Page 36 of When Worlds Collide
But, then I got sidetracked by a scrolling headline that the indie band Jumping Jacks were going on tour next year, and I was swept away back into the media section. I knew a member of their touring team, and I wondered if she was still with them. I made a mental note to give her a call.
Just then, I heard the suite door open and close. A few heartbeats later, Jihoon turned the corner and strolled through the doorway from the living room. I looked up. And then up. And up. My greedy eyes took executive control as they traced the line of his body from his grey sweatpants to his t-shirt, fully admiring the way it clung to his body as he pulled his hoodie off and over his head. I watched the way his muscles contracted with the movement, obvious even through the fabric, and when he’d discarded his hoodie and met my eyes, I didn’t bother to disguise the way I was checking him out.
His face twisted into a predatory smirk, somehow still devastating through the flush of his cheeks, and frankly made more so by the sheen of sweat on his neck.
“See something you like?”
In answer, I put aside my laptop and crooked my finger at him.
Later, after another environmentally friendly shared-shower, Jihoon and I ventured out of the hotel to a small, boutique restaurant he assured me was well-known in the celebrity community for being discreet.
He must have been right, because my eyeballs had nearly fallen out of my head when I’d surreptitiously looked around at some of the other diners in the small, intimately-lit room.
We were surrounded by singers and actors, some modestly-popular, to one actor in particular I’d seen in multiple dramas. It was a veritable smörgåsbord of Korea’s top names. The wait staff here must have to sign gag-orders that would rival the ones even I’d had to sign whilst working at Pisces.
Once I’d pulled my eyes up off the floor, we’d been seated at a table that overlooked the Han River, it’s waters sparkling in the reflected light of a night-time city.
For once, I didn’t feel so wildly under-dressed. A massive assortment of outfits had been couriered to our hotel room from Misun’s store, and tonight I felt pretty in a seashell-pink dress that I’d picked out for myself. It was different from the kind of thing I’d normally wear, but to be fair, I usually went about in jeans, hoodies, and sneakers. And occasionally stolen dresses from Becka’s wardrobe. I’d gone right from full-time media student, to dogsbody intern. There hadn’t been any kind of in-between that necessitated developing a style that was any kind of deviation from ‘practical’ or ‘studenty’.
When I’d walked out of the disproportionately-large dressing room in our suite, I’d been nervous to show Jihoon my outfit choice, because he was so unfairly good at fashion. So when he’d paused, mid-step, and smiled at me like I was a basket of kittens on a warm, spring day and said, “You’re so beautiful I can barely breathe,” I’d practically melted. I’d had to pretend to be checkingmy under-eye for makeup smears, when in reality, I was wiping away an errant tear. I was just so fucking happy.
When we’d walked through that room full of the rich and famous of Korea’s entertainment industry, I hadn’t felt awkward or embarrassed. With Jihoon holding onto my hand, I’d felt proud.
And yeah, starstruck, but mostly proud.
Once I’d gotten over the shock of recognising nearly everyone in the room, the actual dinner had been fun. Apparently, the chef just cooked whatever he fancied doing on any given night. There was no menu – you just got what you were given – and even the servers didn’t seem to know what it was until they’d emerged from the kitchen with the plates.
On this occasion, apparently the chef felt like tonight was a steak kind of night.
“For this course, we have A5 Miyazaki wagyu, delicately poached in a traditional gomtang broth.” The server spoke excellent English. “To accompany, we have a selection of banchan designed to complement the depth of the beef; crisp, spicy cucumber salad for a refreshing bite; baek kimchi for a touch of acidity; and gamja jorim for balance. You'll also find tender, seasoned spinach and nutty soybean sprouts to round out the flavours. Please enjoy.”
Jihoon explained the Korean words I hadn’t understood, but honestly even without the translation I would have tried everything in front of me. I wasn’t normally a big fan of beef, but this was easily one of the best things I’d ever eaten. The sommelier had come round with a suggested bottle of red once the server had dropped off our dishes and, oh my goodness. I totally got why people paired certain foods with wine now. The experience was transcendent enough to make me forget that Ihad been a burger and beer girl this time last year. Look at me now.
Jihoon had finished eating some time ago, but not only was I a slow eater, I was also in no hurry to finish what was really cracking up to be the best meal of my life – except for that one time in university where Becka and I had drunkenly concocted a recipe so epic, it will be forever remembered, but never recreated.
“What?” I said, holding a hand over my mouth, as I’d caught Jihoon smiling at me for the dozenth time, as he sat there sipping his wine. “Do I have food on my face?” I hissed, leaning forward, conspiratorially.
His shoulders twitched with a small laugh. “I can’t stop looking at you. You’re adorable.”
Oh. I leaned back in my chair. Warm tingles spread up my arms, mingling happily with the buzz I was getting from the wine, creating a coalescing warmth that radiated outward from the centre of me in a happy, fizzy sort of feeling.
Of all the familiar faces around us, his was the only one I saw.
After dinner, Jihoon and I walked along the river. It was freezing, and even though I was wearing a coat, I still shivered in the brisk, evening air.
Jihoon unwound the over-sized scarf from around his neck and wrapped it gently around me, carefully tucking it under my chin as I looked up at him, watching how the breeze off the river tossed his hair around. It was strange, but I had the weirdest sense of deja vu – like we’d done this before, or would do it again. I couldn’t place it.
He smiled softly down at me and tapped my nose with his finger.
We walked for a while in companionable silence, enjoying the clear night sky – apparently about as common here as it hadbeen in London, or LA, which is to say, not very. We’d stopped to look out over the river to where the city lay on the other side, a million separate pinpricks of light held aloft by buildings reaching skyward.
“Joon?” I began tentatively, not wanting to spoil the mood, but needing to talk about what I’d learned this morning.
He hummed to show he was listening, but didn’t turn from where he looked out across the wide expanse of river.
“What’s going on between ENT and Pisces?” I hoped the specific line of questioning would prompt a more direct answer. He’d been so recalcitrant with information, I hated to push, but more than that – I hated feeling like I needed to.
Jihoon took a deep inhale before turning slightly to look at me. He was frowning slightly like he was trying to think of a way to phrase it.
