He started out as a translator, to be perfectly honest. Tao’s Korean was horrendous and Chen’s Chinese was practically nonexistent. But since they were to be in the same group, they had to be able to communicate, and that’s where Kris came in.

                One would think that as a medium for conversation, a translator would become fast friends with everyone who he translated for.

                Not so. And it was frustrating.

                Since Chen was to be in a Chinese group, he didn’t get to use Korean much. But when he did, he had a way with words. Everything he said sounded poetic, and Kris couldn’t get enough of it. He, who’d written lyrics for years, couldn’t say anything as beautifully—even with thought—as Chen did off the top of his head. He’d make excuses to talk to Chen just to hear how he phrased a certain sentence.

                He took every opportunity he could to get closer to Chen, and before long, Chen had noticed the attentions he received from Kris.

                “I sometimes wonder why the focus of your consciousness happens to be me,” Chen said offhandedly one day in the practice room, where he had been practicing alone until Kris showed up.

                “Because I like you,” Kris said simply. He looked at Chen out of the side of his eye, and Chen was turning a brilliant shade of scarlet. He faced him with a bright smile. “Are you a little warm?”

                “Warm? A little,” Chen mumbled, fanning himself off.

                “Let me get you some water,” Kris offered, but Chen shook his head frantically.

                “No, water, I’m fine! I don’t need—I’m fine, no water,” Chen sputtered, as red as Kris had ever seen him. Kris wanted to laugh as he scooped Chen up under the arms and hugged him tight.

                “I like you,” Kris repeated. He was pleasantly surprised when Chen’s arms found their way around Kris’s shoulders.

                “You too—I mean, you…I like you, also,” Chen stuttered. His eloquence had suddenly disappeared, but Kris found it a hundred times more endearing than poetic conversation ever was, because he’d caused it.