April 6, 2016,

09:55 AM,

Gare Du Nord, Paris.

      A woman in ragged clothing, her face blotched in grey and brown, looks around frantically. She is slumped over a wrapped pile of white cloth, her gaze never leaving whatever was cradled in her hand. Busy train users rush around the station, none bothers to glance at the conflicted and torn looking woman. She looks around, again, as if begging someone to stop her from what she was about to do.

      An announcement of a departing train goes off.

      Huffs and puffs and whistles of accelerating engines fill the noisy station.

      The woman disappears.

      A new born baby is left behind.

      Lee Chaerin captures it all in her camera.

      “Sign this.” Kwon Jiyong s a pile of papers on the station’s coffee shop table, startling the absent minded blogger busy with her camera’s focus. Looking back at the discarded baby from across the railways, she spots an old man observing it with keen eyes.

      She glances back at the official looking papers presented to her, raises her brows and then looks up at the poker faced rapper wrapped in a million scarfs questioningly. “We’ve already finished the sponsorship paper work.”

      “I know. Sign this too.”

      “What exactly is this?” she lets her camera sling down her neck. Taking the stapled paper in hand, she rolls her eyes as she scans the title. “Are you serious?”

      “A non-discretion Agreement.” He reads it out loud in all seriousness, “If you don’t know what it is, it highlights that whatever I do, or do not do if you want to twist my words, is not allowed to be leaked to the public or-”

      “I know what this is, I’m not an idiot.” She scowls.

      “Why do I even need to sign this?” She asks in the heat of the moment, and he opens his mouth to do whatever mouths were made to do, she shuts him up. “I’ve already signed the sponsorship agreement which had a clause on your privacy, other than the ‘Personal Privacy and Space’ agreement, the ‘Publicity and Mass Media’ agreement, the ‘Personal Safety and Measurements’ agreement, and the ‘Artist Rights’ agreement.”

      He shrugs. “Better safe than sorry.”

      “I know you made up all of these ‘legal’ papers.” She snorts, making sure to use air quotations. “They’re not even proper or common whatsoever. Do you take me for an idiot?”

      Narrowing his eyes, he rests back into his chair, folding his hands across his chest. “If you don’t like it, then forget it. No sponsorship.”

      She sighs, hearing that threat for the nth time since she had explained her reasons for needing a sponsorship that day in her hotel room. “We’ve already signed the papers. This isn’t a game, Kwon Jiyong-ssi.”

      “Exactly, this is isn’t a game.” He smirks, twirling his rings as he speaks her. “If you don’t sign these, then I won’t go with you. If I don’t go, then there won’t be any sponsorship. And without sponsorship, this dream trip of yours will remain, well, a dream.”

      “Are you blackmailing me right now?”

      “I’m not.” He pouts. “I’m just giving you a choice.”

      Her eyes widen, and falls agape, breath surges out of her nose in complete and utter shock. She was being cornered. By an idol.

      ‘Train Q58, arriving from London, has arrived at platform 12. Calling all passengers aboard, the train will depart to Brussels in five minutes.”

      “Kwon Jiyong,” she sighs, getting up on her feet and clutching her bags. “Let’s read this and sign it on the train. Let’s go now, okay?”

      “No,” he doesn’t move from his spot. She rolls her eyes again. “Sign it first.”

      “Please,” she whines, glancing back at the stopping train and then at the determined idol. Why did he have to be so damn annoying? “The train will leave, and I spent so much on this ticket. I’ll sign it in there, I promise.”

      “I’m not getting on that train.”

      She taps her leg, and bites her lips, her heart rate seemingly increasing to an inhuman speed, like the drum bands of African tribes. On the other hand, Kwon Jiyong rotates his rings around his tattooed fingers, eyes darting around, trying to spot anyone who’d seem like they recognize him. Although he’s dying to get into the train, he needs to make sure nothing goes wrong in any way possible. He bites the chewy meet on the inside of his mouth, and hopes he looks as nonchalant as he wants to come off.

      ‘Calling all passengers, the train heading to Brussels has arrived at platform 12. It will depart in one minute.’

      “Fine. Fine!” Chaerin closes her eyes shut and throws back her head, her blonde hair falling behind from its bun. She groans, and a bitter heavy flow of emotions reside in her chest. “I’ll sign it. Just give me the papers. And a pen.”

      “I have a pen.” He holds back a grin and settles for a small smile. A huge loads is taken off his shoulders. He leans over, and points with his fingers at the blank spaces, very knowing of her frustrated breaths. “Sign right there.”

      She puffs and rolls her eyes, handing him the signed papers. “Happy now?”

      “Yeah,” he nods, grabbing his own branded suitcases, stamps from all over the world on it. “Now hurry up, you’re going to get us late. I’ve heard Belgium has the best beer the world could offer.”

      Joyfully, with a not so well-hidden skip to his step, Jiyong rolls his luggage behind him as he heads to the huffing train. Chaerin looks at the back of the man, frozen, a pen between her fingers, disbelieve all over her face. What, in the name of God, has just happened?

      “Are you sure you’re not allowed to put a dose of alcohol in this coffee?” Kwon Jiyong asks a waitress, who places his order of a hot beverage with a frown on her face. Chaerin puts down her laptop screen to watch the scene unfold before her, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing at the annoying idol.

      “Yes, sir,” she answers him monotonously, annoyance at repeating herself dripping from her tone. “As I’ve told you, we’re not allowed to serve alcohol on a public train.”

      “Not even a drop?”

      “No, sir. Not even a drop.” She gives him a tight smile, “Anything else? That doesn’t involve alcoholic beverages?”

      “How about you actually do your job well once every blue moon?” he mutters in Korean, and the waitress frowns.

      “I’m sorry sir, I can’t understand you.”

      “Nothing,” He dejectedly shakes his head, a scowl spread on his lips, “Thank you”. As the woman flees away, never looking back at their table, and attending to other middle aged people, he glares at the steaming cup of black coffee. He couldn’t smoke because of the irritating red flag right across of him prohibiting it, and now they won’t even let him enjoy a shot in a ing coffee mug.

      Who can drink this ty coffee anyways?  

      Noticing his irritation, Chaerin lets out a small laugh, much to his dismay.

      He scowls: “It’s not funny.”

      “It actually is.”

      “My head hurts like a , I need a drink.”

      She chuckles. “Even the more reason not to drink.”

      “Jesus Christ,” he throws his head back onto the head rest. “Who are you? My mom?”

      “Gross, no.” she laughs, lifting the screen of her laptop up again, resuming her blog entry. “Actually, on second thought, right now I’m the closest thing to a female figure in your life.”

      He narrows his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

      “I’m just saying,” she shrugs, not holding back the triumphant smirk. “You’re stuck with me for an indefinite period of time now, until I finish this trip to Beijing. It’s just going to be the two of us, and I disapprove of your deadly habits. Basically, I will be a pain in the .”

      “Why wasn’t that highlighted in bold in the contracts we’ve signed? You fooled me?”

      “Not really. You just never bothered to stop and think about it.” She sneaks a glance at him, to see his dumbfounded expression, as if he has seen the devil. She elaborates. “I graduated with a degree in corporate law.”

      “Yet you still signed everything I put your way. What kind of corporate lawyer is that?” he scoffs.

      “The kind who knows those papers hold no actual legal power, except for the first legit one.”

      “You are the devil in disguise, aren’t you?”

      “You aren’t any better, Kwon Jiyong-ssi. We’re both using the other for our own needs – you need an escape from whatever it is, and I need the money.”

      He rolls his eyes, but not taking actual offense in whatever was done. In fact, he is finding himself enjoying those useless banter they would always find themselves in. He puckers his lips rid of the hot beverage and stops sipping on the dark bitter coffee Europeans seem to be fond of.

      Simply put, to him, it was disgusting.

      “Chaerin-ssi,” he calls her, attempting to snap her away from her keyboard. She acknowledges him with a simple hum and a slight tilt of the head towards him. It was supposed to convince him that she was concentrated on him, only he had done that dozens of times with his band members, he knew that she had no idea he was speaking to her.

      “Look at me.” He scowls, “I’m trying to talk to you, not your forehead.”

      “Hmm? What is it?”

      “Hey!”

      “What?” she whines, unwillingly tearing her eyes away from the laptop screen. “What do you want?”

      “Talk to me, I’m bored.”

      “What do you want to talk about?” she sighs.

      He shrugs, “What are you going to do in Brussels?”

      “Well,” she puts down her laptop screen. The faster she acknowledged him, the sooner she gets to finish her blogpost. “I found this amazing chocolate confectionary where they have personal chocolate making sessions. I signed up for one of the packages, a two day one.”

      He stares at her incredulously, and releases a small chortle. “That sounds boring.”

      “What?” she gasps, “It’s not boring.”

      “Yes, it is.” He rolls his eyes. “Who would want to be stuck in a two day class learning about chocolate making, when you perfectly know you’re never going to make your own chocolate? Besides, I’d rather pamper myself with Richart chocolates than have some ty handmade ones.”

      “Excuse me, not everyone is rich enough to spend over a hundred dollars on a single pound of chocolate.”

      “No one is jobless enough to make chocolates, Chaerin-ssi. Get a life.”

      “Okay then, what are you doing in Brussels, Mr. Richass pants who has a life?”

      Jiyong smirks, “I’m going to Tomorrowland.”

      That caught her attention, and her eyeliner framed eyes widen. Jiyong feels triumphant, having been able to out-run her for the first time since he’d met the blogger. He watches her lips open and close, but just as quickly as she had become flabbergasted, she holds herself together again.

      “That’s not possible,” she racks her brain for all the sensible information she could find on the topic. “The tickets were sold out a month ago, and besides, it’s held in Boom and we’re residing in Brussels.”

      He raises his brow at her denial, amused. “You’re residing in Brussels. I’ll be leaving for Boom tomorrow, the festival start the day after.”

      “But how did you even get a ticket?” Her eyes widen more, looking at him as if begging for an answer. “I racked their website day and night for days, but no one was offering their ticket up for sale.”

      “I just happened to know someone who was willing to offer me a ticket.” He shrugs, not bothering to divulge into the details that this someone was the CEO of