Author's Note: The turning point…

Ten
Nothing goes as planned, everything will break
People say goodbye in their own special way
Oh you're in my veins and I cannot get you out
Oh you're all I taste at night inside of my mouth

Thirty-three hours.

The last time she saw him was thirty-three hours ago. They were in Niels Hoffman's office at the academy, and he hadn't said a single word directly to her. For a man who is honest to a fault, Ri Jeong-hyeok is remarkably adept at pretense, especially when he's intent on protecting her. He can be indifferent, his eyes hard as flint, betraying no emotion. Her mind understands it well enough, but her heart irrationally hurts at his ability to shut her out.

Thirty-three hours.

It isn't such a long time, she muses. She spent the last three years pining for him. That's more than twenty-six thousand hours without him, without knowing anything about his life or if she would ever see him again. Still, somehow these thirty-three feel longer, fraught with uncertainty and the unexpected pain of having the promise of five more days with him bleed away slowly, without him. They're down to just under four days now, and her stomach roils with desperation. He's not here yet, and she hasn't heard from him since yesterday evening, when he sent her a terse message that he was on calls with North Korean authorities. It was the first night they spent apart since their reunion last week.

It's Tuesday afternoon, and she can't stop obsessing over time and numbers. She's not sure whether this profound emptiness is her missing him or her fear of another never-ending separation. This one, she knows, will be infinitely harder. The first time around she hadn't known the feel of Jeong-hyeok's mouth on every part of her body. She hadn't been privy to the way his full lips part on a sharp breath as he succumbs to pleasure. She hadn't learned the practiced patience and finesse of his strong hands and those capable pianist fingers. She hadn't loved him as deeply, as intimately.

A shuffle across the room pulls her back to the present.

"Do my parents know?" Park Min-ji asks from the antique, wooden rocking chair in the corner of the living room. The small one-bedroom corner unit on the third floor of a six-story building in Beatenberg doesn't get much of the afternoon sun, and the furniture it came with is shabby at best. One of Mister Kim's men had paid for it in cash yesterday. Min-ji treats it like a luxurious mansion or like her vessel to freedom. Either way, Se-ri finds it strangely endearing, and she came here this afternoon – against Ri Jeong-hyeok's advice – to check in on their unlikely charge. Despite everything, she's glad she decided to help Min-ji. The violinist is brimming with so much hope for her new life that she can hardly contain herself. The energy is almost contagious.

"Not yet, I don't think so," Se-ri answers finally. Somehow the long silences between them stretch comfortably, almost like they're kindred spirits, caught in the same chaotic maelstrom. "They'll probably find out by Thursday. The authorities start to lose hope of finding missing persons after seventy-two hours."

Min-ji nods, and for a moment, she looks crestfallen. "We're four girls," she says, as if that should make her disappearance less devastating for her parents. She tugs the sleeves of her black sweater over her hands, and it makes her seem so much younger. "I'm the second eldest. Middle children always get a little bit lost in the madness."

She hums an acknowledgment. "I'm sure they'll still mourn and miss you terribly." Ri Jeong-hyeok had assumed the same about her family when they'd first met. He'd been right – at least partially.

"Eomoni will be the saddest," she murmurs, tears welling in her eyes. She rubs them away roughly and looks outside the small window. There isn't much to see beyond the building across the street, so it only takes her a few seconds to come back to the room. "Do you have siblings? Are you the youngest?" she deflects.

"I have two brothers. I'm the youngest." And the bastard. But that's not something Park Min-ji needs to know.

The young woman studies Se-ri thoughtfully. "I didn't think you'd be nice," she admits.

Quirking an eyebrow in question, Se-ri leans back into the brown leather couch. "Why not?" she asks curiously.

"You're beautiful and rich. You have everything. You don't need to be nice."

"That's a strange way to see the world. Technically, nobody needs to be nice. It's just the right thing to be, and it feels good. No matter how they seem to you, everybody has their own private struggle. Knowing that and remembering it makes it easy to be nice," she says and meets Min-ji's riveted stare. "And nobody has everything."

There's another silence, albeit a laden one, and Min-ji's clever gaze sees too much. "How long have you known him?"

She doesn't have to ask who he is, and indulging in this conversation has proven to be the distraction she needs to keep her from worrying about the man in question. "Just over three years." It's also how long she's loved him, how long she's wanted him, how long she's been thinking about him.

Min-ji doesn't ask anymore questions as she stares down at the worn, ear-marked copy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. "He's the best person I've ever met," she says of Ri Jeong-hyeok, without looking up from her book.

Yoon Se-ri finds herself smiling. "Yeah, me too," she agrees.

"He can be very tough, but you can tell it's because he cares too much."

It's an astute observation by someone who's watched him closely and whose maturity belies her age. "Is that why you developed feelings for him?"

She flushes hot red, not as intensely as that day in the hotel room, but enough for the color to tinge her ears. Even the poor lighting can't hide her embarrassment. "It was just a stupid crush," she mutters, but she can't quite meet Se-ri's gaze. "I'm over it," she promises.

Ah, to move on so quickly, young love. "I'm not upset," Se-ri says truthfully. "You didn't know."

Min-ji clears her throat but grasps at the graceful reprieve. "No, I didn't. Now that I do, I would never…" she heaves in a deep breath. "The two of you look great together," she reflects. "How did you fall in love with him?"

Slowly until he kissed me, and it was suddenly sharp, and then he had a fiancé until he kissed me again. She was too far gone after that. "I was broken, and he put me back together without meaning to," she says instead.

It leaves her companion pondering and then curious, invested in their impossible love. "How do you make things work?" she wonders out loud.

They don't. "Fate has a strange way of bringing us together."

Min-ji scoffs, indignant on their behalf. "That's not a plan!" she protests. "It's crazy."

"I guess Jane Austen was right: we are all fools in love."

That subdues the younger woman, and she hugs her worn book to her chest. "You've read this?"

Se-ri inclines her head in a brief nod. "It's a classic."

"It makes love sound so beautiful," she says longingly.

"It is – beautiful, painful and everything in between."

They're quiet for a few minutes after that, and Se-ri checks her phone when it buzzes. It's a message from Niels; she has to head back to the academy for the evening performances. They're selecting the closing act for Friday's final show, and Ri Jeong-hyeok was put forward as a contender last week. He will be auditioning tonight. Her heart flutters. She gets up and grabs her purse in one swift movement.

"Ms. Yoon, thank you," Min-ji says quickly, feelingly. "I can't remember if I thanked you, but I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me. And thank you for… being my friend." She comes to her feet, the novel cast aside for later.

With a gentle smile, Se-ri lays a hand on the young woman's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "You're welcome. I'm sure it's the beginning of a wild and precious life."

At the academy, her skin crawls with awareness.

She knows he's here; she can feel his presence, an electric current in the air that makes everything more vivid. From where he sits to her right, Niels tries to engage her in conversation, but her mind is elsewhere, and he can tell that her absent nods and monosyllabic responses are dismissals. He asks her if she's okay, and she brushes him off as they sit through four performances – a saxophonist, a flutist, a pianist and a celloist – before Ri Jeong-hyeok is up on the schedule.

Something funny happens to her heart when he emerges from backstage. It skips one or two beats and somersaults recklessly into her ribs. He looks so well put-together in a pressed navy shirt and perfectly tailored white slacks, his dark hair slicked back and to the side. The color contrast is stark, beautiful, and she instantly wants to unravel him, to strip away the formality and rewind the hours that they were apart. The effortless smile he flashes at the crowd stings like a pinch of betrayal, as if she expected him to be somewhere else, under duress, where it's physically impossible for him to contact her. His eyes fleetingly touch on hers as he lowers himself to the bench before the grand piano. Those ten milliseconds make the past thirty-four hours melt away into nothingness.

It's almost unfair, this magnetic power he has over her.

"I've heard good things about him," Niels tells her obliviously as Ri Jeong-hyeok is introduced to the panel.

She ignores him, watches Jeong-hyeok lay his long, graceful fingers against the keys with reverence, heave forward and begin to flow over the piano with the beginnings of a lulling, familiar song.

"Wow, that's a political statement," Niels remarks. "He's playing River Flows in Youby Yiruma, a South Korean composer."

Yoon Se-ri is well aware of Yiruma. She's seen him perform live twice in Seoul. He's a phenomenal artist, but she's never been this moved by one of his compositions. Jeong-hyeok's interpretation leaves no room for doubt that River Flows in You is a love song.

The music starts sweet and slow, a courtship, late night conversations at his house in the village, shared homemade noodles, that first cup of coffee, bicycle rides in the dark, scented candles, clams and soju. As the song progresses, it becomes stronger, more passionate, and they're in Pyongyang at the hotel. He's jealous and protective, sometimes aloof, fighting his own fall. The crescendo climbs, and they're at the hospital. He's kissing her under the rain, finding her in Gu Seung-jun's hideaway, shivering in her arms at the school and then finally giving her glimpses of his life at his parent's house.

It summons all those erratic skipped heartbeats, the butterflies in her stomach, the nervous energy of his presence. It's like falling asleep under a blanket of liquid sunshine, but also like walking alone through the first snow of the season, equal parts warm and desolate. The melody winds down, quiets into a moment of realization, that crossing of the border, that goodbye kiss – an unspoken confession of love. The tempo is soft and gentle, and it makes her wonder how they hadn't realized that all these moments strung together are the journey to their falling in love.

When it's over, the silence is awed and he lowers his head for a few seconds, as if he, too, is moved by the intensity of the emotion. Thundering applause brings him to his feet, and he takes a courteous bow, a brief movement that punctuates his presence, before he quickly strides to backstage, out of sight.

"Are you crying?" Niels' voice startles her, and his face is contorted with concern as he looks at her.

Se-ri lifts her hands to her cheeks and brushes away the unexpected moisture. She doesn't know when she started crying. "It was just a really beautiful piece," she sniffles, dabs at the corners of her eyes.

He nods dubiously. "He played it phenomenally," he agrees.

"He did."

She's saved by the introduction of a Kenyan violinist. There's another eight performances that she listens to, but they all pale in comparison to the barrage of bittersweet memories wrought by Jeong-hyeok's performance. She doesn't see him again for the rest of the auditions. When the last pianist concludes his rendition of Beethoven's Für Elise, she casts her vote and leaves before she can get pulled into a myriad of discussions about the program's future and this Friday's closing ceremony.

It's just past eight when she arrives at the Victoria Jungfrau.

She walks into her suite, and he's just there, lying down on the couch, socked feet crossed at the ankles, like it's the most natural thing in the world. He pulls himself up into a half-seated position, flashes a smile at her that's half-sadness, half-tenderness, and she can't help but return it. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving them alone in their sanctuary.

"Thirty-six hours," she says to him.

He looks at her long and hard, wordless, but a thousand different emotions flit across his face. One of them makes him get off the couch and come to her, where she's still standing by the door. He stops a few inches away from walking into her, so close that she can breathe in the scent of him without trying to. It's the smell of home, of Ri Jeong-hyeok, a touch of cologne, soap, cool mountain air and new books. She wants to hold it in her lungs for eternity. When he lifts his hand and grazes her cheek with the backs of his knuckles, she closes her eyes, draws in a tremulous breath.

"You don't fight fair either." It's a soft accusation, and she sounds a little breathless, wanton. It scares her, how effortlessly he unravels her.

"We're not fighting," he murmurs, cleverly playing her words back at her.

The corner of her smile pushes into the sweep of his thumb, and whatever bone she's been itching to pick with him gets tossed away in the haze of his presence. "What happened?" she asks, covers his fingers with her own and threads them together to brush a kiss to his knuckles.

"Investigations," he sighs, steps into her personal space like it's his own. He wraps his free arm around her, tucking her against him. "When the incident was reported to North Korean authorities, two special agents who are deployed in Geneva came here yesterday and spent the whole day grilling me. I couldn't come to you because I was sure they'd follow me. I had to lay low," he explains. "They're suspecting foul play, but not from the team. They left earlier today. I think we're safe."

She nods thoughtfully against his shoulder, and she's vaguely aware of how she's completely melted into him. "And the local authorities?"

"They're treating it like a regular kidnapping, without political motive."

"That's a good thing," she confirms, pulling back to look at the tense set of his jaw.

"It's a good thing, but things back home are not looking so good," he says. "Park Min-ji's disappearance has been escalated to the State Security Department, and it's being viewed as a national attack."

He doesn't have to say he's worried for her to read between the lines. "But none of you is suspected," she prods.

"No – no, it's not dangerous in that way," Jeong-hyeok reassures her. "It could just make things more bureaucratic, with travel and programs." He looks away for a few seconds, and when his eyes drift back to hers, they're stripped of all those worries, lit with plain longing.

That look makes her bite her lower lip wistfully, but despite the sudden all-consuming sexual tension, she keeps her voice steady. "More bureaucratic is alright. I'm sure it won't last long."

He shrugs the broad set of his shoulders under the soft material of his navy shirt, and his arm around her waist tightens. "I hope she's worth it." The hard edge to his voice is unsettling, and she finds herself rising to Min-ji's defense.

"She's a good girl."

He lifts one suspicious eyebrow. "You went to see her today," he realizes, and when she doesn't deny it, his other arm comes around her waist, too, holding her tight against him, their faces now inches apart. She's surrounded by him, pinned by his doting, adoring gaze. "You're softer than you'll let anyone believe," he tells her. Every bone in her body wants to deny that statement. Fierce self-preservation rears its unruly head, fumbles for control, but Ri Jeong-hyeok brushes his lips across hers, his palm cradling her jaw to hold her in place for the sweet, tantalizing press of his mouth to hers. It draws her in again and again, until she's dizzy with the taste of him, all her defenses crumbling and forgotten. She fleetingly grazes his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, and he trails his fingers down her spine, over her tailbone and lower, squeezing her butt cheek as he presses her into him, her pelvis grinding against the hard length of him. She can't hold in a moan at the delectable pressure and he swallows the sound into his mouth. His tongue slides inside, tangles with hers as he kisses her, deep and hot. Heat rushes through her body, pools low and wet, her hands digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders and oh wow, she's missed this. It's only been a day and a half, but she's been aching for his kiss.

He pushes off her tan tweed blazer, and it shuffles to the ground, oversized buttons clattering. His lips skim the line of her jaw, find her earlobe and suck as he unfastens and lowers her skin-tight jeans. Her panties go down with it to pool at her feet. She kicks off her short boots, pulls her feet free of the denim and steps into him. In the brightly lit living room, Ri Jeong-hyeok's eyes are shards of obsidian, unreadable but hungry for her – uncharacteristically impatient. He takes her sleeveless blouse off almost roughly and it lands to their side in a tuft of flamingo-colored silk. Her bra quickly joins the growing heap of clothing, and when she's stripped bare, he stares at her like he wants to burn the shape of her into his mind.

She reaches for his shirt, fingertips smoothing over the round edges of that top button, but he stops her with his hand on hers.

"You're a little overdressed."

"Bed first," he growls into her ear before bending down to hook one arm behind her knees and lift her into his arms.

She gasps, wraps her arms around his neck for balance. "I can walk," she protests.

"Walking is boring." His grin is devastating, dimpled, and she never knows quite what to do with a playful Jeong-hyeok. She kisses his cheeks and chin as he strides into the bedroom, lowers her to the bed and steps away for a minute. Her protests are met by a winded chuckle, and it only takes him a minute to come back to bed. He lies down on his side next to her, facing her, naked and deliciously aroused. The bedroom is darker, lit only by the warm glow filtering in through the doorway from the living room, and it's easier to stare at him in the relative safety of shadows.

He leans close, lips ghosting over her ear for a second, and her eyes slam shut, helpless, caught. "How did the auditions go?" he husks conversationally, kisses her neck, nips her earlobe and if she didn't feel the rapid rush of his breath from his lungs, she'd worry that he's unaffected, still able to think, his voice so steady while she's putty in his arms.

"The auditions – oh…" she gasps at the touch of his hand cupping her between her legs. She can feel him hold his breath as he gently, delicately strokes the tangle of nerves at her core.

"How were they?" he prods, traces a firm circle around her clit with the pad of his thumb.

"Jeong-hyeok-ah…"

"Hm?" Another circle, featherlight.

"Good, yours…" He rolls the nub of flesh between his thumb and forefinger, and she sucks in a sharp breath, loses her words. He stops. "Yours was the best," she sighs, swallows, releases a shaky breath, and he smiles at her for a moment, but it's just that.

"Se-ri, Se-ri, Se-ri," her name is like a prayer on his lips, so filled with want that it slices right into her middle, deep and sizzling, his words a heated murmur over her neck, along her shoulder as his mouth nuzzles wetly over her bare skin. He kneads her breast, plays his thumb across her nipple, over and over, tweaks the swollen peak and she bows her back, needing more of his fiery touch. Less talking, more touching, more skin and heat. She doesn't care about time anymore, not when he's here with her, like this.

His hands curve over both her breasts now, play her with such skill that she can barely breathe, can only gasp and need. He kisses along her throat, suckles on her skin and her hips lift off the mattress, undulate into his pelvis where he nudges against her, thick and aroused, leaving her center pulsating, rushing with hot wet desire.

"Turn around," he rasps.

Desire curls sharply in the pit of her belly when his heated gaze finds hers. With implicit, absolute trust, she rolls onto her stomach, follows the guidance of his warm touch as he pulls her knees up until she's bent forward on her forearms, propped up by her knees, her backside sticking into the air, vulnerable, exposed.

He mutters unintelligible words – supplications or curses – and his fingers slide purposefully over the side of her hip, the curve of her ass, dip between her spread thighs from behind opening her wider. He strokes between her folds, finally, a dark moan bursting from her throat, mingling with a desperate groan from his lips as he finds her swollen flesh, her body so wet and ready. He slips his thumb inside her, two fingers pressed to her clit, sandwiching the throbbing nerves, nudging his pelvis against her with every stroke of his fingers. It feels so intense when she can't see him. She trembles, her muscles clenching around his hand, sensations tingling through her insides like sparks of fireworks, bright and sizzling. He works her faster, and her own fingers claw at the sheets around her, her voice muffled by the pillow that half her face is pressed into. When she cries out, a desperate wanton plea, the neediness of the sound is unmistakable, and she doesn't care that she's begging, only cares that it is him who's touching her. Her skin feels fuzzy, an out-of-body experience that's hard to explain or even understand. She circles her hips, pelvis rubbing against the pressure of his fingers, blood rushing in her ears, and she needs more, more.

"I need you," she moans, so close to the brink, aching to feel him inside her. Se-ri loosens her grip on the sheets, reaches behind her, finding him against the back of her thigh, palming the large, throbbing bulge. "Please."

He pulls his fingers away with a grunt and she whimpers at the acute loss, feels it keenly as want rages through her like a storm. There is a moment of absolute stillness, their bodies poised for consummation, their harsh breathing the only sound that reverberates through the room, and Se-ri feels as if her heart is going to leap out of her chest at any moment. She's mindless with desire, the heated coil of tension that curls in her middle, unfurls in her veins, and then his fingers dig into her sharp hipbones, and he slides into her, slow and deep. God, he feels so deep that way.

She makes a keening noise and Jeong-hyeok stills, seems to forget how to breathe as he gives her time to adjust to the intrusion but nothing, nothing has ever felt this good, this right and she clenches, flutters around him instinctively. How can she live without this? Without him?

"Jeong-hyeok," she whispers his name, caresses the syllables with her voice, every part of her filled with him, drunk with the promise of pleasure. He pulls out almost entirely, slides back in, grazing along all her nerve endings that lie heightened and open in this position. He repeats the move, her hips following the rhythm, his pelvis slamming back into her, faster now, deeper as she meets him stroke for stroke.

She can't help the stutter of gasps and cries from her lips, feels the answering sounds that rumble through his chest, his voice raw, and she undulates her hips, circles into him, urging him to move, to go harder, faster.

He strokes a hand up her back, curves his palm over her shoulder, his caress a tender contrast to the hard slam of his body into hers. She welcomes the deep strokes, filled to the brim with him, her nerves on fire, her muscles tightening, and he slips a hand around to her stomach, slides his fingers down over her slippery, swollen nerves, pressing, adding counter pressure to the sharp, intense stimulation inside of her.

He groans her name, his pelvis grinding into her hips, movements more abrupt, sloppy as he brings her closer, closer. And when his other hand finds her breast, fondles it, tugs at her nipple hard, she comes on a long, breathy moan, the spread of fire scorching from her middle out into her limbs. She shakes with pleasure, brightness flaring behind her closed eyelids, and Jeong-hyeok thrusts into her a half a dozen more times before he breaks, following her into oblivion with a loud groan of release. She collapses flat onto the mattress and he follows, draped over her back and ass, still inside her, heavy and unmoving.

She doesn't know how long it is before she feels the gentle rub of his chin on her shoulder, mouth soft against the moist skin of her neck, and he shifts away, slides off her, turns her in his arms until he can see her face. Her body twinges, sore in all the good places and for the first time in thirty-six hours, she feels like she's washed onto shore. His eyes bore into her, and they say a million unspoken things, like he too has finally found solid ground again, and he can breathe.

"I voted for you," she murmurs with a small, private smile.

He breaks into a full smile, a flash of white teeth, deep dimples and amused crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "You might be a little biased," he teases.

"Never – I'm very," she pauses, kisses his smile because she can't resist. "Very objective," she continues, lips wandering down his chin.

"Did you really like it?" he asks softly, suddenly serious, vulnerable.

She pulls back, searches his gaze and nods. "Yes, I really did. It made me cry," she confesses.

His fingertip traces down her cheek, following a phantom tear. "I played it for you. It reminds me of us."

"It felt like falling in love with you all over again."

Jeong-hyeok kisses her, and it's slow, emotional, and it makes her heart twist around her lungs. "When I'm not with you, it feels like a part of me is missing." She doesn't know where that comes from, but his next kiss turns frantic, out of control. He inhales all her questions, and for the rest of the night, their only words are love and want and please.

She sleeps in past her alarm the next morning. Sunshine streaks in from the living room to the foot of the bed, and everything is eerily quiet. There's a knot in her stomach that won't let up, and when she turns to his side of the bed, he's not there, but his phone is sitting innocuously on his pillow, pinning a hand-written piece of paper.

She sits up with an abrupt speed that belies the hour, the sheets falling to her waist as she picks up the paper, stares at the words, but it's too dark. She twists to the side, flicks on her bedside lamp.

Se-ri,

I love you. I'm sorry. I wish I had better words to say to you. You deserve better. You deserve the world.

By the time you see this, I'll be on the morning flight to Pyongyang. I couldn't bear to tell you last night. Everything happened so quickly. There are so many things I wish we could have done together, so many things I would have liked to give you before we left. Although time has not been kind, these were the best ten days of my life. I leave you with a photo of the first time I found you, and the recordings and messages on this phone – until I find you again.

Love,

Ri Jeong-hyeok

Sobs rack her body as she rocks back and forth, tracing the handwritten, neatly stacked letters with her fingertips, reading them over and over again. She barely registers the glossy photograph of her profile, looking over the railing of Sigriswil's panorama bridge. His words are too little, too rushed, and this crushing grief is too much to hold inside. A sound of anguish rips from her chest, and when her phone buzzes, she grasps for it with the unrealistic hope that he's changed his mind. Maybe he'll come back.

But it's a text from Niels that delivers the final blow.

NH: The North Korean team pulled out of the program. They won't be sending their team next year either. Let's discuss.

He's gone. He's really gone, without warning, without a goodbye. The pain when it washes over her is intrusive, penetrating, suffocating – so much so, that just as quickly as it comes, the numbness sets in, and she starts to feel nothing at all.

A/N: Reviews are love x