My alarm went off and begrudgingly I got out of bed. 4 am. That left me 20 minutes to get ready and 40 to get to the restaurant. I took my sweet time, for once I wasn't in a rush to get back to Le Petit. But knowing I was going to spend the morning with Hyukjae perked me up a bit. The best part? Yuri wasn't going to be there. I smiled happily to myself and threw on some straight dark blue jeans, my favorite grey beanie and a simple blue plaid shirt. I wasn't going to look like a disaster this time. I grabbed my favorite camera, a Nikon D5500 with a 144mm lens attachment. A few years old, but it still worked like a charm and with the 144mm lens I was going to get some really detailed shots in.

I grabbed my keys, a quick prayer that I wouldn't make a fool of myself for the first time and I headed out the door.

"And you just decided to tell me this now? at what? almost 5 am?"

"Yeah I understand what a contract is, but-oh wait. That's probably him. You owe me, Yuri. Yeah, yeah. Same to you."

I watched as Hyukjae spoke on the phone. His body language looked agitated and I wondered if it had anything to do with me. Certainely photography didn't scare him did it? When he looked in my direction, I waved to let him know I had arrived. The smile on his face fell instantly and I jerked back. Great. More awkardness. He opened the door, but before I could step in, he stepped out and locked it behind him.

Confused, I asked him what the deal was. After all, I was here for photography. Just photography, I had to remind myself. And try to focus on something other than the tight, tattered black jeans he was wearing or the white v-neck that hung delicately revealing his collarbones--I coughed. I sounded like a fangirl.

"Yuri didn't tell you?" He scoffed and I was taken aback by the unnecessary aggression. Although his morning deep voice was attacking me in other ways.

"Yeah." I squeaked. Amazed I even knew vocabulary anymore at this point.

"Figures. We're going to the fish market. I need to make a few orders."

"Cool." I said. Honestly my lack of conversing made the trip that much more unbearable.

"We're taking the truck." He said and I surmised that we were both terrible at conversations, or he just really did not want to engage in any topics other than fish.

He hopped into the front seat, slipped in the key and got the engine running as I quietly sat in the passenger seat. I clutched onto my camera bag as I slipped the seatbelt over myself. We both said nothing as he the radio to opera. Fortunately I recognized the song that was playing. I loved music, but my taste was as average as your everyday guy. The latest hit, whatever had a good rhythm or fit the mood.

"Nessun Dorma? Pavarotti could sing, such a shame he was gone too soon." I said and it was the truth. Seventy-one was young in the opera field, that much I knew and his voice could never be replicated.

"I guess" He shrugged, yet changed the station again. This time "Blood, Sweat and Tears" came on.

"Ooh! I love this song!" I hummed to myself and I saw his expression change again. One day I'd have to capture that on camera, he looked like someone who was expressive yet hid it. I pulled my small notebook out of my bag, jotting down a few notes. It seemed there was more to his cooking than I thought. As I was writing, he changed the station again. I wrote that down in my notebook, who knew the guy enjoyed so many different stations?

He glanced over at me then changed the station again.

"I'm only changing it because I'm trying to find something you don't enjoy."

My smile fell. I scribbled off the last sentence I wrote, angrily.

So much for my "pretend" date. Eventually he settled on a rock station playing Nell. Too bad for him, I loved the band but this time I kept it to myself.

"Anyway, how long until we get there? I want to take some great shots of the seafood."

"When we get there." He growled.

I snorted and wrote that in my little notebook.

'

"So, any particular hobbies?" I asked, pen in hand and waiting for his call.

"Cooking."

The pen cried in my hand, I was seconds from breaking it. Cooking? He was a chef, rich and famous. Surely there was more than meets the eye. Or at least internally I was begging. 

"Ok."

"Okay? You asked if I had hobbies and I replied." He responded, his grip tightening on the wheel. I could tell he was side-eyeing me, waiting for me to milk him for more but I didn't have more. He wasn't giving me the vibes of someone who wanted let alone cared to be interviewed. I shrugged, figuring I'd wait till we got to the market. 

"Are you dating anyone?" I was curious. And a little hopeful that the answer would be no. Instead, my hope was enshrouded in fear as he immediately swerved in and out of the lane. I screamed, the pen and notebook flinging from my hand as I held onto the handle of the passenger door for dear life. At that moment, my entire mind faded to darkness.

"Donghae!"

"Donghae!"

I could hear the echoes of someone calling out to me, but I felt heavy. My eyes begging to remain sealed. 

"Donghae!" 

The voice was soothing, like being craddled. 

"Donghae!"

"Donghae! Are you okay?" 

I blinked rapidly. My eyes adjusting to the sounds and sights around me. I was....still in the passenger seat, albeit a little slanted and completely uncomfortable. I shifted, fixing myself and releasing the seatbelt from its confines. I began looking for my notebook and pen, aware that I had tossed them to hell. 

"Are you okay?" A warm hand touched my shoulder and brown eyes met hazel.

Hyukjae. 

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself and instead getting lost in the comfort of those eyes. And his hand. His palm was so warm and I could feel the strength of it beneath my shirt. The hands that could make duck melt-in-my-

"I'm fine." I assured him, dusting his hand off. No need to get attached. Steady yourself, Donghae. Steady. 

"I-I think you fainted." He responded unsure. His voice was a little shaky and I realized how much I must've scared him.

"Really, I'm fine. Just, next time don't try to veer us off the road." I joked.

"I-I'm sorry. You just caught me off guard. I guess that's what journalists do."

I scoffed. "First off, I'm not a journalist. Food Photographer." I emphasized by showing off my camera bag. "Secondly, I think next time I'll ask questions when we're on steady ground. If there's anything you honestly don't want me to know, say it now."

I watched as he took a few minutes, gathering his thoughts I presumed. I wanted to know the answer to the question, but given his reaction I was sure at this point that he wasn't going to properly answer it. 

"Okay then. No questions relating to anything romantic. My personal life is not needed in any magazine. Other than that, anything food related is good to go."

I extended my hand for a handshake. "Deal then?"

He accepted it. "Deal. The fish market is two blocks away, although I'm guessing you'd rather walk at this point."

I laughed. "Walking is definitely wanted." 

We both exited the car and I followed a bit behind him. I took out my camera and snuck in a few photos of the raw, down-to-Earth Hyukjae no one really got to see. He walked calmly, but his steps were heavy. I looked around me, wondering if this were a hill yet it was flat. I snapped more photos. With each one, his shoulders looked heavier and heavier, his body language tensing and I called out to him.

"Mr. Hyukjae!"

He stopped and stared with a funny expression. "Mr. Hyukjae?" He repeated. 

"Uh yeah. You are older than me and it's more respectful." 

He frowned. "Older? You make me sound as if I'm someone's grandfather. Hyukjae is fine."

I blushed, my entire face reddening and I prayed it looked as if the spring sun kissed me rather than his words.

"Ok, Hyukjae." Calling his name, I giggled and watched as he turned around again and continued walking forward. Only this time, his steps were slightly chippier. 

"Here we are. Oksun Fish Market." 

I took a few steps back so I could capture the market in its fullness. The sign was wooden, painted white and the words painted in a dusty blue that had long faded. The market itself gave off the impression of the ancient times. Most of the surrounding area had been sold-off and became high-rises, but the market was tucked along the shoreline so hidden and faded it seemed like an artifact. 

I watched as Hyukjae danced amongst the merchants. His steps gliding effortlessly to each merchant for something different.

"Lee come here for geoduck!"

"I've got the freshest eels this side of the river, Lee!"

Every merchant seemed to know Hyukjae by heart, dozens of merchants surrounded with fish and shells of all types, but everyone called out an item that Hyukjae specifically used in his dishes. There was definitely a history between them and I noted in my brain to ask him. It would make for a very good article and give these fisherman more visitors. I could see the title blazing in my head already.

"The Great Chef Lee Hyukjae, a visitor of Oksun Fish Market" 

In my mind, I crossed out the word visitor and replaced it with lover. As Chaerin would say, using warmer words inticed people more. It sounded like an illicit relationship. You drew in readers with titles, but worded the actual article differently. It made it stand out more. When readers would search for articles about Lee Hyukjae, my titles would pop out more. It was an old trick in the media industry, but one that stood the test of time. 

I followed Hyukjae closely behind, taking shots of his interactions with different merchants and the different seafood he held in his hand. Angles made photography stand out more. It could make a distance of 2 feet, stand like 10 feet. Angles could make a flat surface appear rounded. 

At one point, the slight slant of the fish market made my angles seem flat. I looked around for something to stand on. I needed more photos. More photos meant more to choose from and Chaerin would kill me if I had less than 100 per day. She always said "a single photo tells a thousand words, but a collage tells the entire story." Eventually, I found an old milk crate and inspected it. It looked sturdy enough, no visible breakage so I placed it flat and stood on top of it. Perfect!! I crouched down, steadying the camera as I snapped photo after photo. The lighting was flawless. the sun barely peaking over the horizon and I took full advantage of it. 

I glanced down at the camera, flickering through the photos I had taken. Oh man were they good. A few more and I'd have enough to skim through and start the first page. I stood up again, anxious to get just a few more photos as Hyukjae peered closer to the merchants that were near me when a pair of hands grabbed at my ankle. I yelped in fright and toppled over. I closed my eyes bracing for the impact when I landed on a warm chest. Arms wrapped around me and steadied me onto the ground.

"Oh, Mark! You trouble maker! Get over here!" I heard a cry and feet prancing through the gravel and dirt. 

"Are you okay?"

I peeked with one eye and saw Hyukjae staring at me. I was in his arms! Frantic I tried to pull away, feeling my cheeks heating up when he pulled me back into his chest.

"Steady yourself first idiot! You're stepping on my toes!" 

I cried out and pulled myself free from his arms, holding my camera tightly in my hands. 

"That was Mark, he's 8 years old but hell of a handful. You could've gotten hurt." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No, thank you for saving me." I whispered, I stared at the ground. I knew if I looked up, I'd melt in his arms.

"Good, cause my toes are and you're welcome. Anyway I came over here to tell you I was ready to leave, but it seems I got more than that."

He started walking out of the market and I followed behind, my footsteps echoing his. I was grateful he had saved me, but once again luck wasn't on my side. I counted on my hand how many mistakes I had made these past two days and sure enough they were adding up. 

"SEVEN!?" I shouted and Hyukjae stopped. 

"Ah I-I mean. Um."

"Whatever." He shrugged and continued walking. 

So much for progress. Life: 7. Me: 0