Seeing is not enough for my craving is deep.

“A cliff’s edge, where I belong,

You got me on.”

—Hayley Kiyoko, Cliff’s Edge. 

---

He kills the engine. Tosses his keys at the valet. And makes his way to the top floor, flashing ship card and a smile to his fellow lift riders (mostly hotel staffs), as he enters the lift. He glances out at the transparent windows, the sleeping city shrinks beneath him.

The sun’s peeking out from the clouds, its rays streaks orange among the hues of dark blue casting over the city. It’s when the city sleeps, and he’s lost in its beauty that Chan-wee renews his resolve to make the best of a new day.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

A statuesque woman next to him, echoes his sentiment. Her cat-like eyes lined with what he could assumed top tier mascara. Cheekbones that a model would be envious of. Bright red stilettoes to go with her form-fitting and strapless dress. Someone has a late night and didn’t have the time to change her dress. 

He’s not one quick to judge, but if Ji-hoon’s here, the tactless man wouldn’t care less and tries his luck to flirt. With those cringe-inducing lines.  

“It is,” he replies, gives his head a slight nod. “Top floor?” Chan-wee quirks a brow up, flickers a swift glimpse at the number displayed over the door. Sets his intertwined hands behind his back.

She returns with a nod of her own, and silence. The lift halts to let the staff out. And only them two left.

“That must be one hella kind of business meeting, if you’re up at this time,” she chimes, casting a side glance at him. Her bright lips twisting into a coy smile.  

“I never said it was a business meeting,” Chan-wee hums, returns his gaze at the city.

“True,” she agrees, “but in my defence, you never say anything. I just draw conclusion from my observation as you did.”

He laughs, amused. “Touché, and to refute your observation, not a business meeting.”

“And to rectify your observation,” she turns her back against the window, facing the door, “I had an early appointment before my client leaves for her 9 a.m. flight.”

The soft ding reverberates inside the lift. They arrive at their floor. The door parts open and she gifts him a courtesy bow, “It’s a pleasure meeting you here.”

“Like wise,” he affirms, and they wear matching congenial smiles.

“Oh, one more thing,” she starts, stops him from walking out. Bright red lips twisting into a coy smirk, “I do dress like this for my business meetings.”

Then they part to separate directions. His morning stride are slow, lacking the jovial refuel of freshly brewed white coffee.

He slides onto the steel stool. Hand high up in the air and flags down a nearby waiter. He pushes his sleeve up, revealing his wristwatch. Ten more minutes to six. His phone vibrates. A text with a single line; on the way.

Chan-wee places the phone facedown. Starts scrolling through his caseloads on his tablet. Pauses momentarily to answer the waiter, “Non-fat latte and a chocolate croissant.”

“Will that be all?”

“Mocha, less sweet and scones,” Chan-wee adds, “serve them in twenty-minutes.”

With that, the waiter leaves and he continues to read his case. Occasionally highlighting important notes.

His concentration wanes, after the first ten minutes. As it always does. Right in time for the loud footsteps against marbled floor, heading for his direction. Apologies are thrown around for a near fatal tray slip. At the corner of Chan-wee’s eyes, his waiter marches towards him.

Choi Ji-hoon bypasses the waiter and slinks to the stool, takes his usual spot. Across from Chan-wee. He’s dressed in his favourite Louis Vutton suit. Impeccable. For someone who claimed he wanted to present himself as a person that could relate to the middle class citizens.

Chan-wee’s lips part slightly to a playful smirk. He puts down the tablet. Claps twice. “That’s a new record. You beat your previous time, by a mere fifteen seconds.”

“Well, I try not to disappoint you all the time,” he retorts, cheeky grin sit on his lips.

The waiter reaches their table, places their ordered items on the table before leaving them.

“Awh, I’m touched that you ordered before I arrived,” Ji-hoon singsongs, takes a sip of his hot mocha. The foam forms on his upper lip.

Chan-wee taps on his upper lip. And sighs. “If I waited for you, the scones might run out. You know the scones here are the best.”

Ji-hoon daps the napkin on his upper lip, then settles the napkin on his lap. “I don’t get it why we can’t do lunches like everyone else,” he snaps, props both elbows on the table.

Chan-wee tilts his head to a side, holds out a finger, “Lunch dates are reserved for our colleagues.”

Another finger. “And besides, we’re not like other people.”

Three fingers rise on Chan-wee’s right hand. “And it’s tradition.”

“And we get to enjoy the sunrise view.” His sight shifts from Ji-hoon to the view ahead of them. The risen sun casts its light on the city, each building reflecting the orange hue and long shadows on the other end.

“And—”

“I get it,” counters Ji-hoon, spreading cream cheese over the raspberry (it’s always raspberry) jam.

“I rest my case.”

This should be the end of Ji-hoon’s complaint.

Really, it isn’t. Because the conversation’s being repeated in one form or another. Every morning as their breakfast arrives. And he doesn’t mind. Iterating his answers time and time again. It’s tradition, even if it sounds stupid.

“You should come for next meeting,” Chan-wee utters, his eyes gaze languidly at Ji-hoon. “Everyone misses you,” he tries again.

Ji-hoon’s head shakes sideways, he attempts to speak with his mouth full. Hands gesturing dismissively. Swallowing his scone entirely, he washes it down with his mocha. “Nah, I’m too busy.”

“With what? You’re a corporate psychologist. You don’t do much,” Chan-wee barks, lacking of bite.

“I have many clients that takes up my time outside of work hours. You know that,” Ji-hoon replies, his perfect boyish smile intact. “One day,” he swears.

(It’s a promise that Ji-hoon frequently breaks. But Chan-wee persists in asking anyway. Just because.)

But he fills Ji-hoon on the latest updates on Soul Society’s monthly gatherings, before moving on to his cases he’s working on. Ji-hoon does the same with the interesting people he meets at work. Of course, they omit details. Because there’s some lines they don’t cross. Like professional-related.

“Eun-ho’s invited us to a week to play golf,” he throws, tears the croissant with his bare hands. “Or tennis. I personally haven’t played golf in a long time. I think my clubs are covered with cobwebs now.”

“Eun-ho,” Ji-hoon drawls, “is he your new best bud now? You’ve been talking non-stop about him in like forever,” complements his whine with an eye roll. Then burst out chuckling.

“Nonsense. You’ll always be mine,” he declares, with a strained smile sitting on his lips. His tone, half-amused, half-resolute.

“Damn straight. But golf sounds good. Maybe next month.”

With their plates clean and their respective drinks almost empty, Chan-Wee surveys their surroundings. The lady he shared a ride with to the top floor, concludes her meeting with her client. Their gazes meet across the room. His lips curling upwards at the sight of hers.

Ji-hoon’s eyes sharpens. That peculiar twinkle in his dark eyes appears. Every time Chan-wee exchange an interaction with the member of the opposite gender. As though he has an antenna built in for that purpose.

“Who you’re smiling at?” Ji-hoon queries, tossing a glance over his shoulder. A sharp kick to Chan-wee’s shin, sends Chan-wee nearly jumping in his seat.

“What the hell,” he curses, low. Shooting daggers at Ji-hoon.

He waggles his brows. “Who is she? How come you never introduce her to me?” Ji-hoon questions, in that awe tone he uses when his eyes catch the next pretty thing.

“I just met her today. I don’t even know her name,” Chan-wee pauses, for a moment. He narrows his eyes suspiciously at his friend, “Wait, what happened to Youn-ha? Aren’t you two going steady? For two years now?”

Ji-hoon shrugs. “We called it quits last week.”

“But why?” He makes a noncommittal noise, scratches his neck. “You two looked good together,” he continues (that sentence rings false in his ears), smoothly.

Ji-hoon waves a hand absentmindedly, “It happens, you know. People break up,” wipes his hand with the napkin, “Is she single or taken?”

Chan-wee recalls nothing of the sort that indicates she’s taken. But then again, he’s not ogling her for a want to court her. “I don’t think so,” he murmurs.

Ji-hoon’s lips curls into a wide smile that could split his handsome face. “Then you know what to do.”

“Unfortunately,” Chan-wee sighs with an exaggerated groan, “I do.” He eyes her, from his seat. Crossing his arms, instead of marching to her table immediately. Ji-hoon’s eyes widen, tilting his head repeatedly at her direction. Making shooing motions as discreetly as he could.

“What are you waiting for?” Ji-hoon hisses, over his covered mouth. Chan-wee rolls his eyes. With one last sigh thrown at his friend, he makes his way to her table. Slipping into the chair across her, before she has the chance to leave.

Clears his throat, and musters his fleeting bravado, “You’ll have to excuse my rudeness, but I’m a man on a mission.”

She gathers her documents in order, slips them into a folder, before lifting her eyes at him. “And what mission you’re on, James Bond?”

He permits a charming smile resting on his lips, “To steal a few seconds of your precious time.”

“Consider my time stolen,” she bats her long lashes. Slants her head to a side, “But we both know that’s not the real reason you’re here,” she points out. Eyes casting a fleeting gaze at the man behind Chan-wee.

Chan-wee pushes a business card forward with his index finger, “He’s single. But just got out from a serious relationship.”

She eyes the card, but doesn’t lean to take it. “Is that so?”

He nods. “I thought you ought to know, before you consider saving his number.”

“Thanks for the advance warning,” she returns, her lips twisting into a smile.

“I do what it must require of me, as a wingman.”

She chuckles. “A peculiar wingman at that.”

He knits his brow together at her words, “How so?”

“I can’t tell whether your actions are encouraging or merely a forefront of your opinion that your friend isn’t prepared for dating again.”

A scoff escapes from Chan-wee’s throat. Folds his arms above his chest. He’s a wingman, dammit. Doesn’t mean he has to like being one. But she doesn’t need to know that. For her sake and Chan-wee’s. Still, he can’t help but to feel impressed by her astute observation.

(And maybe, he likes her better than Youn-ha.)

A brow arches at him, “Hit a nerve, did I?”

“Not at all,” his tone increases two tones higher than usual. Then grunts out his frustration. Tips of his ears red with embarrassment. If she notices it, she makes no show of catching his embarrassment.

He excuses himself to leave. Gets to his feet, when she offers, “Park Tae-hee.”

“What?” Chan-wee replies, flatly.

“Tell him, Park Tae-hee will give her answer by midnight,” she elaborates, drawing to her full height, “If he doesn’t get anything, I’ve lost my interest.”

He nods, pursed his lips in thought. “Fair enough.”

She bids him a goodbye. Her heels click with every step, until she disappears into the lift.

He walks back to Ji-hoon. His friend bouncing nervously in his seat, like a child on sugar. “So, how did it go?”

“She’s a tough one. Doesn’t fall for your business card trick immediately.”

Ji-hoon’s ecstatic grin falters, shoulders slump. “That means it’s a no?”

“I don’t know. She’s hard to read,” he pauses, slipping his phone back to his pocket, “She didn’t outright reject anyway.” 

---

His mother fussed with his hair one more time. Now, whose fault was it to let the barber loose with his scissors? Who was it that Chan-wee could pile blame on, for the laughs he earned in his first day of school? He blew his bangs away from his eyes.

“I don’t want to go to school,” he whined.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mother replied, paused to sneak him a glance. Then redirected her gaze to the road. “It’s only your second day, everything will change,” she added, softly.

“I hope so.”

“It will.”

“Or I will run away from home. Mark my words.”

Mother pulled the car into a parking lot. Accompanied him to the school’s iron gates. She stooped to his level, a smile tugging the end of her lips. “Now, I only ask you of two things. Study and—”

Chan-wee cut her words, “—report bullying.” His head bobbed up and down, in an effort to show he understood. “I get it, mom.”

“Excellent,” she said, dusted dirt off his blazer, “you be a good boy and listen to your teachers. No fighting.”

He nodded, pecked his lips to his mother’s cheek. “That’s my boy,” she smiled, “I’ll have the driver here before your last class finishes.”

He waved goodbye to Mother, until she entered the car. The car drove off, joining a long line of expensive cars dropping their children off.

Yesterday repeated itself. Again. Kids made fun of his tragically countrified hairstyle. At least they didn’t repeat yesterday’s insults. He quickly paced towards the building. Avoided everyone from his class. He’ll keep up with this routine until his hair grew back.

He arrived at the classroom first. Tiptoed, he poked his face above the window’s still. Noticed it was still empty. His lips twirled into a smile. Pushed the door open, he snuck in. Fastened his pace towards his desk and scrutinised every part of his desk and chair for signs of tampering.

“What are you looking for? Can I help?” chimed a voice that sent chills down Chan-wee’s spine. He wheeled around so fast, clutched his bag tight. As if the bag could act like his shield.

“I-I know karate and I’m not afraid to use it,” his voice shook.

The boy smiled a toothy smile. Waved his hand scattily, “I don’t want to fight you. You don’t look like you want to fight me too.” Held his hand out, “I’m Ji-hoon. Choi Ji-hoon.”

Chan-wee stared at the offered hands for a minute. Reluctantly shook it, “Chan-wee.”

“Can I sit next to you?”

“Why?” Chan-wee gazed to his left and right, waiting for that incoming teases. He’s on high alert. Ji-hoon could be the decoy before his classmates unleashed their prank of the day.

The smile on Ji-hoon’s face remained. “You looked like you could use a friend.”

“All right,” Chan-wee sighed.

The teacher entered the classroom. One by one, their fellow classmates, filled their empty seats. And so far, he’s safe. His eyes casted fleeting glances at the slightest movements.

Nothing. The whole day passed without a single mockery tossed in his direction. Just before they headed out from the classroom, Chan-wee broke the silence between them. “I like you.”

“I like you too.”

Ji-hoon waved his goodbye, “See you tomorrow.”

“You’ll sit beside me?”

“If you want me to.”

“Sit next to me, tomorrow and the days after that,” Chan-wee confessed, added as an afterthought, “Please.”

With a smile that warmed Chan-wee’s chest, Ji-hoon held his pinkie finger, “Okay, because you said the magic word.”

Chan-wee hooked his pinkie finger around Ji-hoon’s. They shook twice. And laughed. It’s the start of a beautiful friendship.  

---

Chan-wee strolls into the pool first, dumps his duffle bag at the foot of a steel table. He scans the pool for any foreign eyes. Finds only him and Ji-hoon alone. As usual. And strips his polo shirt. Ji-hoon trails after him, locks the door behind.

Chan-wee yells across the pool, “Have you lock the doors?” It’s not really necessary. They booked this place for two hours. Just for them both. But old habits die hard.

Ji-hoon scoffs, as he strides to Chan-wee’s spot, “Of course, I did.”

Chan-wee lifts his gaze briefly at him, “You sure?”

“Yes,” Ji-hoon nods. Pulls his Henley over his head, a sigh escapes from his lips. They both change into bathrobe, applying sunblock to matching black-inked ankle marks. There’s a dash of blue, purple and magenta on Chan-wee’s. Ji-hoon bears solid black. Both share near-identical patterns of triangles sandwiched between two dark bands. 

“Just checking,” Chan-wee replies, in his matter-of-factly tone, “We don’t want the pool debacle of 08’ to repeat.”

“Oh my god,” Ji-hoon bristles, “That was one time.” He holds out his index finger straight, nearly shoving his finger into Chan-wee’s nose, “Just one time I forgot to lock the door.”

“What was that our fathers used to say? ‘All it takes is one mistake for us to be the front page of the newspapers’. Imagine how scandalous it would be for our families,” Chan-wee reminds, putting on his best impression of his father’s gruffly voice.

Ji-hoon shrugs. “Maybe, not for long.” He discards his bathrobe unceremoniously on the floor, “It would be nice if there’s someone to join us.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

Ji-hoon shakes his head.

“Or a lifeguard?” Chan-wee tries.

Another head shake from Ji-hoon. “No. Nothing of that sort.” He pulls his goggles out from his duffel bag, spins the goggles around with his index finger. “You know what, forget it. Forget what I wanted to say. Let’s just swim.”

Ji-hoon dives into the pool. Sending splashes at Chan-wee. His long legs kicks against the water, as he swims ahead. Chan-wee dives after him. Without goggles. His fingertips grazing Ji-hoon’s heel. He kicks harder, closing the gap between them both. Until he’s ahead. Stands to his feet, blocks Ji-hoon’s path.

Ji-hoon emerges from the water. Pushes his flatten hair to the back with his hand. Slides his goggles up to his forehead. Shoots him a glare Chan-wee associates with ‘What the hell’.   

Chan-wee sneers. “Oh, come on. You don’t get to pull that ‘chicken’ card with me.”

“You’re right,” he mouths, rubs his jaw. “What I’m trying to say is that it’s getting boring. Just the two of us. Early breakfasts. Weekend lunches. Sunday swims.”

Chan-wee arches a brow at him, “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” Ji-hoon rebukes sharply, “What makes you think that?”

“Then, what?”

A beat of silence. Resignation loosens his shoulders. “I’ve invited Tae-hee. But she’s running late.”

“You really like her, don’t you?”

They stand, eye to eye. Faces of stoic expressions. Each trying to get a read on the other. Silence stretches until it stops buzzing in their ears.  Ji-hoon breaks into a smirk. “More than I treasured my Star Wars Prequel Trilogy.”

“That serious, huh?” Chan-wee’s lips twisting a smile that doesn’t quite feel right on his face. He waves his ring finger at Ji-hoon, “So, shouldn’t you take Beyoncé’s advice? Put a ring on it?”

“Of course, the best.”

He faux-scoffs, “Liar, obviously you’re going to your mother for the ring.”

“I’ll be buying her a customised ring. Not the one my mother had from my grandmother. It’s so old-fashioned.”

Chan-wee sighs. “Oh, please.” Forces his lips to curl into a smile. “You’ve been eyeing for your mother’s ring since you were ten,” he pauses. A smirk tugging the end of his lips. “Honestly, I like Tae-hee better than Youn-ha.”

Ji-hoon snorts. His eyes crinkling into half-moon smiles. “I knew it.”

The door to the pool, slides open. Tae-hee enters, with her tracksuit. Not the form-fitting kind. Rather hangs loose on her slim body. Not even a branded one.

“Traffic was terrible,” she opens, slides off her sweat pants and folds them neatly. She places her clothes on the table. Chan-wee pegged her for a bikini’s type of girl. She wears a competitive swimmer’s suit, instead.

“I hope you boys aren’t disappointed with me,” she ties her long hair into a simple ponytail. She stands at the edge of the pool, tips of her toes dipping into the pool, “I wear bikinis to the beach only.”

Ji-hoon grins. “Not at all.”

Chan-wee keeps his lips into a flat line. Two’s company. Three’s a crowd.