Cityscapes (Jumin Han x OC)

Chapter 21

It's almost like I didn't need to be reminded of how I am exceedingly not the girl for Jumin Han, the night before my date with Jumin Han. It's almost like that drastically increased my anxiety and nearly gave me a panic attack. Between a combination of the comments on the news channel, and everyone's genuine shock that Jumin Han could possibly like a girl like me, I felt unworthy of even his glances. We weren't even dating, and everyone already seemed confused by the idea. I hadn't even gone on a date with him yet. That was supposed to take place today, and everyone already inserting their opinions into it? Well, that's torture.

As a shock to no one, I'm upset. The moment I wake up, I just stare at my ceiling, begging for the forgiveness of the universe. It's like the whole universe went "Wow! You got something you wanted! What if it was surrounded by things you hate?" Being only a toy of the universe, that means begrudgingly going along.

I pull myself up, and instead of doing my usual, curtain opening and making my coffee, I slither off to eat cereal. Frankly, it's not that appealing to open up my curtains with the events of yesterday. Coffee isn't appealing either. The caffeine will only raise my heartrate, and therefore my anxiety. It's also about 11am. I woke up late considering...the incident. While eating my cereal I scroll webpage after webpage, avoiding anything vaguely about celebrities.

I walk off into my bathroom and take a shower. I wash my hair, and step out of the shower. Doing my hair is a process. I don't know how formal this date is, and I don't think I'll be mentally prepared to turn on my phone until 5:30, so I decide to put large curls in it. They're the universal "I put effort in," hairstyle. It also means absurdly large rollers, so I take those out and bobby pin my hair to them.

I walk into my closet, looking for an outfit. I need something formal yet casual enough. Just formal enough to be appropriate for a fancy place, and casual enough to be perfect for any situation. I finally find a short, bell shaped dress that is covered in a purple and white floral print, and pair it with a white coat that perfectly matches its length. I lay it out for later, and for now put on sweatpants and a gym shirt. I pull my hair up into a messy bun, and put on a pair of sunglasses. I know I won't escape the press right now, but at least I can try and make it to the gym without incident. That dream is quickly squashed, as the moment I walk out of my apartment, I'm swarmed by cameras. I don't even make it to the elevator without hundreds of pictures being taken.

The moment I do, I recognize the likely incessant mob in my lobby. These are just the few that made it up the elevator. The moment the doors open, I see what seems like a sea of reporters. Pushing through, I eventually make it out the door. To no one surprise, they follow me. They even follow me as I get into my car. They snap hundreds of pictures, and finally, I'm off. I may not have avoided them completely, but at least being in the car they can't snap that many pictures of me. At least, maybe I can avoid them for 15 minutes at the gym. I take a very alternative route, going in circles to guarantee that they're not following me.

Thankfully, when I get inside, they haven't found me yet. I'm able to get in a solid 30 minutes of running. Running very fast. Running so hard I think my legs might break. I think I'm a little stressed. As if that's surprising. I suppose if they aren't here, they must be waiting for me at home. This only pushes me to run for an hour. Then two. The moment I finally stop I look at my miles. I ran like...3/4s of a marathon. I don't think that's healthy to do without realizing. When I'm finally done trying not to pass out from dehydration, I get back in my car and drive straight home, and I'm surprised to see the press disappeared, save for a few here and there. I'm sure they just found something more interesting than my home. The others are easy to avoid, and I'm able to make it into my apartment without incident.

That's when I realize I have to take another shower. And redo my hair. Well...fuck.

I repeat the process, and by the time I do, it's 4:30. It's only an hour until I have to turn on my phone. I do my make up, ever so lightly. Just enough so I don't feel uncomfortable. I finally put on my dress and it's 5. Time to sit on my bed and cry.

Well, I don't cry. I just take extremely deep breaths as my panic increases. Between the press, my parents, and Jumin Han as a whole, I'm having a panic attack. I place my head in between my folded legs in an effort to slow it down, and it works. I slowly come back to my own. A lot of waiting later, and it's 5:30. Now, I actually have to turn on my phone. I do so with very little faith in the system. Expecting billions of missed calls, I only see one, and a text from the very same man.

See you at 6:00, Miran. I'll meet you at your door.

Oh. Thank God.