3

“So, how does Jongin appear at school to you?”

I was playing with the minuscule serving of noodles around my fork. Still entranced by the way they slide right off the metal—how do you eat this—I look up across at Jongin’s parents. Their son is, of course, sitting right in front of me, also with his head facing down at his plate. His stare seems to hold a little more… intensity, though.

“Sorry?” I ask.

Unlike my mother’s tight line of a smile that emits displeasure through and through, the other couple's chuckles at my inattentiveness sound genuinely amused. I retrace whatever had entered my ear just a few seconds ago.

“Oh! Yes, Jongin is… quite pleasant at school.” The lie slips off my tongue easily.

The boy glances up at me, eyebrows just a bit furrowed. His parents lean in a centimeter, encouraging me to go on about their son, despite his very much substantial presence at our table. My eyes flicker to him, asking an unspoken question. Somehow he understands and shrugs in what appears to be an affirmative manner. He’s probably also curious to find out what I have to say about him, given our limited if not zero interactions aside from obligatory greetings.

“He has many friends and followers.”

I breathe back in “and a loving girlfriend” before it can escape and lead to such-and-such consequences.

“Always smiling when I see him.”

A lie. Sometimes his face drops when the attention isn’t on him, which is rare, but