I pad out of Jyeon’s bathroom and into his bedroom, where he’s stretched out on the massive bed with one arm over his face after showering. I, too, have showered and dried my hair. I’m dressed in the spare clothes I brought with me, feeling a little less emotionally overwrought after taking some time to concentrate on a nothing task. My recovery capabilities these past two years have become almost superhuman.
It's not even noon yet, but the shades in his penthouse apartment are closed to block the world out, and we agreed we both needed some downtime to process the craziness of the past couple of days. To stay here for the day, sleep, eat, talk. Greta agreed we should do this after I told her everything on the phone when I got out of the shower and cried a lot. It was surreal and painful
