Miscommunication Part 12

The smile on Junsu’s face when he comes into the penthouse is forced. It’s only been a couple of weeks but you not only can see it, you can feel it. Your curious as to what changed in the last twenty minutes but decide you really don’t want to know.

He comes over to sit down, “It looks good. I picked well didn’t I?”

You have no problem feeding him compliments when they are justly deserved. “Yes, you really did.” You both fill a portion of your plates and start eating. The only sound for a little bit is that of the mm’s and ah’s as different foods are tasted and swallowed.

“I will definitely order from here again,” he states as he goes back for seconds, having tried everything first. “Or maybe, I go there, what you think?”

His question leaves you drawing a blank, why would you care if he goes to the restaurant sometime in the future? He ordered it for you now and it is fabulous, sure, he should totally go there if he ever gets the time.

“Um, sure. I’m sure they’d love to have a famous idol show up, it’s a great endorsement.” You still haven’t become accustomed to not drinking anything while eating. You nervously grab your glass and try not to gulp the cold liquid. Why does that question make you nervous and why is he staring at you like that?

He puts another bite of food in his mouth, his eyes never leaving your face. Abruptly he puts down his chopsticks, “Good. We’ll plan when later.” He gets up and gets a drink out of the fridge. Doing so he totally missed the derpy fan girl look on your face, thank heavens.

You have about a month left of your contract. You hadn’t thought of having to stay here the entire time. Granted you were becoming spoiled, especially with his presence the past week. But you weren’t stupid; you knew that was coming to an end starting the next night with Opening Night. Your time together had been a total coincidence; more honestly, a messed up piece of fate. You don’t know how long the musical will run but you know he always has something in the works, spare time a rarity.

You suddenly can’t concentrate on food anymore. You begin to clean up your place but he stops you, “Is there a drama tonight?”

Everything from the day flashes in front of your eyes. The flowers, the notes, not being told anything by the guards, the food, the performance, the pictures, and especially the skinship. Everything suddenly hits you and you would have fallen if he didn’t have a hold of your arm.

“Are you ill? Sit down,” he starts as he takes the dishes from you and sits you back down.

Your embarrassed at your lack of control over your emotions, “Sorry, I’m fine,” you smile. “Really. I think I’ll just go exercise, get rid of the stress from the day.”

“If you wish,” he says while still examining your face like a bug under a microscope.

You stand to remove the dishes again but he stops you, “I will do, go.”

You nod and bow, then head out the door to the practice room.

An hour later you return to the penthouse. You’re too tired to care about mixed signals; you just want a shower and to head to bed. He isn’t anywhere in the penthouse that you can see. With a relieved sigh you head to the guest room. As you approach you hear faint strains of a piano. You cross the hall to the master bedroom, the only room that wasn’t included on your tour. The only room you were curious about but had left alone to respect his privacy. As you stand by the door, the music grows a little louder. It starts and stops, little parts worked over, everything telling you that he is seated at a piano. He restarts the song and you unabashedly lean against the door. It stops in what seems like the middle and you realize he isn’t just playing, he is composing. You smile, run your hand down the door and head back to your room.

You have an early morning meeting at the office and will be gone well before he is up and moving. He was up late composing. The haunting melody could be heard through the walls in the silence of the night. It had lulled you to sleep.

Half way through your meeting, your phone buzzes with a text.

Junsu: You left early. All okay?

You: Yes, I had a meeting. Hope I didn’t disturb you.

Junsu: No. I had hoped to have breakfast with you. Didn’t hear you come back.

You: I didn’t want to bother you when I returned, you were composing.

Junsu: You heard? What your thoughts?

You: It was beautiful, lulled me to sleep. Should be another hit for you.

Junsu: Not for release, glad you enjoyed. Good luck with meeting. Tell me if problem. Make sure you eat.

You: Yes sir. You respond with a shake of your head and a smile.

The director of the meeting turns to you just as you close your phone. “Is there anything we need to add?” You take over your part of the meeting, going over details that have been missed and explaining items that need more detail.

Around 5 o’clock your phone starts to buzz again.

Junsu: Didn’t hear,was a good day?

You: Yes thank you and you?

Junsu: Very productive thank you. Did you eat?

You laugh and roll your eyes, You: Yes, there was a luncheon. Did you?

Junsu: Yes same.

You: Break a leg tonight or as you say Fighting!

Junsu: Thank you.

The week and weekend followed the pattern of that day. One or both of you left before the other; then text messages came in the morning and at the end of the work day. No other flowers or messages had arrived, you were feeling very fortunate. Sunday morning dawned early; you awoke to the smell of bacon. Bacon? In Korea? You doubt it tastes like American Bacon but it definitely smells like it. This must be some sort of really great dream and try to roll over and finish it. Nope, you aren’t asleep and the smell hasn’t gone anywhere. You climb out of bed to see what magic has conjured your favorite American breakfast food.


Older KPOP'er, Music Fanatic, Writer
4.7 Star App Store Review!
The Communities are great you rarely see anyone get in to an argument :)
Love Love LOVE

Select Collections