“Do you like Woo Tak?” Jae Chan asks Hong Joo. The two of them are sitting on a park bench overlooking the river, the sun is shining, insects buzz in the trees behind them, and if it were possible to groan in a dream, Woo Tak would. He doesn’t want to witness this conversation, however it goes. Jae Chan and Hong Joo are happy together, and Woo Tak’s worked hard to be pleased for them. To be their friend. They shouldn’t be wasting their time talking about him, and if they’re going to, he doesn’t want to know. There’s no point torturing himself.

Plus there’s the added bite of irony that Jae Chan, so perceptive of Woo Tak’s feelings for Hong Joo, seems wholly oblivious to those same feelings directed at—someone else. Well, why would he ever dream of such a thing? (In Woo Tak’s waking moments, he’s been known to break into a cold sweat at the thought of Jae Chan dreaming of such things. It makes him careful not to let his guard down, even when he’s alone. These dreams they have are indifferent to the needs of privacy.)

“No,” Hong Joo answers Jae Chan, her voice lilting with exaggerated innocence. No, I don’t like Woo Tak.

Jae Chan narrows his eyes. “I can tell you’re lying.”

“No,” repeats Hong Joo, more firmly. “I like you, even if you are ridiculously insecure.”

Woo Tak suspects he’s had this dream before, maybe many times, and it’s always ended here. Her words feel like his cue to wake in a fog of resignation that will take an hour or two to disperse. It’s not as if Hong Joo’s answer is a surprise. It’s not even that he’d wish it different—he owes Jae Chan too much. He cares for Jae Chan too much.

Those are dangerous feelings to admit to, even to himself.

This time, he doesn’t wake. Instead, he sees Jae Chan lean towards Hong Joo, doing something with his eyebrows that makes her purse her lips and wrinkle her nose.

She caves. “Okay, yes, of course I like him. He’s smart and kind and good looking, and I can always count on him. But I like you more.”

“Me too.” Jae Chan bites his lip. “I like you more too.”

“I should hope so.” Hong Joo’s mouth falls open. “Wait. Does that mean... Do you like Woo Tak? Like him-like him?”

Jae Chan looks out at the river. The sparkling ripples reflect in his eyes. His courage visibly falters. “It’s not that. That’s not what I meant. I meant, well, if I was a girl, I would probably—”

Hong Joo takes his hand, weaving their fingers together, and it’s her turn to conduct a silent interrogation, but Jae Chan is made of sterner stuff than she is. He changes the subject to their fathers’ upcoming death anniversary, one day for both of them.

Hong Joo squeezes his hand, her fingers making dimples in his skin, her thumb rubbing soothingly over his.

He trails off mid-sentence and takes a breath, then asks without looking at her, “Are you shocked?”

Hong Joo tilts her head, studying him. “Surprised, I think. Not shocked. I didn’t know—”

“No one knows.” Jae Chan flushes and stumbles. “It’s not—it’s not important. I mean, you and I are—it’s— Can we pretend I never said anything?”

“We could do that,” says Hong Joo, her tone suggesting quite the opposite, “or we could—”

Woo Tak wants to know more than anything what the alternative is, but he wakes with a start, his mouth dry, palms sweaty, his heart hammering as if he’d dreamed a murder.

He’s in the law school library. The hot afternoon sun streaming in the windows battles with the cool of the aircon. He’s drooled on his text book. He surreptitiously wipes his mouth and the smear on the page, and ignores a smirk from the pretty, expensively-dressed woman sitting across from him, who’s at least eight years his junior.

Out of habit, he grabs a pen and his notebook to record the dream, but he doesn’t know what to write. Whether it was a prediction or a fantasy. Whether he’s misinterpreted Jae Chan’s backtracking.

Hope, it turns out, is far more painful than resignation. But there’s no way Jae Chan would give up Hong Joo, nor vice versa, so the dream must be trying to tell him something else. Perhaps it was a warning telling him to leave town, that he’s a danger to their relationship, a temptation.

He grits his teeth and scrubs both hands across his face, only belatedly noticing his phone buzzing. The display says Jung Jae Chan, and the timing is all wrong. He shouldn’t answer. But the woman across from him is watching, and his thumb swipes left automatically. Then he has no choice. He brings the phone to his ear and tries to say, “Yes?”

Nothing comes out, not even a squeak. He gets up and takes his phone a few steps into the relative seclusion of the shelves, leans against a leatherbound set of statutes and closes his eyes.

After a moment, Jae Chan says, “Are you there? Woo Tak?”

“Yes.” He has to get a grip. That dream—it could be years from now. It could mean nothing. “Yes, I’m here. What is it?”

He knows he sounds off. He can practically see the frown drawing Jae Chan’s brows together—not disapproving, just mildly puzzled. Woo Tak clears his throat.

Jae Chan speaks first. “I, uh, actually, I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow night. I want to ask you a favour.” His voice is unsteady, and finally, after all the time they’ve known each other and all the times Woo Tak has asked, Jae Chan is speaking to him informally.

Woo Tak grabs the shelf behind him for balance. “A favour?”

“Yeah. Hong Joo’s mother said you’ve been learning to cook.” Still casual. It wasn’t an accident.

“She’s exaggerating,” Woo Tak says, matching his speech style.

Jae Chan hesitates but doesn’t object. “I want to make a special dinner for Hong Joo tomorrow night—if you’re free. I mean, I could use some help.”

Despite the momentous change that may or may not be taking place, Woo Tak can’t help grinning. He’s heard of Jae Chan’s haplessness in the kitchen from multiple sources. Woo Tak might still be a beginner, but at least he won’t burn anything.

“Of course, you’d stay and dine with us too,” adds Jae Chan hastily, perhaps misinterpreting his lack of response.

Woo Tak blinks. Beyond the shelves, sun is still streaming in the window. Somewhere, the river is sparkling. Perhaps Hong Joo is sitting beside Jae Chan now, on that park bench.

Tomorrow is both a lifetime away, and far too soon for such an impossible possibility. But Woo Tak has never been a coward, nor one to back down from a challenge. “Of course.” Then, again, from the heart, “Of course I will. I can’t wait.”