Present Day

YG Entertainment

From: Seunghyun Oppa

‘I’m sorry love, I’ll have to take a rain check on our dinner plan tonight. Some last minute work at the university came up.’

To: Seunghyun Oppa

‘Again? Tonight was a reschedule as well…’

From: Seunghyun Oppa

‘I know, I even got the wine you like for tonight. What can I do though? I’m really sorry. Go home safely, Okay? Don’t forget to text me.’

To: Seunghyun Oppa

‘Mm. Okay.’

      Another reservation, gone.

      Sighing, I slump my shoulders against wall in the dim dance studio. I stare at my poorly reflected image in the floor-to-ceiling mirror across the room – sitting up straight on a seemingly colourless sofa, a frown playing on my lips.

      The loud ticking clock above my head is in shades of grey, the flipped numbers in the mirror reading ten o’clock.

      He was supposed to pick me up half an hour ago. Ever since we’ve fixed the wedding date, he’d been spending more time in the office. It isn’t a big deal, for it doesn’t happen all the time; I understand, I really do. It’s his work after all.

      But I have no one else to spend my time with.

      I lift myself off the hard mattress and head towards the far corner where my bag and heels have been strayed ever since the afternoon class had started. The cold floor like spikes to by bare feet.

      My right leg is projected fully on the mirror as I bend to put on the killer shoes and sling my bag.

      An uneven scar crawls up my shin and disappears under the jean material of my shorts. Raw rosiness blends with light beige in a mask of normalcy, hoping to stitch back a new life into a dead leg, no matter how unfamiliar.

     But as long as my flats are collecting dust somewhere in my mother’s house, it will always be dead to me.

      I leave the studio dejectedly and instead of taking the elevator to the ground floor, I chose the back door staircase. That way, I’ll make it to the bus station faster and get to eat something before I get home.

      I’m starved.

      Warm air embraces me as I step into the back parking, a disgusting smell of beer and smoke fill my nose, the result of everyone going on a smoke break every second and the other. The parking spaces were still occupied. The producers usually stay here all night long, Seungri had told me someday last week during lunch.

      A white Bentley is parked at the very far corner. Kwon Jiyong is still here. I guess it is still early for them. A smile sneaks its way as I remember last Friday’s apology lunch.

      He was the second person I remember going there with. Seunghyun Oppa had always preferred high class restaurants, my mother was always working and Hye Yoon unnie was in Russia on a tour.

      The first was Daesung, a couple of months after my discharge from the hospital. He had said I would like it, and had told me to not tell Oppa and Unnie about it. Why I don’t know, but I didn’t. And I did like it – It became an instant favourite of mine.

      Honestly speaking, I don’t know why I had a sudden urge to get there. And I don’t know why it had to be Kwon. Maybe it’s the hazy dreams that have been recurring frequently these weeks – the faceless man that I can never get to see.

      The fizzy warmness in me whenever I wake up, and the painful grip of my heart.

      I shake my head.

      Hye Yoon unnie said its nothing worth thinking about.

      A loud clash echoes from my left and I flinch, holding in a scream. I can hear my heart beat against my chest, my throat drying as all thoughts about whatever dream vanishing.

      Oh my God, I should’ve left through the front lobby. What kind of an idiot wanders around in empty dark places at night? So what if I miss this bus, there must be plenty others.

      I turn around on my heels and am about to run towards the seemingly far door when a familiar loud voice bellows through the night.

      “You know I’ve tried every damn thing. It’s not my ing fault.”

       I take in a deep breath and close my eyes, a hand resting on my slowing heartbeat. What in the world is he doing here, yelling like it’s the end of the world?

       He always yells anyways, so I take that back. But seriously, can’t he tone it down?

      “Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to waste my time on it anymore. Appa won’t talk to me, Noona. Hell, he doesn’t even want to look at me.”

      I follow his voice and see the side of his body resting on a side wall of the door’s archway. His short sleeved shirt shows off his inked arm under the faint light as he lays it motionless against the wall.

      A walking heart drawn on his forearm, and a lit cigarette between his fingers.

      That is where the smell of smoke is from.

      A fact: His tattoos are attractive but his smoking isn’t.

      Even though the ring on my left ring finger reminds me that I am engaged, I can’t help but study his lazy stand.

      Another fact: His side profile is very attractive.

      “Dami. Dami.” he sighs, “Noona will you please stop? I… I can’t do this right now, I’ll talk to you some other day.”

      With that he ends the conversation and takes a long swing of his tobacco roll. Do I approach him or not? I did say I will speak to him on Monday, and in two hours, Tuesday would have already fallen on us.

      But what excuse do I have for being here and seeing him? I was eavesdropping? That would be very inappropriate. I’ll just talk to him tomorrow instead.

      I’m about to walk away when he speaks again.

      “I know you’re there.” He says in a monotone and I stiffen in place. “I heard your heels earlier, so I know it’s a female. Who are you?”

      I gulp and muster up the courage to say something back. Seungri said his temper is something no one should deal with. I pity Seungri – he has to work with him every single day.

      “It’s me,” I cough when my voice comes out hoarser than expected. He turns his head towards me immediately. “Park Sandara.”

      Dropping his cigarette on the ground, he steps on it to put the fire down and struts towards me, his hands in his pockets. He got his hair cut, his magnetic black hair now framing his face stylishly rather than falling over his eyes.

      I’ve noticed this one thing about him the first time I saw him, the speech during the company reception. His eyes are piercing, always ready to snap or glare and never missing his chance to do so.

      While Seunghyun oppa’s eyes are intense and warm, Kwon Jiyong’s are sharp and cold.

      Right now, as he makes his way to me, although his eyes are still sharp, a hint of dejection breaks through.

      Why do they look so sad? So longing?

      So… familiar?

      “What are you doing here so late at night?” he asks, his eyebrows crunching and meeting in the middle when he stops right in front