"Which is which?" I asked, squinting into the dark pan.

"Does it matter? Just eat."

I looked at Jongsuk as he poked his own spoon into what I thought was a slice of blueberry cheesecake, scooping out a huge bite. "You can't just jam them all together and make some hybird. We got six flavors. Each needs to be tasted individually."

"Su," he said. "It's 1:30 in the morning and we're sitting in the dark. Just drink."

I had a nickname now, something else I'd never experienced before. The numbers in that category just kept growing. And yet, I was clearly the same Suzy, compelled to add, "That man clearly takes his muffins seriously. The way he advised us you would have thought we were buying a car. Or life insurance."

"But we weren't. Here." The next thing I knew, his hand was up against my lips, and I smelled cinnamon. "This one is my favorite."

I took a bite. "Mmm."

This I remembered specifically,  because it was so good. Once inside the coffee shop, we discovered the owner,a guy in an EAT SLEEP and AGAIN shirt, was closing up. At the register, a dark-haired boy and his girlfriend, clearly regulars, were getting one last of caffeine to go.

"Anywhere else close by to eat at this hour?" Jongsuk asked them as they paid up.

The girl, wearing shorts and off-the-shoulder blouse, looked at the boy. "This place is okay, but they're closing up soon. But your best bet is to take some muffins and drinks to go."

"Please do," said the guy behind the counter. "I'll even give you a deal. Muffins is never good the second day."

Choosing has taken time with so many selections, all looking delicious, and the owner walking us through the particulars of each. In the end, we'd left with two large coffees, a basket full of every muffins. The muffins looked yummy. In the dark, though, it was all about taste.

"Omo." Jonsuk sat back, whistling, then pointed at the basket. "This one, on the right, is IT. Chocolate and creamy. And maybe almond?"

I reached across him, his half-eaten muffin. "Choco-mond. He said that one was his favorite."

Jongsuk helped himself with another bite of the cinnamon muffin, crumbs falling onto my arm. "Whoops. Sorry."

"Look at you," I chuckled, as he picked it up, stilling chewing. There was a spot of chocolate on his nose. "You're a mess."

"Try to catch this," he said, leaning back. I opened my mouth. He threw it and it hit my ear. "Bad throw. Sorry."

"Give me that," I said, taking the basket. I broke off a piece of a muffin, and he got his mouth opened. I started laughing before I threw it, sending it flying over his head.

He turned, watching it hit the sand. "Well, if you were aiming for the water, I'd call that close."

"I was," I said, and then he smiled at me and pulled me into a kiss. He tasted like chocolate, and as the wind blew us over, landing on the sand, I closed my eyes, thinking no, now I wanted to stay in this moment, forever.

This was weird, I knew, as I'd only met him a few hours ago. But with our walk, the dance, all the talking, and now muffin, Jongsuk was already someone I cherished. The way he squinted, before saying something he felt strongly. The slow way of his walk. The feeling of his class ring, cold and smooth, against my fingers when he took my hand. His ringtone, a pop song unexpected that the first time I'd heard it, I'd had to laugh.

We'd been sitting in the sand, sharing pictures on our phones. I showed him Gayeon, Eomma and Wooyoung, and the one picture of myself I actually liked, which had been taken on a balcony at a wedding the last spring. In turn, I got to see him with the guys he'd been friends with since childhood, posing shirtless, all of their hair wet , by a backyard swimming pool. Then his phone rang, the female singing.

"What is that?" I laughed as he scrambled to silence it.

"Don't do it," he said, holding up a hand. "Do not mock. You don't know the full story."

I waited.

"If you must know," he said, looking down at his phone, "it's AOA."

"Seriously?" All I knew about AOA, a girl group that has eight members, but currently have six. They was the kind of artist defined by their catchy songs. "I wouldn't have guessed that."

"I said don't mock," he reminded me.

"Then tell me the story."

A sigh, then squinted. "Okay. So, it's the beginning of school and my friend's dad, who's an artist lawyer, gets this tickets to AOA concert. We're not doing anything, and it's the whole VIP thing: limo, backstage passes, all that. So we go."

"No girls? Just you?"

"What, six guys can't go to AOA concert in the name of male bonding? You got to live." I bit my lip, trying to laugh. "So the seats are, like, third row. We're all just laughing, making fun of the opening act, having fun. Then they comes out, and there's fireworks and confetti and and they're in this outfit and they were having fun and . . ."

I nods as he continued.

"The concert was crazy, all these different songs and interactions, dancers, balloons falling, fangirls and fanboys screaming all around us. Then, about halfway through, they goes to the center where the spotlight shining on them sitting on a stool."

"They had changed outfits a few times, and they started to talk about the next song," he continued, "and how it was inspired by the fans. And then they started singing, and about a verse in, some of the members begin crying."

"Really."

"Yup," he squinted. "And we're all sitting there, only a few feet away, and I can those were actual tears, and started to think if I were an idol as well."

"Did you get emotional?"

He sighed. "I was watching, and they were crying, and I was just thinking, and maybe I did get a little emotional."

I waited a second before I said, "Maybe?"

"I did." He coughed. "And, unfortunately, it was seen. And documented by my friends."

I reached over, taking his hand again. "Omo."

"Exactly." He intertwined our fingers. "And of course they won't let it go, even when they changed into another outfit. They're threatening to post it everywhere, immediately, and I just want to die. And kill them. Or kill them, and then die.

I laughed. "That seems a much extreme."

"You don't know my friends," he said. "We've been mocking each other since we were in diapers. It's like an art form. I'm never going to live this down."

"So what did you do?"

We have this thing called striking a deal," he said, rubbing his free hand over his face. "Like an exchange program for embarrassment. You pick one to delete the other. I was willing to do just anything."

"Obviously."

"So," he continued, "I agreed to have AOA's song as my ringtone until graduation. And if anyone talks about it - and of course, they do - I have to tell them I'm her number one fan and show this picture."

With that, he his phone again, typing in a passcode. A few swipes and there it was: Jongsuk, in an AOA T-shirt, standing with the AOA members.

"And this is better than the world knowing you cried at their song?" I clarified.

"Of course it is!" he said. "This way I just look quirky. With the tears, possibly mentally unstable."

"You sure about that?" I asked, looking at the picture again.

He made a face. "Anyway, the deal is this: if I ever don't answer by saying I'm a big fan and showing the picture and they hear about it, they'll post the video and kill me with shame. We shook on it."

I raised my brows. "And these are your friends?"

He swiped to the next picture, of all of them around AOA. "My best friends. Believe it or not."

"I believe it," I said, leaning against him as he moved to another picture of their group, this time in the limo. All cute boys, clean-cut and smiling. Gayeon would've been in heaven. "But I have a question."

"They smelled great," he said. "Everyone asks that."

"Not my question," I replied.

"Oh. Sorry."

"The deal is you have to say you love AOA and show the picture when people ask about the ringtone, correct?"

"Yup. Until graduation."

"But when I asked," I continued, "you told me the whole story. Why?"

He put the basketful of muffins down and turned to face me, now wrapping both of his hands around mine. "Su. I'm pretty much having the best night of my life. Why would I tell you anything but the truth?"

I felt my face flushed, hearing this. It wasn't the only one who felt this night was special, although I'd turn over these things again and again later, remembering. Instead, it was this last question, the inverse of how I knew I felt about everyone else in the world. For safety's sake, we learned to be less honest at the beginnings of things, not more. But Jongsuk was different. With him and me, it was always about the truth. Why would I tell you anything but? It was the closest thing to "I love you" a boy had ever said to me. Maybe it meant even more.