The time passed by seamlessly and without great fanfare. A date had finally been set, though it was arbitrary enough; merely a random number on a calendar in the manager’s office of the banquet hall picked out by my mother because it was available. Everything was by the insistence of my mother, who—no matter how much she loved Jong—didn’t really want us living together unwed any longer than necessary. The hall was recommended to her by a friend whose daughter was married there a year before, and because Jonghyun and I really didn’t have preferences on anything, it seemed as good enough place as any to exchange a host of words that somehow, like a strange spell, had the power to unite us for life.

            Now that October was looming closer, I was legitimately starting to freak out over the immense amount of details: the exhaustive booking and counting and prepping and budgeting. To be honest, my heart really wasn’t in it, at least as much as I thought it should have been, which made it all the more taxing. Jong was busy these days with his students, making him even more unavailable than he was initially, and it was for this reason that he recommended Key to me—a suggestion that, in my overwhelmed and frazzled state, I eagerly accepted.

            I never once thought it odd that the best man would take the place of wedding planner. I was never one to subscribe to convention, and I certainly didn’t mean to start now. After all, the engagement itself was unconventional, so in a way it only seemed fitting. We didn’t talk about Key’s orientation; it never came up in conversation because it definitely didn’t seem an appropriate thing for me to bring up, nor did it really matter. I never wanted to define Key so easily; he was a person who intrinsically transcended definition. However, Key’s “feminine” side made planning, decorating, and organization a lot easier for me to manage. He was insanely helpful to have as a partner. With him, we accomplished a great deal of things in three months’ time that otherwise would have taken me twice as long by myself. I allowed his influence to sway me when deciding color schemes, flower arrangements, favors—even the menu was under his careful, choosy speculation. And I found him to strangely be an expert at everything, even though this was all new territory to him also.

            So it was only natural, by the time I could put it off no longer, that he would have to be there with me when I picked out my dress. I insisted. My mom was also there, along with Jong's mother, my aunt, my friend from the boutique who I’d made my maid-of-honor, and two more girls who I knew in high school who would serve as token bridesmaids (we really hadn’t talked much over the years). Again, I never mentioned that he was gay to anyone; it seemed both inappropriate as it did obvious, so that when the people in my circle exchanged weird looks at the fact that Jong’s best man was always beside me, I shrugged it off indifferently. The truth was, I didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion. And it was the same now in the bridal boutique—the most important person in the room to me was Key.  

            He made it easy. I’d marched out in three dresses one by one, and each time he made a face which clearly, in his animated ability to say so many things without uttering one word, showed his disapproval. I’d come to easily translate his gestures; I was starting to know him well. I could speak his “language” some now. So that eventually, once he started giving the clerk suggestions for what would look good on my body frame and go well with my skin color, all of which my female entourage argued against simply because he’d been the one to give it, I knew that all the dresses picked out for me did not suit his tastes. But he was polite and respectful, as always, so that feeling his advice wasn’t desired by anyone, Key sank back into the sofa quietly. Still, his was the first face I sought out each time I was dressed in something new, and his opinion was the one I most desired to please.

            When I came out in the fifth dress I saw my mom clasp her hands excitedly and heard the approving sighs of the others there, including the clerk who seemed pleased with herself; but Key was only grinning out of decorum, I could tell, which sank any sense of a smile I started to muster. All I wanted was Key’s approval. All I wanted was to make Key happy.

            “That’s it—that’s the one!” my mother exclaimed.

            My eyes were still on Key. He was looking the dress up down, then up and down again. I turned to the side and then fully around so that he could see the back of it. “Is the train too long?” I ask, hoping he would honestly answer. He seemed fixated on that part the most, the gathering of fabric that sprayed from the bustle into a series of crystal-encrusted layers.

            “No, honey, no~!” they all say. All save Key, who was shaking his head. He was still staring at the back though. Why? What was wrong with it?

             I was starting to feel insecure. “Does it make my look too big?” I pouted. “You don’t like it, do you, Bum?”

            Still, he hesitated to answer. “Doesn’t matter what I like, Ray," Key answered; he was not familiar enough with my friends and family to actually call me Messy, like he did when we were alone. "What do you like?” 

            What? He’d never said that before. He always had an opinion, and his opinion always trumped mine by his own insistence.

            “And look at your s!” said one of the bridesmaids. “They’re huge! Jonghyun’s gonna have fun getting you outta that dress~!”

            Everyone laughed, but I couldn’t help but blush. “Whatever…” I trail off shyly, for the first time feeling uncomfortable.

            “Well? Is this the one? Is this your dress?” my mom squealed. Even Jonghyun's mother was beaming.

            I looked in the mirror and took in the sight of me in my wedding dress. My wedding dress. The one single garment that I'd dreamed of wearing all my life. It was pretty enough, and it certainly hugged my curves in all the right ways. I liked it enough. It made me feel pretty; or maybe that's what expensive dresses can do to a young girl's mind: convince them they are more special than others. But this was supposed to be a happy occasion; the single most important outfit I'd ever wear. So why was it, the longer I stared in the mirror, the more awkward it became? So awkward, in fact, that I nearly didn’t notice the shade of Key's cheeks behind me in the reflection.

* * *

            “So? Did you get one?” Jong asked me as he helped himself to a second portion of my poor excuse for a dinner. I really was a terrible cook, a fact that Jonghyun only found out after living with me, and though I know he was slightly disappointed, he’d never complained.

            “Hm? I can’t tell you that,” I replied, mouth full. “But it certainly was hard to please everyone.”

            “Oh?” It was rather an absent answer. Jonghyun seemed preoccupied, but this was also becoming common the more wound up I became in wedding-planning.

            “At any rate, Key said you should pick your tux soon. He said that you want to match your vest with the color of the flowers, and that the handkerchief square should have some sort of pattern on it that matches the girls’ dresses—oh, and Key also said that you should change your hair to the way you had last year. Remember? The spikes and colored tips? He said that you should stand out the most, since all the guys will be in the same outfit. Well,” I laugh, “he calls it a uniform because tuxes are so boring. And, oh, he recommended at least three pairs of lifts because I’ll be in heels, though the shoes he picked out for me aren’t very high, so we won’t look too weird in our pictures. But you know what else Key said—?”

            Jong’s chopsticks screeched across his bowl. “No. What else did Key say…?”

            His tone was cold and abrupt, and having never really heard him speak this way before, I was perplexed by it. “Rex… what’s wrong?”

            “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just—you spend a lot of time with him these days. He’s all you talk about.”

            “Of course I do; he’s helping me plan your wedding,” I say.

            “I—I know…”

            "I don't get it... it was your idea to have Key help in the first place, not mine."

            "I know," he repeated.

            "He's your best friend, not mine..."

            Jong inhaled. "I know."

            “So, what’s really the matter?”

            “I’m just tired. Long hours at the school, you know, with the fair next week.”

            I’d forgotten. “Oh yeah, that’s right. Well, I’m sure it’ll go smoothly. Don’t worry.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Anything I can do to help?” I offer absently.

            “Have with me.”

            I gulped. His candor took me completely by surprise. He was staring me down with a pair of no-nonsense eyes that I found both intimating as I did seductive. “Bwo?”

            “Sleep with me, Raina. It’s been long enough.”

            “I told you, I want to wait.”

            He exhaled loudly. “Anything. Do anything ual with me.”

            “You want to make out?” I say.

            “No. More than that.”

            There was a break in time where we didn’t speak; I was thinking over the demand and what the most minimal of efforts would cost me. “Fine. But only if you tell me about what happened between you and Key.” Yes, we'd still been at a stale-mate on that little secret of his, and I'd only grown more and more curious about what it meant for two men to "have a thing" together without necessarily being gay. I'd even been tempted to ask the only other party who would have known the details, but couldn't bring myself to betray Jonghyun's trust.  

            This was clearly not what he had expected to hear. And he didn’t seem too happy about the “conditions” of our love-life. Was this it—our first real fight? It made me sad to think it, but also somewhat angry. I didn’t like being propositioned point-blank like that; it made me feel cheap and contractually obligated to “service” him. I’d never felt these negative things before. Up until now, I’d felt guilty that I was so reticent. But now, I rather cherished our ual innocence and did not feel ready to change its definition simply because he "ordered" it.

            He rose from the table and backed away, and I could tell that he was finished talking with me. “Forget it,” he finally said, eyes still deeply bothered. “I never thought you would anyway.”