This time, Jia recognized the number. She didn't realize she had held her breath until a forceful exhale accompanied her "Hello?"
"Na Jia."
"Yes. Hi, Mr. Kim."
"What are you doing?"
She puckered her lips at the box on her desk that she had yet to unpack. Then she twirled in her chair, saying, "A whole lot of nothing. Why? Do you have another bit of gossip for me? More strangers to kiss?"
There was a beat, and Jia wanted to hit her forehead against her desk.
"Um, is everything okay?"
"Stellar. What's the point of your call, Mr. Kim?"
"Let's meet."
She sighed. "There's no point. I—"
"There's a point. I'll see you soon, Miss Na."
She stared at her phone once their call ended. "Sweet berries, he's pushy."
And like the last time, Doyoung didn't bother with a disguise. It almost looked like he donned a stage outfit: leather pants, complementary colors, thick eye makeup, stiff hair.
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He shoved off the building and drilled into her eyes. "I've been waiting."
She cast a glance to her phone, brows furrowed. "I'm on time though?"
A small smile touched his lips, and he rolled his eyes. "No, no, not that. Your article. The Dispatch dirt. I've been searching my name for a little over a week now — I'm becoming a trend search because of that alone. But there's been nothing. No photo, no article, no new meme, nothing."
She released a long sigh and leaned against the brick wall. She turned her face skyward. "I never turned it in. As far as Dispatch knows, it never happened. I, uh, even deleted the photo." She scratched her ear and avoided looking at him.
"But — why? I thought your type lived for this stuff. I mean, didn't you need it for your job?"
She couldn't stop the bitter laugh from escaping. "Right. My job. Yeah, about that — I lost it. When I told my boss you'd just wanted to meet to tell me to back off, she didn't take too kindly to that.
"Plus my track record wasn't too great. Assistant for two photoshoots. A weekly meme. I can't really blame her for firing me. I'd fire me too." She kicked at the ground.
She felt his sleeve tickle her arm and from the corner of her eye, saw him settle beside her. His lips pressed together. "I think I remember you talking about why you liked photography somewhere in your past rambles? I might not remember right, of course."
From this angle, she pondered the notion of his jawline cutting her finger like a papercut. She swallowed and looked down. "Right. I wanted to take pictures of janitors with loose change funds and socially anxious store clerks. Write their stories. But no one wants to read those sorts of things."
"Eh, I'd read it. We don't get enough of everyday superheroes."
"Thanks."
It was silent a while. And awkward. Jia kept flashing to the last time they were together — his lips didn't look as chapped now.
"Wanna get smashed?"
Jia leaped from the wall — she'd heard, "Wanna smash?" She fidgeted, warm from her toes to her hairline. "What?"
He grinned. "A drink. Wanna grab a drink?"
"Right! Right. Um, with me? Me and you? Drinking together?"
