#will make more in the morning.. wrist pain has begun & its quite late. <- scheduling this at 10 pm

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately

Jonathan Sims has been head archivist for just a few months, but he has memories of holding the position for years. Somehow, he'll have to keep everyone safe from what's coming. Meanwhile, his assistants can't understand why their prickly jerk of a boss has gone sappy all of a sudden. 

(I went ahead and started a fanfic inspired by that Jon-sends-his-memories-back-in-time comic by @questbedhead. Not sure whether I’ll add to it, but thought I’d post this much at least.)

Read on Ao3

Jon woke suddenly and bolted from his chair. He made it halfway to the door, stumbling in a blind panic before reality caught up with him and he remembered where he was. The room that was half his flat came into focus. Shadows pooled against the dim light coming from outside.

He breathed slowly as his heart rate returned to normal.

Jon’s dreams were his own now, and in them he was only himself. Mostly they were nightmares, and mostly the nightmares were bad. But he’d still take them any night over the pitiless, helpless consumption of secondhand terror that he knew was the alternative. Still. This one had been awful. He could still see images of it, lingering in his mind. In particular he remembered Martin’s face, twisted in an expression of pain and fear for just a moment before his grimace turned into an unnatural, too-wide smile . . . Jon shuddered as he tried to forget it.

His phone was on the table that served as both desk and eating space, and he checked the time. 8:15. He’d nodded off in his seat and slept for less than an hour.

Jon stared at the phone’s screen and wondered how Martin was doing. There were several months to go before Jane would attack the institute. The table that had held the thing that once took Sasha, the centerpiece of this particular nightmare, it hadn’t even arrived yet. Martin would be fine in the archive, Jon knew that. He’d sleep there without incident for months, unharmed. There was no need to worry about his safety just yet.

The image from his dream remained in Jon’s mind, unmoved by his own reassurance. He found himself wishing, not for the first time in recent days, that he could reach into the ocean of Knowing that had once pressed so forcefully against his mind. That he could just Know if Martin was all right, See what he was doing right now. But the door in his mind wasn’t just closed, it was gone. Not yet built. Never to be built if Jon could help it. There was nothing to reach for and nothing to give in to. It was just as well, he supposed, since he’d promised to give Martin privacy. Lacking the ability to check just removed the temptation to do so.

Without really thinking, Jon ran his thumb over his contacts and scrolled until he found Martin’s name. He tapped it, opening their history. The last message visible was still from Jane Prentis and Jon frowned at the sight of it. Martin had a new phone now, of course, but the number was the same.

Jon could call him if he wanted to. Just check in, make sure he was all right. Reassure himself that nothing terrible was happening.

Sighing, Jon set the phone down. Hadn’t harassing his staff been one of the things that caused so much trouble the first time around? Martin didn’t need Jon bothering him every hour of the day and night with all his worries. He’d have enough of his own after his encounter with Prentiss. No. Jon would go in to work tomorrow, see Martin there, and everything would be completely fine - or at least as close to fine as was possible, under the circumstances. It wouldn’t be that long until morning.

He checked the time again. 8:17.

Of course, if he happened to stop by the institute because he’d forgotten something there, he’d be sure to run into Martin. Then he could see for himself that he was safe. That would be perfectly all right, wouldn’t it? He nodded to himself as he got his coat.

On the train ride downtown, he thought about another Martin. The one in his memories - his new memories - who had tried so hard to keep Jon safe and present and whole. Who’d somehow kept a grip on hope even after everything fell apart, a hope so blind and powerful that it alternately seemed like foolish, sad denial and like a beacon that could rival the dread powers in its brilliance.

In another time, another life, another world, Jon had watched that light grow slowly dimmer as the cruel reality of the new world smothered it. The world he had brought into existence.

Jon had spent so long in despair and resignation by then. He’d even been frustrated at times by what seemed Martin’s unwillingness to face reality. It was really rather ironic how much he had panicked when he began to realize that Martin was giving up as well. The final blow had come after Jonah was destroyed. When they learned that killing him had accomplished nothing except binding Jon to the Panopticon completely. Jon had felt his body go limp, his edges softening, his body merging with with the flesh of the tower as a thousand eyes he hadn’t known he’d had opened at once. He was fairly sure he’d have have accepted his fate without a fight if it hadn’t been for the look on Martin’s face.

So he’d done the only thing he could. He’d drowned his mind in the Knowing that howled at the edge of his consciousness. Dove as deeply as he could, drinking it in, reaching for anything that might give them a chance. Perhaps it had been his regret, his childish desire to go back and undo all of his mistakes that had guided him to the answer. He’d already known that he could force knowledge into the minds of others, just as Jonah had. But Jon was more powerful than Jonah had been and he had now been placed permanently in the center of the Beholding. He could send his knowledge anywhere. Possibly across time itself. He could send all that he knew - his memories, his experiences - back to a time when he might still be able to do something with that knowledge.

It had been a long shot, an unlikely gamble. But as he explained his plan to Martin he’d seen light return to his eyes. Watched a tearful smile bloom in him as he held what remained of Jon’s hand.

If Jon did nothing else good with his life, if he truly couldn’t escape what he was and everything fell apart again this time, he’d still be proud of that moment. When he’d found a way to rekindle that precious spark of hope Martin had carried. If one day he found himself back at that tower, trapped in the knowledge that he could only repeat this horrific cycle over and over and over, he would still have that.

Of course . . . it hadn’t really been him who’d done that, had it?

Jon looked at the smooth, unbroken skin of his hand. His palm was soft, unblemished, and free of pain. His wrist lacked the twisted trails he’d memorized the locations of. He remembered the Carousel and Night Street more clearly than he could recall what must have been last week for him, but what felt like it had happened years ago. But he had never truly been to those places. He only had the memories of them.

What had happened to the man who’d be there? And what had happened to his Martin? Did they exist in some future that was still being unwritten? If Jon could stop this all from happening, would they blink out of existence along with the rest of their world? Or worse, would they continue on in their horrific timeline that could never be changed or erased? And if it became clear that nothing could save them, would that spark in Martin finally die, forever?

Jon shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. There was no way of finding out the answers to those questions, and he had to focus on the world he was in. On the people who were here, still alive, still with him. On the Martin that hadn’t given up. And even if he wasn’t truly the person in his own memories, if his skin was unmarked and his mind was distressingly quiet and still, he still felt like that person. It was one unbroken chain of events to him - from the institute to the safehouse to the tower and back here.

It was harmless, he decided, to keep thinking of himself as that Jon. He had enough on his mind without adding on another existential crisis.

It was 8:57 when he reached the front door of the Magnus Institute, walked in and headed for the archive. His neck still ached from the awkward position of his unexpected nap, and he rubbed it irritably as he walked. He’d gotten so disconnected from his body after the coma. Even pain, which had been his constant companion for a long time, had begun to feel abstract to him. Now every physical sensation was loud and demanded attention.

Maybe it was the distraction of that ache that kept him from noticing the noise coming from beyond the archive door. He barely had a moment to recognize the thing that was hurtling towards him before it came within inches of his face.

Jon’s reflexes were not enviable. He did not leap back gracefully so much as yelp and stumble into the desk behind him. A heavy wrench sailed through the air just inches away as his back hit the desk’s edge. He slid to the floor, arms splayed, trying to get his balance again. Things might have gone quite bad for him if his would-be attacker hadn’t stopped, frozen in horror, to stare at him wide-eyed.

“God! Jon! I’m - - I’m so sorry!” Martin dropped the wrench, hands shaking. “I didn’t hit you, did I? Please tell me I didn’t - -”

Jon’s brain took a moment to catch up with what he was seeing, adrenaline still flooding him as he connected Martin’s expression with the blow to the head he’d just avoided. He’d been defending himself? Had Jon’s fears been right, was there an attack on the archive ahead of schedule?

“I’m so sorry,” Martin looked more distressed by the moment, and Jon heard a crack in his voice. “I didn’t know it was you. Are you hurt? Tell me if you’re hurt, please - -”

“I’m fine, Martin.” Jon did his best to sound calming. “Really. You just . . . startled me.”

“Good. Thank God. Ah. . . sorry.”

Now assured that he hadn’t given Jon a concussion, Martin bent down to hesitantly offer a hand up. Jon took it, the shape of Martin’s palm around his own natural and familiar. He placed another hand on Jon’s back, pushing him gently upwards and holding there for just a moment. The difference in their height and size, the sheer physicality of Martin’s presence was immensely steadying and Jon felt some disappointment as he pulled away. If Martin noticed this he gave no sign, still nervously babbling apologies.

“Martin. Martin,” Jon cut him off. “It’s fine. I’m all right. What’s going on? Were you just . . . lurking behind the door, wielding a blunt object?”

“I just - - I heard - - I don’t know.” Martin rubbed the back of his neck, beginning to look more embarrassed than afraid. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here and it’s so quiet at night and I just - just heard something moving around and I thought maybe - - ”

Something finally clicked for Jon.

“Martin . . . .” he said. “Did you think that I was worms?”

Martin’s face flushed and he looked down, muttering. “I mean, you could have been worms.”

“Yes. I suppose I might have been worms.” Jon agreed, biting his cheek to hide an amused smile. “Perhaps a slim chance of that. But given everything you’ve been through I can’t bame you for being on edge about that.”

“I’m really sorry - -”

“No harm done. Let’s not worry about it anymore.”

Jon smiled fondly and reached up to pat Martin’s shoulder. Nothing lingering. Just a few, quick taps, a ‘there there’ motion. Surely that was all right, wasn’t it? That wasn’t too familar? Maybe it was - Martin looked uneasy and confused more than anything else. But he stopped apologizing and nodded, so that was something.

“Er . . . what are you doing here?” Martin asked. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt - presumably one he slept in, given the flannel pajama pants that he also wore. It had a cartoon bear on it that Jon was fairly sure was from a video game. “I thought you went home.”

“Ah. I did.” Jon remembered the excuse he’d come with. “Yes, I went home. But then I realized that I’d left something important in my office, and I had to come back for it. Which is why I’m here.”

Don’t ask what it is. Jon thought desperately as he went through the motions of walking towards his office door. Please don’t ask what it is.

“Oh. I see.”

Martin didn’t ask what it was, to Jon’s relief and gratitude. He made some pretense of rummaging around in his desk as Martin appeared in the doorway, hanging there hesitantly. Jon noticed he’d picked up the dropped wrench and was holding it at his side. He paused, looking at it.

“Sorry, but - -” Jon asked “- - were you planning to hit the worms with a wrench?”

“Oh - -” Martin looked at the tool in his hand, laughing nervously. “No, uh. I mean there’d be too many of them for that to do any good, right? I just . . . well, I could tell that it was a person moving around, or at least something person-sized. And I thought if it was Jane, I - - I didn’t want to get trapped again so I was going to make a run for it. But I wanted something in case she tried to grab at me, you know?”

“I see. Yes, that would make a bit more sense.”

It didn’t escape Jon’s notice how tightly Martin was gripping the wrench, or the way his eyes would occasionally dart to the corners of the floor. Or the fact that, despite his apparent embarassment over nearly bashing Jon’s head in while in his pajamas, he was lingering in the doorway rather than returning to the room that he’d been staying in.

He was right to be afraid. Jon knew he was right to be afraid. The worms were most likely already there. They wouldn’t attack for some time, true, but they were still present. Waiting. Martin would sleep safe and unharmed night after night, his worst fear writhing in the walls around him. The thought made something deep in Jon’s stomach squirm.

It was only when Martin shifted uneasily that Jon realized he’d been staring. He fixed his gaze on his desk again, moving some papers around.

“I know this place is unsettling at night,” he offered.

“Yeah . . .” Martin exhaled. “I do appreciate you letting me stay. I’d probably be a lot more jumpy if I was back at my flat right now. At least the archive’s sealed off.”

“Still, if you’d feel more comfortable I could - -”

Jon stopped himself mid-sentence, the offer halfway out of his mouth before he even realized what he’d been saying.

Could what, you damned fool? he thought. Stay here tonight? Sleep in the narrow cot with him? Hold his hand and stroke the crown of his head if he wakes up afraid, the way you used to when he had nightmares? Yes, surely that’s what he wants to hear from his prick of a boss that’s never been anything but unkind to him.

“. . . Could see if there’s some way to . . . enhance security around here,” he muttered after far, far too long a pause.

“I mean, if you think it’s worth looking into.” Martin chuckled nervously. “Not sure if there’s anything a burgler alarm could do about worms. But at least Jane could maybe be kept away?”

“I’ll look into it.” Jon said, insincerely.

“Could convince Elias it’s worth doing just for general security, right?” Martin asked hopefully.

Jon didn’t try to hide the contempt in his voice “I’m sure he’s very concerned about employee safety, yes.”

Martin went quiet at that. Jon had probably been pretending to rummage around in his desk for too long. He pulled a few papers out of his top drawer, tucked them in a file and stuck it under his arm. Then he hesitated. He really didn’t want to leave. These months in the archive had been hard for Martin, Jon knew that. He’d gone to sleep every night afraid that he’d wake up with worms boring into his skin. And more often than not the people around him - Jon especially - had treated his anxieties like an annoyance.

Jon wanted to stay, to give Martin the comfort of another person’s presence. He knew all too well how being alone with one’s thoughts sent them spinning into further extremes of fear and paranoia. He wanted to be there for him this time.

And it wasn’t just for Martin’s sake. It was perhaps absurd for Jon to think that he missed someone he saw daily, but it was true. He’d felt adrift in the week since he’d gained his knowledge of the future. This Martin - truly, the only Martin there was, the only one that was real - didn’t lean into him or laugh when he was annoyed. He was nervous around Jon. He flinched back awkwardly when their hands brushed accidentally, and seemed like he was always waiting for some admonishment.

There was nothing for it, though. He’d just have to stick to the plan. Soon enough Sasha would be approached, and though Jon wasn’t thrilled at the thought - - he knew how sharp those hands were - - he knew Michael wouldn’t harm her. Once the fire suppression system was replaced with CO2, he’d just have to wait until the others were gone, find some excuse to send Martin away, and take care of Jane on his own. Martin would just have to endure a few more bad nights in the meantime.

“Well,” Jon gestured to the file under his arm. “This is what I came back for.”

Don’t ask what it is, he thought. Please don’t ask what it is.

“Oh? What is it?” Martin asked.

I am being punished for my crimes against this world.

“Ah. Just. Hmm. Some things I’ve been working on at home. Statements.”

Martin seemed to accept that. It was probably best not to add any unnecessary details.

“It’s sort of a personal research project of mine,” Jon continued, mouth moving without the consent of his brain. “Trying to work out some patterns I’ve noticed between statements with similar themes.”

Stop, you fool. Jon thought.

“Really?” Martin seemed genuinely surprised. “Honestly, I kind of got the impression you thought the statements were mostly fake.”

“Well, I do. Of course.” Jon fumbled. “But ah, there can be some value in categorizing even the, uh, the ramblings of the delusional. It’s revealing. Teaches you about what people are afraid of.”

“Uh . . . right.” Martin raised an eyebrow.

“I should go.” Jon’s formerly pressing desire to stay was overruled by a need to flee before he started babbling about Smirke’s fourteen and made Martin’s nightmares even worse. He hurried towards the door.

Martin stepped aside to let Jon pass.

“Right. Er, good night.”

Just as Jon reached the archive door, a thought occurred to him. It wasn’t much, and he doubted Martin would take advantage of it. More than likely it would just confuse the poor man even more. But if he was destined to keep doing reckless and foolish things, at least one of them should have a chance of easing someone’s fears instead of feeding them.

“If you hear something again.” Jon said, “or perhaps just think you hear something, you should call me.”

Martin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You said you were worried that Jane might come here. If you ever have reason to think she might be. . . .”

“I mean . . . thanks, but, shouldn’t I call 999 if that happens?” Martin tilted his head. “No offense, but I mean . . what are you going to do against the worms?”

Emergency services wouldn’t exactly do much against them, either. Jon thought, but did not say.

“You should certainly do that if you’re in danger.” Jon said. “But I imagine you’ll hesitate rather than phone them at every odd sound.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“As I said, I know this place is unsettling at night,” Jon shrugged. “A second perspective can be a breath of fresh air. Can . . . help make it easier to tell whether something is a true danger or just in your head.”

Martin stared at him, brow furrowed, looking like he was trying and failing to solve a particularly difficult math problem.

“And I keep odd hours,” Jon continued, waving his hand. He kept his tone stern and dismissive, as if that might disguise the fact that he’d essentially asked Martin to call him if he was feeling scared so he could talk him down. “So don’t worry if it’s late at night. Believe me, it won’t matter.”

“Um. All right,” Martin blinked, an uncertain smile that Jon considered a victory forming on his face. “Thanks.”

Jon nodded. “Sleep well, then.”

He hurried out before he could spoil this rare triumph with more reckless words, then ran to catch the late train home.

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Sex Contract [M] - Chapter 8

Genre: friends to lovers au / friends with benefits / mature content / romance / angst

Characters: Shim Changmin x Kaia Ashton (OC)

A/N: Due to the overwhelming request I have followed your encouragement to bring back one of my older stories. This was back in a time where OCs were everything and writing one chapter in each main’s point of view was the trend. I hope that even though I have edited this drastically, that you can appreciate this story comes from my older style of writing. I definitely still read this often and find it enjoyable so I hope you will too.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 - FINAL

Chapter 8 – Kaia’s POV.

Life had taken a completely different turn ever since having sex with Changmin. It seemed the schedule now had a new element in it, and Kaia’s time was spent doing her usual activities and then meeting Changmin in between. In the past two weeks, they had so far met for sex three times, all in which they had begun to learn what they liked and disliked about one another. Although she wasn’t as keen for different positions like Changmin was, Kaia had to admit singing wasn’t his only talent. It was a new side to her friend that she had discovered, and Kaia hadn’t regretted the agreement since the first night. Though thankfully nothing was ever as tension-filled as it had been in the confines of her bedroom that last time.

“Ow Changmin!” Kaia cried out and slapped his shoulder, the boy looking down at her on the bed. She made a face. “You’re not meant to bend a woman like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to make it uncomfortable,” he breathed, rolling his eyes and shifting his weight again. The pleasure he was delivering seemed to build again and Kaia settled, hoping he wasn’t going to try that again. Sometimes his enthusiasm got the better of him. She wondered if she would ever be able to match his quest for exploration.

“Was work alright?” she asked as they flipped over, her mouth going to his chest that she enjoyed kissing so much. Changmin groaned and ran his hands through her hair. It wasn’t uncomfortable for them to talk whilst having sex, generally because when the mood struck them, they focused on getting to their destination without ripping the clothes off of each other, let alone bothering with basic greetings.

He kissed her wrist beside his head and then smiled. “Mm, tiring like usual. Did you meet your deadline?”

“No, Keith did though, I’m quite proud of him.”

“Hey!” Changmin rolled them over again and stopped, looking down at Kaia with a hard expression. She stared back incredulously; it was finally starting to feel good.

“What are you doing?!”

“I’m having sex with you right now!” Changmin said exasperatedly and she continued to look at him as if he sprouted an extra head.

“No, you just stopped. Right when I was enjoying myself!”

“Where’s your contract?! We need to add another stipulation on!”

Kaia gaped at him. “Right now?!”

“You just broke a code!” He stared down at her harshly and whined as if he couldn’t believe what had just occurred. “Bringing up another man whilst having sex is a big no-no!”

“Oh my goodness Changmin!” Kaia cried, shoving the man off her. “I cannot believe you right now, he’s a workmate and you asked me about work!”

All the same, Kaia got up and headed out to the living room, searching in her drawer for the original copy. They had already reprinted another copy each off after they had made the mistake of foreplay once, and as she looked at the paper, Kaia realised they weren’t going to have much room left soon. After grabbing a pen, she returned to her bedroom where Changmin had already turned on the lamp.

Kaia gave him a glare and then sat down. “Thanks to you we’re running out of room. It was just a contract, not a fan page needing a damn autograph, Min.”

“You know you’re easily irritated,” he mentioned and she shot him another look, jotting down the rule he sought for. After dating it, she handed it to him to initial and then thumped it down on the bedside table. He smiled and reached out for her arm. “Come on, I’ll make you happier.”

“No,” Kaia stubbornly replied, folding her arms across her bare chest firmly. “I don’t want you now.”

“What?! Aw come on Kai, it was a fair call.”

She turned away from him. “I’m no longer in the mood. Now, where is my dressing robe?”

“Are you serious right now?” he enquired and she nodded. Grumbling incoherently, Changmin flung his legs over the side of the bed and searched for his pants. Kaia continued to look for her dressing robe, finally finding it and covered her naked form before heading out to photocopy the agreement. Changmin soon joined her, sighing heavily and taking the piece of paper she held out for him.

“You can’t even dress yourself,” Kaia mused, noting his shirt was poorly buttoned. Reaching out for his top, she undid it and looked up at the tall man who was eying her lustfully. Groaning loudly, Kaia moved back into his arms, Changmin blindly making his way back to the bedroom with her attacking his lips.

Kaia could never completely forgo it, she was too addicted now.

The agreement continued in this fashion for another two weeks, Changmin even interrupting Kaia’s at home exercise session to call in for his own form of working out. With his upcoming promotion overseas in Japan, the boy had to take what little time he did have and try and fit in around her schedule. Although Kaia was enjoying the sex, and the satisfaction that came with it, she wasn’t about to forgo sleep for when Changmin wanted to meet.

“Ah, my legs hurt,” Kaia complained out loud as she climbed the last remaining steps into Korea Star’s office, lightly tapping her fists on her thighs in hopes it would ease the pain. She wasn’t sure why her legs were so tired lately, though all the meetings with Changmin had acquired a lot of running to catch buses in time. She wondered if she should join a gym to keep up with her more demanding physical routine.

“Good morning Kaia!” Keith greeted her as she walked through the door and she smiled brightly at the man, bowing lightly to those who turned to see her arrival. After she slung her bag on the back of the chair and sat down, she blinked rapidly at the takeaway cup that appeared in front of her face. Keith beamed. “Iced caramel latte is your favourite, right?”

“Yes, thank you!” She took the cup and placed the straw to her mouth, closing her eyes in delight. “You’re a godsend Keith; you don’t know how behind I was this morning!”

“You seem to be busier lately,” he observed and a second chair swivelled close to her, the dark eyes penetrating her own. Kaia swatted Sungra back, pouting lightly.

“Yes, and you won’t tell me either. I’m supposed to be your best friend!”

Kaia took another sip. “Sung, I’m not doing anything illegal, I’m just busy.”

“With?” Both Keith and Sungra stared intensely and Kaia wondered if they hoped that would make her crack.

“Writing a novel,” Kaia announced, which was actually a half-truth. They both exchanged a look and shifted back to their computers, uninterested for further details. Kaia silently cursed the fact that Changmin was a celebrity and was causing her to have so many secrets.

Settling into her work for the day, she barely noticed anything or anyone around her. A few huge projects had been offered to her by Minah and she wanted to impress her boss, hoping it would bring about the promotion she had been hinting about. By lunchtime, Kaia had barely stopped for anything and realised the latte had made its way through her system. Getting up and rushing to the bathroom, she had only entered a cubicle when the phone in her jeans’ pocket went off. Stunned that she had forgotten to put the device on mute, Kaia scrambled to fish it out of her pants before answering it.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Min, ah Max I’m in the bathroom, can I call you back?” He sighed, ending the phone call with a click. Scrunching her nose up at his rudeness, Kaia jumped as a beep went off a moment later. She opened the text and read it.

Changmin: Hey, I just found out I’m going to Japan for five days. You busy today? I want to meet up.

She quickly hit the keys to respond, asking him jokingly if all they would ever do together was sex now. She finished in the cubicle and went out to wash her hands, pulling the phone back out again as she received the next message.

Changmin: Don’t make me a deprived boy of your great company.

Kaia chuckled at his avoidance of the question, sending him back another teasing reply when the toilet behind her flushed. She turned to see Abby appear a moment later, her eyes connecting with Kaia’s before she smiled.

“Are you staying for lunch?” she asked and Kaia shook my head. “That makes two of us. I’m also meeting someone.”

“Oh I’m not meeting anyone,” she retorted, and Abby gave her another look.

“Well have a good lunchtime all the same. I’m going to head out now, see you.” The girl left and Kaia frowned, wondering why she was acting so weird towards her. Shrugging lightly, she headed back out into the work office and over to her desk where she logged her computer off.

Keith looked at her. “Please tell me you’re not bailing on Sushi Day.”

“Afraid so, an old friend has asked to meet up.”

“Who?” Sungra wondered and Kaia smiled the best she could. “Do I know her?”

“Him actually and no, he’s come up from Busan where I used to work.”

“Ah, is it Justin?” the Korean girl wondered and Kaia nodded eagerly, knowing she’d have to get in contact with the fellow British man to help cover the story. “Tell him I say hi then.”

“I will, catch you both later,” Kaia said with a wave and departed the office, hurrying out into the late summer sun. She texted Changmin as she made her way to the train station entrance a block over, slowing down when she noticed Abby up ahead. She was trying not to look around herself conspicuously as she made her way over to a dark SUV that Kaia was nearing. Watching her friend with more interest, Kaia managed to reach her just as she opened the door, climbing into the seat beside a man who she leaned in to kiss. She gaped at who she believed she saw and banged into a Korean woman, who snapped Kaia out of her reverie. Bowing in apology, she then made her way to the station in a distracted manner, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. If they weren’t, then Kaia wasn’t the only one trying to hide meetings with a famous singer.

_________________

Part 9

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