There’s a tall and tattooed man standing on my doorstep with dark unruly hair and almond-shaped eyes. He’s dressed in all black and looks like he walked straight out of some sexy K-drama thriller.
It’s Jin, waiting on my doorstep for me to answer.
Which feels impossible as my brain short circuits and tries to make sense of it.
I’m in America.Philadelphia.
How the hell is he…? Did he really hop on a plane and follow? Why now?
My pulse kicks into overdrive, and my stomach does complicated somersaults as a moment goes by where I’m in limbo. I’m stuck as to what to do or how to react.
Jin must sense this from the other end of the door because he calls out to me.
“Monroe,” he says. “I know you’re at the door. I can almost hear your breathing.”
My hands clamp over my mouth as if there’s any hope to conceal myself and the jig isn’t up. Then I realize how ridiculous I’m being and accept that it is.
The jigisup and I have to make a decision.
Do I let Jin in or am I dedicated to keeping him in the past like I’ve told myself I am?
I’ve spent the last month trying to convince myself I’m moving on. Putting an ocean between us was step one. Settling into my new life in Philly was supposed to be step two.
Yet now that he’s turned up on my doorstep, suddenly my heart is aching as if I haven’t spent weeks—and the months before that—trying so damn hard to get over him.
Move past the tragedy our relationship turned into.
With a defeated sigh, I reach out and undo the locks. The door draws open, and we’re face-to-face for the first time since I said goodbye in his hospital room.
Immediately, I’m short on air. My skin prickles with awareness and the natural impulse I have to be in his arms.
It’s a conscious effort to resist. Remain composed and hold strong, at least on the outside.
He… looks good.
Better than the last time I saw him, though that’s probably a given considering he was fresh from his near fatal fight with Myeong-su. The bruises are long faded, and the swelling has gone down; even his shattered cheekbone is more or less back to its usual sharp angle.
His hair’s grown a little longer than usual, falling messily across his forehead even more than before.
It doesn’t occur to me until he speaks that I haven’t even bothered to invite him in.
“Monroe,” he says, “do you have a moment to talk?”
“Uh… yeah, sure. Sorry, come in. I’m just… I’m surprised to see you, and I… you know.”
He nods in understanding as I step aside and allow him entry. I stare at him as he steps into my apartment with the same smooth, confident gait he’s always possessed. The walk of a man who is lethal and knows heis, and who used to turn me on with something as simple as how he moved.
Still does.
My skin flushes as I draw another deep breath and shut the door.
“Did you… um, did you really hop on an eighteen hour flight just for a moment to speak?”
“Yes,” he answers simply.
“There’s this invention called phones, Jin. Was that really necessary?”
He stops a few feet into my living room and then pierces me with a look that makes my stomach ripple with nerves. “Yes,” he answers again. “What I have to say needs to be said in person. Face to face.”
