For the umpteenth time, she startles; wincing as his fingers cause her locks to fall astray, hanging past her face, his words barely registering at all. Yoobi watches his retreating figure with her voice caught in , a sniffle pulling her out of her reverie a few moments too slow. Soft hands come away from the broken device in her hands to wipe a sleeve over her teary eyes, gaze clearing enough for her to deduce that the once-irate stranger had just vanished into a high-end fitness centre of some sort (read: someplace that wasn't her scene at all.). For a few brief moments, she’s pacing the sidewalk with hesitant steps - going one way, and then back: utterly consumed by inner turmoil. Before long her decision is made with hurried steps down the street and a working phone clamped in between fingers and thumbs, already appealing to a certain Doctor Lee that her allowance for the month could use a little aid.

Yoobi returns to the crime scene(like a criminal with a conscience) with a handful of expenses added to her credit card bill and a brand new phone, hands encompassing the package as if her life depended on it. The front interior of the gym was impeccably white in a way that reminded her of hospitals, fearing every footstep made across the space would leave traces of dirt in her wake. Her loafers tap restlessly upon marble tiles as she sat perched on one of the couches that filled the space surrounding the front desk, sat patient after inquiring of a male with blond hair and cat-like eyes(and a split-second grin she swears reeked of evil.), missing a phone and quite possibly a few marbles. She only hopes he hadn’t up and left yet, and this was all for naught.