Hahm Yunhee is home. A place of safety. A place of comfort. And yet, a large segment of her heart is missing, left behind in an unreachable world.
Park Jimin is trapped in a parallel universe, fighting for survival while striving to find a way back...
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Shit.
Yunhee wasn't here. Why wasn't she here yet?
Tae took two paces back from the coffee shop window he'd been clandestinely peeking through, checked his watch, and then looked left along the street. A woman in her twenties sat on a bench sipping a Starbucks while reading a comic book.
Yunhee hated comic books.
Nibbling on his lip, he glanced right instead. Another girl strutted along the sidewalk, her mile-long legs on display beneath a pair of lime green hot pants. He shook his head and averted his gaze.
Yunhee detested lime green and wouldn't be seen dead in public with her thighs on display.
Contemplating whether he should head in, Tae double-checked the time and thrummed a beat on his thigh. He was sure this was the right cafe, but it was 10:09AM. They'd agreed to meet at ten. Had he got the location wrong?
No, this was definitely the place. Yunhee was probably en route, but what would be creepier? Loitering outside the cafe like a caffeine-loving voyeur, or waiting inside with her favourite caramel macchiato and a shamefaced smile?
'Argh!' Tae cried, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as he paced outside the window.
He was as jittery as a tap-dancing spider. Months and months of bottling up the truth, and now he was finally going to lay the cards on the table about his wretched past. It mattered not how much history Jimin had spilled to her over the weeks, facing the music alone was a daunting prospect.
He could not rest, however, until Yunhee had heard it from him, and he was adamant that they clear the air in spite of hating Park Jimin's guts for making her ten times happier than he ever could.
Yes, everything would be alright after today. Especially if they could get through the discussion without the traumatised woman freaking out because she saw that deviant Taehyung every time she looked at him.
Fucking twat.
'Something troubling you, Mr. Kim?'
Tae ceased all movement, his fingernails digging into his palms as he caught the source of the smarmy voice in the reflection of the window. With a steady breath for patience, he gradually turned around, coming eye-to-eye with the last man in the world he wished to see.
Sitting behind the wheel of a silver Santa Fe and judging him with a cagey expression above the descending window was none other than Park Jimin, but the debonair man looked not half as suave as yesterday, his jet-black hair ruffled across his ears and forehead, his white t-shirt eons from his traditional trim suits.
'Several things, actually,' Tae replied with folded arms, wondering when the legendary mobster had added the word "informal" to his fashion dictionary. 'What are you doing here?'
