“Hi.”

The one word greeting is enough to startle me. I turn around with wide eyes, half doubting the familiarity of the voice that spoke behind the wooden bench I’m sitting on. My heart feels like it wants to leave my body by way of my mouth as my eyes take in what my mind declares to be impossible. That Mohawk, the downward tilted crescent moons that are his eyes when he smiles like he’s doing now, the nose, those lips, it’s the same as it was the last time I saw him. Breathing had never been so hard. Emotion has my vision blurring and an ache starting somewhere deep inside my stomach. Despite the tears I notice the bit of silver passing through one of his eyebrows. This is the only visible difference.

“Are you okay?” He asks, taking a concerned step toward me.

I nod, unsure of my ability to speak around the lump that sits in my throat, and quickly scoot off the bench. He holds his arms out for me and I slip into them, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his chest. He holds me and we just embrace, rocking back and forth. It’s him. It’s really him. I breathe in the aroma of his the shower gel he uses and feel something warm trickling down my face. His shirt becomes damp where it soaks up my tears. He pulls away eventually and his expression changes to one of alarm. He sits me down on the bench and tries to wipe away the tears that won’t stop coming. Finally he gives up, pulling me into his lap and cradling me in his arms while cooing soothing nothings in my ear.

As suddenly as they came, the tears cease and I grin like an idiot. My Youngbae is back.

“Better?” He waits for an answer in watchful silence and when I tip my face up so he can see for himself he grins in reply. “Good. I don’t like seeing my girlfriend cry.”

“Mwoh?” I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

“As of today, you are.”

“You can’t just decide something like that. You’re supposed to ask me if I want to date you. What if I don’t want to date you, huh?”

“But you do. You missed me. You were so happy when I came back that you cried. You love me,” he replies with total confidence.

“I wasn’t crying. My eyelashes were stabbing me in the eyes.”

“Whatever you say,” he paussd and looks at me mischievously before continuing, “yeobo.”

“Not your yeobo,” I argue.

“You don’t like yeobo? That’s fine. There are other name to call you: jagi, wifey, future baby mama, roommate, lover, live-in,” he counts each one off on his fingers.

“How am I gonna be your roommate? We don’t even live on the same continent,” I remind him.

“I’m kidnapping you and forcing you to live with me,” he answers nonchalantly, “I figured it would save time.”

“I’m not moving to South freaking Korea!” I protest.

“Yes, you are.”

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not and you can’t make me!” I stick my tongue out at him.

“Can too!” Before I can figure out what he’s doing he leans in and nips the tip of my tongue. I yelp and close my mouth, clamping my hands over my lips as if they can somehow prevent what he has already done from happening.

“You should see your face!” Youngbae laughs, his eyes all but disappearing in the process. His mirth (and his jacked up laugh) are so funny I find myself giggling and then chuckling.

“You should see yours!” I retort childishly, cracking up all over again as he tries to scowl at me.

Minutes go by and the mood switches subtly from funny to tranquil. I can see in his eyes that he’s serious about me moving to Korea, that he wants it enough to run the risk of scaring me away with the suggestion and that he’s willing to play dirty to get me to change my mind. I reach for his hand and lace my fingers with his. He looks at our connected hands and then at my face. I nod to confirm what I know he’s thinking. His smile is dazzling to look at. But I guess I have time to get used to the funny feelings it stirs up in me.

“We’re wasting time, come on!”

“Bae?”

“Run, woman! We have boxes to pack and things to buy and stuff to ship and – you know what – get on.” He stoops down and indicates his back. I shrug, roll my eyes and comply and we’re off.

“Where are we going?” I venture when we emerge from the park gates.

“Airport.”

“What? Why?”

“Gonna bribe somebody to get us a flight to Seoul.”

“Tonight?!?”

“Yep.”

“But why?”

“Well because you have a lot of to get together and that’s gonna take a while if you do it yourself and you might get around to thinking you’re better off staying here and change your mind,” Bae explains as he hails a cab.

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“And?”

“Stop the cab. This is ridiculous. You can’t just put me on a plane like this.”

“I can and I will.” He crosses his arms.

“But this is kidnapping,” I complain.

“You did agree to come live with me.”

“In the future, Bae. The future! As in not tonight!”

“I don’t recall that distinction being made.”

“What am I gonna wear? I don’t have any clothes or anything with me. Oh . Where am I going to stay?” I switch tactics, bringing up practical things.

“You have somewhere to stay. I kinda sorta got us an apartment.”

“And clothes?” I prompt, absorbing the news of the apartment with no real surprise.

“I kinda sorta got you some of those. And supplies,” he looks away from me when he says the last word, suddenly enthralled with the sidewalks we’re passing by.

“You bought pads?” His face turns red and he refuses to meet my eyes. The image of him shopping for sanitary napkins is too much. I laugh so much I forget to breathe.

“It’s not that funny!”

“It is!”

“I’d pay good money to be able to see the cashier’s face when you went to pay.”

“She was a complete professional. She managed to wait until I was walking towards the door to fall on the floor and roll around laughing.”

“Ha!”

“Seriously, stop laughing. I was being considerate.”

“I,” giggle, “know. It’s just,” gasp, “you must have looked hilarious!”

“Yeobo!” He groans. “I’m kidnapping you, remember?”