatomy of a would-be drum kit.
His immediate proximity made me lose my balance, my arm slipping off my knee and I veered comically to the side, fully prepared to accept my fate as I fell.
Until, I stopped.
Jihoon had a hand on each of my biceps, steadying me. He ducked his head down to look me in the eyes, a move straight out of every good K-drama.
“Are you okay?” He asked, and I could only nod. His hands were wrapped gently around the bare skin of my biceps, the sleeves of my white t-shirt rode high, almost to my shoulders. Immediately I felt my skin prickle with goosebumps. He was so close that I finally got to see what he smelt like. I mean, obviously I'd gone mad by this point, so hell, why not double down?
I leaned forward slightly, so slightly that it could be passed off as re-centring myself, but I was actually trying to see what he smelt like. It was nothing strong. He just smelled like laundry. Clean.
I wondered if my double-team of perfumes could still be smelt. To be honest, I’d just settle for not smelling like I’d spent the whole day humping boxes up and down the damn building.
Mentally, I gave myself a shake and leaned back slightly to be able to look him in the eyes. I forced a smile onto my face and said, “Thanks. I guess I’m a bit tired.”
He smiled back at me and nodded before taking his hands off my arms. I immediately missed the gentle warmth of his hands wrapped around me.
“I don’t know where to start,” I admitted, waving a hand around.
He nodded again, frowning slightly. “Okay, let’s try.” He said, grabbing a long, metal pole and one of the clamps I’d so carefully laid out and grouped.
I just watched in wonder as he built the whole damn thing. Under his careful directions, I passed him parts and held things as he screwed things together, or threaded things on other things and when he finally set the biggest cymbals at the top of their respective stands and tightened the clamp that held them at the desired angle, I couldn’t help but whistle in admiration.
He looked up at me and grinned shyly.
“Do you build a lot of drum kits?” I asked, laughing quietly.
He waved his hand from side to side. “One or two,” he answered.
“Wow.” I wasn’t faking how impressed I was. “Do you play?”
