The storm that starts on Saturday morning rains out my track meet, keeps me awake all night, and doesn’t let up until afternoon. I walk to the bookstore in a daze, and when I manage to make it to the corner without breaking anything, I decide to reward myself with a latte. Even with the stop, I have fifteen minutes to kill before my shift, so I head into the record store.

“Dara!” Seunghyun yells over the loud, steady backbeat of music coming from the ceiling, godlike and omnipresent. He walks out from behind the counter and pulls me in for a hug. “I was hoping you’d come by this weekend.”

“Hey, buddy,” I say, and silently scold myself for calling him that. It’s probably worse than calling him Freckles, but words like buddy or pal or some other brotherly sounding term seem to pop out of my mouth whenever I see him. He pulls back and looks at me, and even though it’s only for a brief flash, it’s there. A twinge, like I just insulted him.

“What’s this?” I ask, pointing up at the music.

He leans in close to me. “I scored.” He looks around the store to be sure no one’s listening—and no one is, since we’re the only ones here. “The drummer from Nirvana just cut a demo, and Elliot let me borrow it.” I don’t know who Elliot is, but I imagine he’s someone important at  Northwestern’s  student-run radio station, where Seunghyun has been interning for the last three months. While I dream of visiting far-off places, he dreams of moving into a high-rise dorm just down the street so he can major in broadcasting and spend his college years as a DJ for the station’s legendary The Rock Show.

“Do you want to borrow it?” he asks as he steps even closer to me.

“No, really, that’s—” I’m shaking my head, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already walking away, and when he ducks down behind the counter, the music stops. He comes back carrying the CD. “Here, take it. Tell me what you think.”

“Really?”

 “Absolutely. Just bring it back sometime next week.”

 “Thank you. That is so cool of you,” I say as I press it to my chest. “I think you’ll like it.” “I’m sure I will. You know I trust you completely.” I look up and find him watching me, and that’s when I feel it. Him wanting to kiss me.

“Any other new stuff?” I try to turn his attention toward the rest of the new releases on the wire rack.

“Not there.” He shoots me a smile and gestures for me to follow him to his usual spot behind the counter. Then he disappears and pops up again, placing a jewel case on the  counter between us. The paper cover is painted in watercolors: blues and reds and greens, all swirling in interesting patterns and fading off at the sides. Like any watercolor, it’s unique. One of a kind. Still, it matches all the others on my shelf in my bedroom.

“A new running mix!” I pick it up, flip it over, and read the track names. “You have no idea. I’m so tired of skipping through tracks on my CDs. I always run best to yours.”

“I have to say, I outdid myself this time.” He smiles and blushes, and I watch how the hue makes his freckles disappear. He’s kind like no other guy I know, and I wish for a moment that I could think of him as more than a friend.

“I’m sure you did.” And there it is again. In his mind, this is the moment in the movie where I leap over the counter and rip the buttons off his shirt. Instead, I look at my watch. Three fifty-nine. “Shoot.” I gest