Minseok led me through a large hallway into a room strongly resembling a red velvet cake— I must be really hungry for my brain to come up with such a description— that was connected to the house by French windows on either end. They were wide open and showed off a view of the fresh green grass outside. A breeze entered the room and blew the pale curtains back and forth like the swinging of a pendulum, flying up toward the white ceiling and sweeping down over the burgundy rug. The only thing in the room that was completely still was a large divan couch, on which two men were lounging cooly, so loose and relaxed they were almost floating. I stood there for a while simply listening to the swish of the curtains against the wind. And SLAM! went the windows as Minseok closed them off and the wind in the room slowly died down, followed by the curtains falling gracefully to the floor.

One of the men on the couch was unfamiliar to me. He was stretched as far as he could on his end of the divan, with one leg extended forward but still slightly bent and the other swinging lightly off the side. He had his arms behind his head and gazed at the ceiling with a blank expression. If he noticed me coming at all he showed no sign of it. This caught me so off guard I almost wanted to apologize for daring to interrupt his relaxation.

The other man, Han, got up and leaned forward, gripping the sofa back with one hand for support. He looked me up and down with a conceited look on his face, then burst into laughter. I laughed too, not because his laugh was contagious, but because his face right now looked absolutely ridiculous, and walked further into the room.

He placed his hand over mine and looked up at me. His bright brown eyes radiated a comforting warmth, holding a promise that there was no one else in the world he so wanted to see.

He asked me a few questions, merely formalities, in that soft voice of his. The conversation was rather dull, but I let it carry on because his voice was just so nice to listen to. The words went up and down like an arrangement of notes, each sentence a unique melody you should appreciate in that moment because you may never hear it again. Somewhere in the conversation, he pointed out that the other man on the couch was from the Huang family. I almost missed it since I was just letting his voice wash over me in little waves.

I mentioned how I stopped for a day in Chicago on my way to New York.

“Oh do they miss me?” he cried out excitedly.

“I...um… yes, a-at least a dozen people send their love.”

“How gorgeous,” he muttered.

“Oh, they’re absolutely mourning! They’re crying-”

“No!” He smirked at me.

“Yes, they’re wailing!”

“I don’t believe it!” At this point, he had let go of my hand and was again gripping the couch, this time with what I hoped was anticipation.  

“They’re screaming! They’re shouting ‘Kim Lu Han we can’t live without you!’” He giggled at how dramatic I was being.

“I’m p-paralyzed with happiness! Hey, let’s go back Minseok! Tomorrow!” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “You should see the baby.”

“I’d like to.”

“She’s sleeping upstairs. The cutest two-year-old you’ll ever meet. Wait… you’ve met her, right?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Ah, really? Well, you should see her. She-” he stopped when he saw Minseok come over and place his hand on my shoulder.

“So Da Vinci,” he drawled out, “how are the paintings coming along?”

“Actually I’m selling bonds now. With Jackson Wang’s agency.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him,” he said dismissively.

I truly didn’t give two s whether he’s heard of my boss or not but I really didn’t like his attitude right now.

“Well, Minseok, maybe you’ll hear about him if you stay in the city.”

“O-of course I’ll stay in New York, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that Yifan,” he spat out. He spared a glance at Han and turned back to me. “I’d be a damn idiot to live anywhere else.”

“Damn straight!” Mister Huang blurted out. I jumped and Minseok’s hand, which was still on my shoulder, jumped with me. He pulled back, shooting me an annoyed look. Apparently, Mister Huang was surprised just as much as I was; he quickly stood up from the couch with and let out a yawn, one that I’ll safely assume was fake, then proceeded to do a few stretches.

“I’m so stiff,” he whined, “I’ve been lying on that couch for as long as I can remember.”

Han scoffed. “Well don’t blame me. I’ve been trying to get you to go to the city all afternoon.”

“Thanks but no thanks.” Mister Huang grinned down at the four cocktails that were just brought in. “I’m too busy with training, you know.”

“Are you really?” Minseok asked incredulously. “It’s a mystery how you manage to get anything done.”

I looked at Mister Huang, wondering what they meant by training and getting stuff done. He was tall, almost as tall as me, and he was slender, but I could tell his muscles were well defined. His feline-like eyes, heavily lined with Kohl, looked at me with a polite curiosity. He had a sort of androgynous charm to him, so familiar… I wonder where I’ve seen him before. In a magazine, perhaps?

“So, I hear you live in Yutadari,” the young man asked me stiffly.

Minseok rolled his eyes. “You’re out there mingling with those primitive new-money types, those social-ladder climbing wannabes…”

I chuckled nervously. “I just live in a humble little box for 80 a month, nothing worth mentioning..”

“You’re life is adorable!” Han beamed at me.

“I know someone in Yutadari,” Mister Huang called out. He was leaning against one of the windows, facing us.

“I don’t really know anyone that side of the bay.”

“Oh, but you must know Suho,” he said, one eyebrow raised coyly.

“Suho?” Han’s smile faded fast. “What Suho?” It was clear to me that he was trying to appear nonchalant about this.

The room was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Before I could say that he was my neighbor, one of the butlers walked in and announced that dinner was ready. Minseok grabbed my arm for the second time that day and led me out of the room. My cousin and his friend walked ahead of us, heads high, backs straight.

The four of us walked out directly from the room onto a white porch facing the sunset. The breeze was in the last stages of dying out and the sun was just about done setting, painting the sky and the sea a pretty combination of pink, orange, and yellow, with some blue at the horizon.

We all sat down and the food was brought out. The dinner dragged on, my cousin and Mister Huang filling the air with the sound of meaningless chatter. They were only putting the bare minimum of effort into this, knowing full well that the dinner would be over soon and eventually forgotten. Anything that was said was for the sake of keeping up appearances, nothing more, nothing less. Minseok ranted for a bit about how the traditional socioeconomic order was being threatened by lower-class people making their way to the top; other than that, he, too, was putting on a civilized act. He was just about done when the shrill ringing of the phone went off and one of the butlers left the porch and walked inside.

Han took advantage of this interruption to launch into a story about the butler’s nose. Had it been anyone else, the story would’ve been a bore, but with that voice, Han was able to make it sound like an exciting tragedy. His face had been glowing softly in the evening sun, but the light slowly, almost reluctantly, left him, and soon enough it was dark.

The butler came back, made his way over to Minseok and whispered something in his ear. For a brief second, his face lit up, but soon that look of excitement was replaced by a scowl. He stood up, pushed in his chair, and went inside without saying anything. Something in Han seemed to change when Minseok left, and he started talking again, this time in a happy, chirpy tone.

“I do love seeing you at my table, Yifan. You remind me of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn’t he?” Han turned to Mister Huang for confirmation. “An absolute rose, right?”

This was a lie if I’ve ever heard one. Nothing about me was like a rose at all. But I could tell that he was trying his best to tell me he cared and enjoyed my presence. He expressed it poorly, but I had to give him credit for trying. Out of nowhere, Han threw his napkin on the table and with a short “I’m sorry,” walked inside.

I decided I should try to make light conversation until they came back. Pointedly ignoring the muffled yelling from the other room, I turned to Mister Huang. “Well, this Suho you spoke of, he’s my neighbor-”

“Don’t talk,” Mister Huang hissed, “I want to hear what happens.” He then stood up and walked to the French window, straining to catch every word.

“Is something happening?”

“Why, I thought everybody knew!” He sounded surprised but remained focus on the task at hand.

“I don’t.”

“Minseok’s got some guy in New York.”

“Some guy?” All I could do was dumbly repeat everything.

He turned around and added, “You’d think he’d have the decency not to call during dinner time, right?” He laughed and sat back down.

Han and Minseok walked back outside, and neither of them looked all that happy. Minseok tried starting a conversation about his horses and suggested taking me out to the stables to see them when the phone decided to ring again. I stared awkwardly at my plate, pretending to admire the smooth ceramic and intricate border. Try as we may, none of us could really ignore the our unofficial fifth guest ear-splitting desperation. The table was tense and uncomfortable with the incessant ringing serving as background noise for the next five minutes, and soon enough, dinner was finally over.