I will warn you, I have not checked this for errors. Thank you for being patient with a writer moving quickly through a story, and thank you for reading. <3

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He could remember the first time he had seen Daesung. It had been a burning May morning: Heat rose off the pavement in uncertain waves as pedestrians scurried from shadow to shadow in hopes of avoiding the piercing sunlight. Jiyong was on his way to his last final of the semester - biology - when the brassy sound of laughter had drawn his attention. Turning had been a mistake. Or a blessing. He still was not certain which, even after so long. But there sitting in the middle of the large fountain in front of the student center had been a brunette - soaking wet and smiling so widely that half his face seemed to disappear in the expression.

Drunk or lost it because of stress, Jiyong thought, not paying the younger man any more attention. Instead, his mind flooded with cell walls and neurons and Yersinia Pestis.

If it had ended there, perhaps Jiyong’s heart would have been whole. Or, perhaps, it never would have been complete to begin with. It had been Youngbae, with his easy smile and invitation to come celebrate the end of finals that had been the banshee cry foreshadowing what was to come. Arriving at the stocky dancer’s house that evening, Jiyong was surprised to find a rather cozy dinner party rather than the rager he'd anticipated. Youngbae even met him at the door wearing an apron, like he was some homemaker from an old American movie. “Glad you could still make it,” the man had teased, tugging Jiyong inside. Jiyong sometimes had an awful habit of cancelling or getting too caught up in his work, which made it a special occasion whenever he emerged from his one-bedroom lair.

Jiyong scoffed, brushing his bubblegum pink bangs out of his eyes. “I'm not a complete loser,” he groused.

“Just most of one,” Youngbae chirped. “Why don't you go lurk in the living room? Still waiting on one or two more people, depending on if the Seungs decide to be seen in public today.”

“At least I'm not as bad as those two,” Ji mumbled under his breath. While Youngbae scurried back into the kitchen, the man stepped into the living room. It was a bit like moving into a masterpiece, Jiyong thought. He had redesigned the space for Youngbae last year as part of his interior design final project; he'd gotten a near perfect A in the class for a reason. Everything in the space from the clean lines of the couch to the splashes of black and gold around the room screamed modernity, restraint, and understated elegance. Well, almost everything. From the middle part in his hair to the garish silken leopard-print shirt, the man seated on the stiff edge of the pristine couch was an absolute disaster to look at. He had even come wearing baggy jeans that were so thin in the knees that Jiyong could almost see a freckle on the curve of one kneecap. Internally, Jiyong shuddered. And there was something about the man’s bronze face that seemed familiar - like something he had glanced in the reflection of a dream. “Hello,” a bright voice interrupted his thoughts. Jiyong blinked, returning his gaze to the man in front of him. “I'm Daesung.” Rising, the fashion terrorist offered Jiyong a hand to shake.

“Jiyong,” he supplied in return, trying to seem as aloof and cold as he wanted to be.

“I know.” At Jiyong's gaping look of surprised, a distinctly brassy laugh slid out the other man’s large, hooked nose. “Youngbae has told me all about you. Said you're doing a duel designer major, right? Fashion and interior?”

Gingerly, Jiyong inclined his head. “That's right. I'm afraid I can't return the favor and say I have heard him speak of you.”

“Yes I have,” Jiyong called from the kitchen. “He's in my vocal performance cohort, remember? The one whose voice you liked on that one track?”

One of Jiyong’s hands flew of cover his mouth as he realized who he was speaking to. Daesung was not only a beautiful singer, but he was also the one Youngbae shared a YouTube channel with. They'd trade off posting covers of songs and even occasionally putting up original stuff. The duo had something of a rabid following. “Oh.” Jiyong was obviously not among the worshipful throng. “I, uh -”

“It's alright,” Daesung cut in with a laugh. “My face never appears in my videos.” His lips twisted into a rueful grimace. “Wouldn't want to scare my followers off.”

Over the years, Jiyong would come to notice the little digs Daesung took at himself. Each one was like the steady chip of a pick axe, slowly but surely breaking down the air of confidence Daesung had learned to radiate as a musical theater major. He seemed like he owned the world, sure, but underneath that was a young man who looked in the mirror and only saw disappointment reflected back at him. Jiyong could never understand how he could be so mistaken.

Dinner ended up being Youngbae and his girlfriend Hyorin, both Seungs, Jiyong, and Daesung - just enough company to keep it lively but not so many that Jiyong felt overwhelmed. By chance, the designer had ended up seated across from Daesung, who was far quieter at the table than he had expected. Instead of running his mouth - like Ji thought he would - the man sat back and watched Seunghyun and Seungri bandy words, eyes flicking back and forth as though he were following a game of tennis. A hint of a smile always remained drawn on the edge of his full lips, and if someone made a truly funny comment that little quirk would blossom into a wide grin. On the rare occasion when Jiyong would speak up in his mumbling drawl, Daesung’s eyes would turn to focus on him, and there was an intensity in that gaze, as though the brunette were literally engraving every single word to memory, that made Ji feel like he was on display in a spotlight. No, not a spotlight. Jiyong felt comfortable in the spotlight. Daesung made his palms feel sweaty and his head light, like he was standing on his toes at the edge of a cliff, always seconds from tipping just a little too far. And when Daesung spoke, it was like a breeze brushing past Jiyong as he stood on the cliff, causing him to wobble even more dangerously - though what he would fall into, he had no idea at the time. The man’s voice was melodic and lilting, but with a nasal quality that was almost enough to grate on the ears but instead managed to be charming and enthralling. And oh, Daesung could tell a story with the best of them. He punctuated at the right moments with strong gestures and was utterly willing to embarrass any of his friends if he had a particularly juicy (but harmless) story about them to divulge. Like the one about the day where apparently Youngbae had let Hyorin dress him up like a girl and he’d pretended to be a girl in his choir class. That’d been a new story.

It had seemed almost too natural to ask Daesung if he wanted to get coffee sometime or maybe even lunch. At the time Jiyong had claimed he wanted more blackmail on Bae, but the sparkle in Daesung’s dark eyes let the man know his excuses were as thin as the gently wafting curtains in the living room. One lunch date had turned into ten, and before Jiyong quite knew it he was spending almost all of his spare time with Daesung: The brunette let Ji use him as a model for his student fashion show (oh, the late night fitting sessions); Jiyong featured on a track Daesung needed an extra voice for (Bae’s voice was too soulful, Dae claimed, and Jiyong had a good, albeit nasally, tone); silent hours spent studying together in the library; and, once, even a random trip to the beach (“borrowing” Seungri’s car for the adventure). Daesung fell into his life until he fit in so well he was like the perfect pair of shoes - not the pretty things Ji wore to shows, but the worn out sneakers that were so comfortable that they were practically a part of him. They’d been sitting in the park one autumn afternoon, just talking and sharing a bowl of noodles, when Jiyong realized that just being around Daesung was enough to set his heart racing like some hot-blooded thoroughbred.

“I think I love you,” he had blurted out, not even realizing the words had broken past his teeth and into the chill air until Daesung’s eyes went wide.

He in a breath to quickly apologize, but before his lips could even form the words Daesung said, “That probably means you should ask me out, don’t you think?”

Jiyong’s blood was rushing so loudly through his ears that he almost missed the words; good thing he was a fair lip reader. “Ask you out?” he repeated stupidly.

“Yep.” Daesung slurped a long noodle with expert skill. “We’ve hung out a lot, but dating.. That’s different, don’t you think?”

After what seemed like an eternity (ten seconds) Jiyong nodded. “It is,” he agreed, this time the words dragging out like they were coated with sticky molasses. “Dae?”

off some gravy from his bottom lip, the brunette looked up. “Hm?” He even playfully fluttered his eyelashes, trying to get Jiyong to laugh. It worked, sort of. If a choked snort counted as a really pathetic shadow of a laugh.

“Go out with me?” The sweaty palms and lightheadedness were back, but they were joined by the new companion known as: the urge to throw up.

But then Daesung laughed that cheery chorle of his and nodded. “Of course. Friday at six?”

“Sure.” Jiyong let a wide, gummy smile turn his lips until more pink than white showed through his lips. “You going to plan it for me too?” He wriggled his eyebrows teasingly.

Daesung snorted and narrowed his eyes in mock offense. “No,” he leered down his nose at Jiyong. “You asked, you plan. Next time I’ll plan.”

Next time. Those had been prophetic words.

If becoming friends with Daesung had been like finding that perfect pair of shoes, then dating Daesung was like the ideal blanket. No, not the blanket that was on the bed for show during friend visits - the one that looked good but felt awful - or the blanket that had been around so long it was just about worn to threads. Dating Daesung was that perfect feather comforter that you’d wrap around you when you felt sick and it’d feel as though you’d been curled up in a hug - a really fantastic hug. He was warm and attentive, always willing to snuggle, and never so oppressive that he became smothering. Jiyong honestly had no idea how he had managed to get into a relationship with someone who seemed to be so perfect.

But the thing about perfection is that it’s really just a mirage: shimmering and beautiful, sure, but insubstantial once you reached out to try to touch it. Jiyong always assumed he had gotten too comfortable in his relationship with Daesung, and so he had gotten careless. There had been less fancy dates where they went out together and more lounging around just binging on Netflix together, not even bothering to put on a fresh shirt beforehand. And the dates became less common; they were both too busy for the formal stuff, Jiyong had thought. Then there had been their anniversaries. The first few months they dated, they celebrated everything - even their hundred days. But as time shambled along, it seemed silly to get fired up over their first kiss or the time Jiyong bought Daesung a plushie or the first time they’d formally met. That’d been a mistake. Looking back, it was easy to see where all the pieces began to fall apart.

He had known, from that very first day, that Daesung was not the most confident human being on the face of the plant - acting and reality weren’t the same. Daesung began to ask Jiyong more and more often if he loved him, and Jiyong was stupid enough to say, “What do you think?” or, worse, just roll his eyes at his boyfriend. The designer had thought it was all so obvious that he loved Daesung, but the brunette had needed that reminder, those words, to help stave off the demons of doubt that lurked behind his bright eyes. Slowly, Daesung seemed to have less and less free time until, one day, Jiyong realized he had gone two weeks without seeing his favorite person in the entire world. Two weeks. And he hadn’t noticed.

“I think we should see other people,” Daesung had said, staring at the ground like it could save him from the shame and agony eating its way through his veins like acid.

“Oh.” Jiyong ran his thumb over the smiley face tattoo on the skin between his thumb and forefinger. “Do - I mean.” He felt like his tongue was heavy in his mouth, weighted down with more words than he knew how to string together. “Oh.”

“It’s for the best, really,” Daesung cut in, trying to save Jiyong from the awkward silence. “I think what we had was good, but I guess… I guess it just didn’t work out. We’re not as invested in each other as we used to be, so maybe it’s best to let go before it goes sour.”

Not as invested? Jiyong was surprised by that accusation. Every day he had fallen more and more in love with the beautiful man across from him; were those feelings not returned? Had he fallen so far in love with Daesung that he had not noticed the other man moving on, watching him sink further and further into emotions that were too deep? He took a sliding step back, his feet itching with the need to run. “If that’s what you want,” he choked out.

“Want?” Something in Daesung’s eyes darkened - Jiyong saw that as his nervous gaze flickered from rest on Daesung’s left ear to rest on his right. “I - well. Okay, then. This will be for the best. I will always remember what we had, Ji, and I’ll always -”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” Jiyong stumbled back another couple of steps. “I can’t do this.” Turning, he ran as fast and as far as he could, not stopping until his heart was rattling the tremulous bars of his ribcage in protest.

It was like the sun had gone out.

Jiyong kept going. Yeah, that was what it was called, wasn’t it? He had kept going: going to class, going to work, going to drink himself silly at any opportunity presented to him. But the thing about going is that it doesn’t really get you anywhere: you just hold on, hanging on with the ragged tips of your fingernails like it’s really worth it. Youngbae knew Jiyong was not doing well, but he knew better than to push. He wanted the designer to confide in him rather than to force the conversation; he thought it would be more honest that way. Seunghyun had simply offered to buy Jiyong a couple drinks, thinking that perhaps the burn of alcohol and some good company could set the man right. And Seungri… While he was a sensitive soul, he had no idea what to do with a broken heart. The kid was young enough that his worst disappointment in love had been when his pretty middle school teacher had gotten married, meaning he couldn’t grow up to win her love.

Time made it easier, though. Eventually going became existing, and then existing kind of eased into a sort of plugging along. Jiyong kept drawing closer and closer to graduation, which meant that he was going to have to “grow up” and get a “real job” soon. As if that were possible in their economy. He could just hear his mother complaining about his career choices for the nth time - asking how he would ever manage to support a wife and children on a nonexistent salary. Hah.

The worst day, though, had been when Jiyong had woken up, showered, gotten dressed, stepped out into the morning sunlight...and nothing. He had not remembered the way Daesung did yoga every morning or thought about how Daesung’s smile was like the sun. He just walked out the front door, took a deep breath, and headed to class. And that was it, wasn’t it? Moving on meant that one day you had gotten to the point where the center of your world shifted away from the person you loved and came to rest on whatever was left: yourself, your job, your new puppy. Whatever. The thought practically made Jiyong trip over his feet. Getting over Daesung felt like he had broken every promise he had ever made to the man in every uttered ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m yours’ they had exchanged. When he had uttered those words, they had been meant to last forever, yet there he was seemingly tossing them out with the trash.

But, the funny thing about love is that sometimes it does not walk out the door - leaving your heart forever; instead, it simply steps into the other room to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

For as long as it needed to.

Jiyong did manage to graduate and get a “real job.” He started at a small design firm one of his professors helped him get into. At first it was just stuff like offices and hotel lobbies, but then came the clients who needed magazine perfect homes. Within just a few years, Jiyong had left the firm behind and had started PeaceMinusOne Designs Inc. One half of his shop was dedicated to interior design - even having an office for Seunghyun, who he’d hired as his furniture specialist - while the other was awash in fabric and mannequins as part of his fashion label. There was even a basket beside his drafting tables (one in each half of his shop) where his dear Gaho could snore the hours away. It seemed like he had everything he really wanted in life. More or less.

Then the door had opened and in had stepped a man with bright eyes and a brassy laugh. Jiyong’s heart instantly fell to the floor, and he trembled with forgotten want when their eyes met across the space. Daesung hesitated. Ah, so he remembered Jiyong. That was a kindness, in a way. Jiyong could not imagine how it would feel if Daesung had forgotten him. Maybe he had meant something to the man after all. “Welcome,” he managed to say. “Can I help you with something?” The smile he got in return was one that made his skin crawl: Daesung’s lips were pressed into a thin, firm line that was drawn too tight - like when Seungri tried to put plastic wrap on leftovers - and only just managed to curl up at the edges in the parody of happiness. In fact, on closer inspection, he was pressing his lips together so tightly that they were beginning to turn white. Jiyong cleared his throat and leaned against his desk, trying for all the stars in the sky to seem nonchalant. “No?”

“One of my co-workers said I should come here,” Daesung managed to say, his lips parting only just enough for the sound to slip out. “Because I got a new apartment. And apparently I have no taste.”

“Well, we knew that,” Jiyong tried to quip, but it fell like a heavy coin between them - flat and dull. He cleared his throat. “I’d be happy to help. But you’d probably do better to look at my portfolio first. See if you like what you see.” Jiyong nearly winced at how incredibly stupid he sounded, but there was no calling back the words now that they were out.

“Um, sure.” Daesung squared his shoulders and crossed the room as though he were the designer in residence. “Let’s see it.”

They spent an hour going over the portfolio and discussing what Daesung’s apartment was like. It was the most stilted, awkward conversation Jiyong had ever been part of - even worse than when his dad had tried to explain about puberty and “natural urges.” It was like he and Daesung were exactly who they had been that day they’d broken up and yet so much time had passed that he couldn’t even name Daesung’s favorite color with any kind of confidence. But, it was still yellow - though black was nice too. That had been a comfort, to know that something was the same. Why Daesung ultimately agreed to let Jiyong style his apartment was utterly beyond the man, but he was secretly for it. Working on the apartment meant he could at least see what had happened to the only man he had ever really, deeply loved - make sure he was alright. (And oh, sure, he had dated a lot over the years. Seriously, too. But the heart doesn’t forget true love once it’s tasted it.)

It happened one night when they were trying to find Daesung a mattress that would fit the new set Jiyong had picked out. One moment the brunette was laying on a mattress, staring up at the ceiling, while Jiyong read the details on the little placard. The next, Ji had felt firm fingers wrap around his wrist and a sharp tug that ended with him sprawled out beside Daesung. “I needed a second opinion,” the brunette said by way of explanation.

“Oh.” Jiyong tried to not fidget. “But your opinion should be what matters. You don’t need a mattress that I like - I won’t be sleeping on it.” And then he made the mistake of looking over at Daesung.

The brunette was staring at him with that tight, wan smile on his lips. “I guess that’s true.”

Jiyong cleared his throat and ripped his gaze away from the even more handsome features of his ex-beloved. “So, the musicals not work out?”

Daesung managed a thin laugh. “My throat… it’s not strong enough. I developed nodes too quickly, and I didn’t want to get surgery. So, I got a desk job. But, for a little bit, I lived my dream. That was enough, I think, to have it for a little bit.”

But Jiyong could hear the sorrow in Daesung’s voice: that heart wrenching melancholy that said the man had utterly given up on his future. It was days in the office trapped at a desk rather than hours spent in rehearsal. It was broken dreams and an eventual retirement when he was too old to be of use to the corporate machine. “I’m sorry,” Jiyong breathed without thinking.

He heard Daesung’s breath catch in his throat. “... Are you?”

The man pulled a ring off a finger and lifted it up to catch the light. Twisting it this way and that, he tried to keep his voice from shaking as he said a quick, “Yeah.”

“... Thanks, I guess.”

Jiyong drew a breath between the cracks of his teeth. “I mean it, though. I am sorry. For everything.” He felt more than heard Daesung begin to speak, and so he continued on, “Especially for how I was at the end, there. I didn’t treasure you the way you deserved, and I got too comfortable. I didn’t tell you every single day how much I loved you, and I never told you of how much I wanted to wake up to your face for the rest of my life, even if you insisted on sporting that ridiculous middle part when you were eighty. Stupid me, I thought that my actions would somehow tell you that I loved you and that it’d be enough. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how much you needed me to just let you know what was going on in my head - I’m not really good at feelings, you know. It’s like my heart got cut off at the knees when I was little or something. So, yeah. I’m sorry.”

Daesung sat up on the mattress and ran a hand through his hair. He seemed to struggle with everything Jiyong had said - the muscles of his shoulders twitching restlessly - before he got to his feet. “I’ll pick out a mattress on my own,” he muttered before fleeing the store.

Jiyong laid there for another three hours before the saleswoman had to politely ask him to leave, because they were closing thank you very much.

Two. Agonizing. Weeks.

When the door to the shop opened, Seunghyun looked up from the chair he was inspecting. His eyebrows arched. “Daesung. Hey.” He straightened up to his full height. “Long time no see.”

A genuine smile flashed across Daesung’s lips. “Seunghyun! I didn’t expect to find you here!” Crossing the room, he caught the man in a tight hug. “How have you been?”

The man’s shoulders danced through a loose shrug. “Not bad,” he murmured, his low voice worming into Daesung’s bones with ease - like always. “Ji lets me hunt down furniture for him, and I have a hoard of stuff in a warehouse. So that’s good. I’m enjoying that.”

Daesung laughed a little. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing something you love. That’s good.”

Nodding, Seunghyun took a chance to give Daesung a once over. “How’re you?”

The smile fell into an uneasy line. “Oh, I’ve been better.” He sighed in a way that was meant to be playful but mostly just sounded tired. “Is… Is Jiyong here?”

“He’s out grabbing coffee. But,” Seunghyun motioned to a couch set against the wall, “you can wait here for him.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” Daesung crossed to the couch and sat down, staring at the ground in a way that suggested he did not want to be interrupted. Seunghyun was nice enough to pretend he did not have any interest in interrogating the brunette on the spot.

When Jiyong walked in, he was so tempted to just turn right around and walk back out. But, something inside of him was made of just enough steel to push him forward. “Daesung,” he said, fighting tooth and nail to keep his voice even. “Good to see you. Did you get a mattress picked out?”

Rising to his feet, the brunette hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.” His tongue ran along the line of his full lower lip. “Can I speak to you? In private.” Neither of them had to look at Seunghyun to know he was very ardently trying to look as though he was not watching them through the rungs of the chair back (and failing).

When they were shut away in Jiyong’s office, the two men were nearly crawling out of the respective skins with nervousness. Hesitantly, the designer motioned to a chair set across from his desk. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No.” Daesung cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’ll take that long.” His gaze lifted to Jiyong’s face, which had gone pale and tight with nervousness. “Was it true? What you said?”

Jiyong leaned against (more like collapsed against) the edge of his desk. “What?” He scuffed at the stained concrete with the pointed toe of his shoe. “My apology?”

“Yes, that.”

Jiyong sighed. “Yeah. About the truest thing I’ve ever said, I think.” His lips curled ruefully to one side. “I’m sorry if I made you feel -”

“Do you still love me?”

The designer felt himself nearly pinned down with the intense burn found in Daesung’s eyes. That was not exactly the question he had been expecting. Actually, he had not expected to be asked any questions at all, beyond drapery and paint choices. He pressed his hand into the glass lip of the desk until it began to bite into the flesh, and he nodded slightly as the pain began to make his eyes blur.

Soft footfalls filled the room until two shoes swam in to block Jiyong’s staring contest with the floor. “Think… maybe we could try again?” Daesung murmured. “Learn from our mistakes and just...try again?”

Jiyong’s gaze snapped up, and he was surprised at the seriousness on the brunette’s features. He had seen a lot of emotions on Daesung’s face over the years, but that one was different. It was intense, sure, but it was focused - as though every piece of the man’s soul was waiting for an answer. And then it dawned on him just what Daesung was asking. ““That probably means you should ask me out, don’t you think?” Ji managed to choke out.

Daesung’s expression melted into a wide smile, and a faint hint of a brassy laugh slipped past his lips. “Yes,” he said, his eyes becoming a bit glassy. “Dating’s a bit different from redecorating an apartment, don’t you think?”

“I dunno,” Jiyong murmured. “They’re both about what’s finding what - what is perfect for you. What you really want and need.”

The brunette tipped his head slightly to one side. “Do you think I could be what you really want and need, Jiyong?”

He laughed, hand flying up to cover his mouth. “Yeah, Dae. I really think you could.” As he hiccuped around a tear, he felt Daesung step close enough that his perpetual body heat warmed the air. The feel of a warm hand on his jaw drew his attention away from the hazy fog of disbelieving joy he had begun to drown in. “You gonna kiss me, Dae?”

“If you want me to, Ji,” the brunette all but sighed. “I want to, though. All these years, there was never another Kwon Jiyong. There was just you and everything I felt for you, pressing up against my head. I wanted to forget you so bad, but… I guess my heart knew I’d already found home when I met you.”

Jiyong lightly thumped his chest, which was more well-muscled than last he’d remembered. “Just kiss me, already,” he griped. And before he could continue to whine, he felt the hand on his chin help guide his head into the right position for a pair of lips to descend on his.

It was nothing like Jiyong remembered. When they had been younger, Daesung had been an overeager kisser, like a sloppy puppy who was endearing because they wanted to please so badly. But this Daesung had clearly grown up. He lips moved smoothly with Jiyong’s, creating the sort of delicious friction that turned blood and bone into molten nothingness beneath the flesh. He had learned to press and nibble and brush with such skill Jiyong could not help sighing - make that , but only a little in the back of his throat. Pulling back, Daesung laughed a little. “Friday at six?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Jiyong said, laughing faintly. “And this time… this time you’re planning.”

“Planning on forever, maybe,” Dae muttered under his breath.

“Cheesy! So cheesy!” Jiyong’s grin came back in full force as Daesung actually blushed at that statement. He had forgotten what a pretty shade of rosey bronze Daesung turned when he was embarrassed or shy.

He settled his hands lightly on Jiyong’s hips and cleared his throat. “Yeah, but you love it about me,” he grumbled.

“I do,” Jiyong said brightly. “I really, really do.”

And Friday at six became a forever of trying to do just a little bit more for each other each day: a little more love, a little more kindness, a little more flirting. It was perhaps not the grand love that made storybooks so unforgettable nor the sweeping saga of some movie. But, for Jiyong, that was what made it perfect: It was just two people becoming better together - every single day for the rest of their lives. That was the happily ever after he had never known he had needed. That was Daesung, the boy who’d tripped and fallen into a fountain when he’d become too distracted staring at a beautiful upperclassman with pink hair and a gummy smile making his way down the sidewalk on May morning.