Just One Day│MYG ✓

[03] Shit! Shit? Shit.

It took everything within me not to panic. I only had a few irrational fears, and plunging to my death from the thirteenth floor in a broken elevator happened to be one of them. Specific, I know.

I took a few deep steadying breaths. When my heart rate lowered, I opened the emergency phone compartment and called for help. Each unanswered ring eroded my new found calm.

"Fuck." I muttered.

Reminding me that I was not alone, I heard low grumbling behind me that I could not decipher. Definitely not English. I turned around, emergency phone still pressed to my ear. The man behind me was fiddling with his iPhone, visibly annoyed. The grumbling got louder.

Finally he looked up into my eyes and I got my first proper look at his, despite the dim emergency light obscuring fine details. They looked... familiar. There was a hint of makeup I wasn't used to seeing on men. It couldn't be-

"Shit!" He exclaimed loudly.

"Shit?" I managed as a reply.

"Shit." He reaffirmed, looking down at his phone. He was holding it listlessly in front of him.

Then it dawned on me. A tall building like this would have a thick concrete elevator core. I nervously patted my non-existent pocket for my phone, already knowing that I had left it in my room but desperately hoping it would magically appear in my hand with full bars of sweet network connection. No such luck.

"No service?" I asked, hoping my fellow passenger knew more English than swear words.

It took a moment, but he shook his head in confirmation. "No."

The emergency phone continued to ring unanswered. I let it hang limply from the wall, faint ringing just barely audible in the deafening silence of our broken elevator. Time for plan b.

"Hello?!" I said loudly, turning to bang on the elevator doors. I raised my voice a bit more. "We're trapped! Help!" I continue banging.

"Help!" The man joined in, thumping his fists on the doors beside me. He had an accent for sure, but it was subtle. We continued for a few minutes, but neither of us willing to scream.

I was reluctant to let my stranded partner see me hysterical. So we continued to rhythmically hit the doors, calling for help.

I felt the initial wave of panic pass. I attempted to process the situation I was in. As far as I knew, we could be stuck there all night. It was late and it was possible nobody would hear us. I didn't know about my companion, but I was staying at the hotel alone. No one would notice I was missing for the night. Maybe the hotel staff would notice the faulty elevator right away, but I had to manage my expectations and prepare for the worst.

He stopped banging the doors first, slumping down on the floor with his back against the wall. I gave up quickly after that, losing the motivation to continue alone.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head up giving me a view of his lean neck and prominent Adam's apple. His black silky collared shirt had the top buttons left undone, exposing a sharp collarbone. My throat felt dry. He grumbled again in his native tongue. This time I was certain it was Korean.

A pale, lean, fashionable Korean who looks like he is actively trying to conceal his identity. Who the fuck could that be, Sherlock? I didn't want to believe what my eyes were perceiving. But idols don't walk around hotels without security do they? Why would he be alone? I reasoned with myself. I didn't want to get my hopes up. I didn't think my heart could handle it.

After a few minutes of silence I realized that he had the right idea. Might as well get comfy, this could be a long night. I sunk down to the floor, facing him and crossed my legs. I wish I had my phone right now. I don't even know what time it is.

I took a few more deep breaths and tried to meditate. It was something my therapist recommended that I learned to do to manage my panic attacks in the handful of sessions I could afford. Unfortunately in this case it didn't seem to help. So I did the next best thing I could think of; look for a distraction. I looked at him.

I imagined that he was extremely attractive, based on what I could see. His neck was still extended, his eyes still shut. Idol or not, he made me feel inadequate. Like I shouldn't be breathing the same stale elevator air. Speaking of air, he smelled amazing. It was probably an expensive name brand cologne that I would roll my eyes at in a department store, but I couldn't deny how unbelievably sexy the whole package was.

It was at that moment that I remembered what I was wearing. Too little, for starters, I was still cold. My makeup was almost entirely gone, save my stubborn eyeliner. That in itself was a godsend, it meant I wasn't totally barefaced, and people always complemented me on my eyes anyway. My pyjama pants were comfy but shapeless, and I was pretty sure they had gone out of style in the early 2000s. My cotton tank top was way too revealing, no curve left to the imagination. I was not worthy. My face started to heat up with embarrassment.

His eyes snapped open, catching me off guard. I was still looking directly at him. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I coughed, my heart racing and my face flushing unbearably more.

"U-uh t-time?" I stuttered, trying desperately to save face. He didn't reply right away, so I tried again. "What time is it?" I held my wrist up and tapped my non-existent watch.

"Ahh..." He responded, understanding. "It is..." He trailed off, not confident he could answer properly. Instead he held up his phone for me to see for myself. 11:30pm. I left my hotel room only thirty minutes ago. It felt like I had already been stuck in here for at least an hour when it had only been several minutes. It was going to be a very long night.