Turns out that nineteen year-old ‘bum’ and I were actually the same age. I didn’t expect that. From the looks of him, he really seemed much older. A deadbeat, a renegade of anything societally structural—he just had ‘high-school dropout’ written all over him. A wannabe namja without any ability to pull it off. I was drawn to him, even if it was for no better reason than what I judged him for; he still had my attention from the moment he walked into my parents’ store…

            Why did I ask him out that day… I don’t really know. I just do what my impulses tell me to do. I rarely think it out first. If I want something, I typically just go out and get it. I’m not used to not having my way; perks of a privileged life and a very convincing personality, I suppose. But Jonghyun—the Kim Jonghyun I met that day, at least—had nothing, and that intrigued me. I didn’t fully expect him to take me up on the offer, no matter how hungry he was—I mean, I knew that he’d be interested on some level, but the proposition did kinda come out of nowhere. He’d probably think I was a weirdo. He’d already assumed I was gay within the first five minutes of meeting me—I could only guess what other conclusions he was jumping to for no real reason.

            Fact was: I had just gone through a kind of breakup, just not the kind he was probably insinuating. It wasn’t a boyfriend, or a lover at all, actually; it was a loss of a good friend that I knew I’d probably never see again. I grew up with Mika but she was returning to Los Angeles, where her family lived. I was as envious as I was saddened… no matter how I loved my folks and the life they worked for here, I still had hopes and aspirations to travel on my own some day. See the world, experience everything out there and all it had to offer… only problem was, I didn’t know how to do any of that, and was too scared to try.

            So Mika left that morning with one final kiss, and though she told me we’d have to party together whenever I made it to California, it was hard for me to believe that would ever really happen. Something just told me that it wouldn’t—and that Mika and I, once inseparable as kids, would never be together again. The reality of it all went down hard.

            My parents wanted me to marry her; they teased me about it constantly growing up, but I could tell that it was a serious hope that I would. Without my friendship with Mika, I wouldn’t have had a reason to come out. Without my friendship with Mika—who had about as much interest in guys that I had in girls—I probably would have waited for an opportune time to explain myself to them, to crush their unrealistic dreams.

            “Work hard and in two more years, you can go and marry her. Bring her back to Korea if her parents agree on it,” my soft-hearted folks smiled. This was their encouraging way of telling me to get the things that I wanted in life. Their way of telling me that they approved my childhood friend as their future daughter-in-law. I don’t know why this seemed the vital time to disclose my secrets to my unsuspecting parents but I did. And once I did, there was no going back.

            All that happened on the day that I met the annoyingly attractive Kim Jonghyun. After dealing with the aftermath of losing my best friend and coming out to my parents, in walks this with five bucks to his name and a know-it-all mouth, thumbing through my parents’ stuff he was too cheap to afford, calling me a in so many words—and yeah, I just kind of lost it on him.

            He was an idiot from the moment we sat down. I took him to a nice place but not the nicest; a local place known for their hundred-year old broth recipe and handmade noodles. Mika and I would go there after school at least twice a week, regardless of the fact we both liked to pretend that we were more sophisticated than we really were. But Jonghyun—he never once pretended to be sophisticated. He never pretended anything at all. And this was something that I secretly liked about him from the start.

            “What do I get?” he leaned and asked the minute we sat down, perusing the menu absently as if he didn’t know how to read. He played it off though I got the impression that he was embarrassed that he couldn’t afford anything, save for cheap appetizers like fried tofu. Which is exactly why I told him to order whatever he wanted—anything at all. He looked at me and asked again: “What do you like here? I’ll eat off yours.”

            “You’re not eating off mine,” I snapped back. “Get your own bowl. That’s why I brought you here.”

            “Listen—er—Key,” he corrected after he caught my glare, “I feel really weird about all this. This is really uncomfortable for me…”

            Here it was. The gay stuff was about to come up again, I could tell he was embarrassed to be doing this, with me. He was embarrassed over the insinuations of us sitting across the table like this—and I immediately hated him for it.

            “Fine. Just fine.”

            “Fine?”

            “Yeah, fine. If you’re worried about how people look at you, then you can take yours to go. But I’ll still pay for it—if that doesn’t threaten your masculinity too bad.”

            Jong’s eyes grew larger with every following word. “What…? Um, what did I say? Did I offend you, or something? I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea—”

            “Just forget it. .”

            That last word I’d muttered under my breath, but apparently not quietly enough because he repeated it back to me like a question then added, “Key, sorry—I don’t get it.”

            I threw the menu on the table. “ it. Have a nice life. Don’t come to my store again.”

            “Woh woh woh, baby, calm down—”

            “Baby?” Who the ’re you calling baby? “I’m not your baby—”

            He grinned. “You’re acting like one. Maybe you should be.”

            Tch. This macho idiot. Why was this smile working on me so easily? At the time I figured it was because of everything else going on—that was why I was so easily manipulated by his charms. “Thought you weren’t comfortable with guys,” I say back indifferently.

            “When did I say that?”

            “Just now. You just said that. Are you stupid?”

            “Are you? I never said anything about being uncomfortable with guys.”

            It was my turn to be embarrassed now. I replayed the words in my mind, only to realize he was right. “Well, what’re you so bent out of shape about then?”

            “Nothing wrong with getting some chow with a friend—save for I can’t afford it. That’s what I meant.”

            Friend? We are friends now? I decided to let that one go unanswered for now and put my hand in the air, signaling the server to come over. I was going to order a whole spread for this guy. Something about him—I just wanted to take care of him the minute we met, even if it pissed me off that I did. “Yeah, we’ll take two number #15’s and give us all the sides, please. Two bottles of beer as well.”

            “Woh, baby, that’s a lot of food!”

            He said it again.

            “Don’t call me baby,” I said, handing the menus to the server to solidify the order. “And it’s fine.”

            “Wow, you’re loaded, aren’t you? Thanks—I’ll repay the favor some day, I promise.”

            “I’m not doing this for you. I’m starving too.”

            I don't know if he believed me. It didn't really matter.

            “So, tell me about you,” Jonghyun said.

            “What?”

            “Tell me about you.”

            “Like what?”

            “Anything. Entertain me.”

            “Dinner and a show—something like that?”

            He grinned again. That delicious smirk I’d grow to both love and hate as time went on. That smile I would never forget—even if he didn’t remember how to give it, I would never, ever forget…

            “Yeah,” he said, “something like that.”

            “What’d you want to know?”

            “Why are you so loaded? Let’s start there. Not a lot of guys decide to spend their dough on strangers.”

            “Why? Are you a gold-digger?”

            “Only when it comes to ramyun.”

            I laughed. He did too. “Way to set the bar low.”

            “Doesn’t seem so bad to me,” Jong shrugged happily. “Not from where I’m sitting.”

            My cheeks suddenly did the one thing I had never experienced in a situation like this—flushed with blood. I was actually blushing; this man made me blush. That smile again, penetrating and kind… he was suddenly too much for me to deal with in any normal sense; I became self-aware and unsure of myself for the first time. Shy. Quieted by the invisible influence he had over me without even having to try hard to gain it.

            “Why don’t you… er… tell me about you?” I tried to switch it around. Suddenly being under his microscope left me feeling vulnerable. “Tell me why you came in my shop today.”

            “You know that already: Quik-Stop was closed.”

            “Is that it? That’s all?”

            “Isn’t that why people usually go to stores—to get something?”

            “Do you eat there a lot?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why?”

            “Because it’s cheap.”

            “That’s right. Cheap and easy, how could I forget. You live alone?”

            “With roommates.”

            “Where’re your parents?”

            “Gone.”

            “Dead?”

            “Mom is. Dad’s just… well, he’s just picky about how things are run in his house, if you know what I mean.”

            I didn’t. Not really. But I said that I did anyway, just to keep the conversation going. “I’m sorry,” I replied. “That sounds rough.”

            “It’s all right. Gotta grow up sometime, right?”

            Gotta grow up sometime. Gotta grow up sometime…

            This was true; why hadn’t I ever thought that way? I’d been very sheltered my whole life. Sheltered and protected. But here was this guy, all on his own and helpless—can’t even buy himself a good meal. The baseless and unexpected need I felt to take care of him only got stronger the more he spoke to me. I was quickly falling under his undefined and annoyingly effective spell. “You seem like a pretty big baby to me,” I said as our food was delivered: six saucers of sides, two heaping bowls and large glasses of beer.

            “Oh, no no—”

            “What?”

            “You don’t get to call me a baby if I can’t call you one. Ah, look at you—you’re chuckling. You know I’m right~”

            “Well, anyway—” I was desperate to take the attention off me here. Anything. Anything at all. He had misjudged me at first sight, but I had misjudged him also; but instead of feeling like we were somehow even, I only felt that much more susceptible. “So, you have a girlfriend, or what?”

            Jonghyun nearly spit out broth all over the table. “Wow… didn’t expect that.”

            “What? Lots of people ask that. It's pretty standard.” Embarrassed, I was sort of back-peddling here. “Is that so bad a question?”

            “I, uh—no.” He seemed a little shy when he said this, burying his face into another spoonful of his soup.

            “No, it’s not so bad or no you don’t have one?”

            “Er… neither?”

            “Well, good.”

            “Good? Why good?”

            “You shouldn’t have a girlfriend if you can’t even afford to take care of yourself.”

            “You've got a point, I guess,” Jonghyun laughed. “Guess I'll just have to meet someone who has a lot of money already...” 

            “I would expect no less from a gold-digger,” I grinned. I really, really liked him. 

            “So... why Key?” he said to me then, changing directions. I could feel his eyes on me even when I wasn't looking at him. “I'm guessing your folks didn't name you that.”

            “Wouldn't you like to know…”

            “I would. Very much.”

            I blushed again like an idiot. “Are you always so pathetic, or am I just the lucky recipient?”

            “Are you always y to your customers, or am I just the lucky recipient?”

            “Bwo?! You're saying this to me now, after feeding your skinny ?”

            “There it is... ha, you're so feisty. I like that…”

            I played off the fact that he was slightly addictive by now. I was afraid of the things he made me feel. “And anyway, you don't know anything about me, shortstop.”

            “Shortstop, eh? I bet you haven't watched a second of baseball in your life.”

            “Oh, are you a big sports guy, then?”

            Jonghyun shook his head. “But I do like games…”

            I legitimately felt like we were flirting now, even though I could not explain it; even though I was afraid to be wrong. Should I tell him about Mika? Should I explain what had happened to me that day so that he could understand why I had acted the way I had? Or should I continue to play hard-to-get and hard-to-figure-out since he seemed to enjoy games so much...?

            We talked for longer than I imagined, though I can’t really tell you specifics on what was said. We stayed there until closing hours—we hadn’t realized it so they had to practically kick us out; we were so absorbed on ourselves that we didn’t even notice that other people had lives to go home to. Part of me was stalling; trying to hang on to the last shred of common sense left in me. See, I realized early on that I spent the majority of the evening laughing, despite the fact that I had every intention on playing hard-to-get. There was something about him that got me to soften up, open up, be vulnerably happy… there was something about him that got me wanting more—hoping for things I’d never pursued before.  

            When he touched my hand with his index finger—softly as if by accident, yet eagerly as if with intention—I felt a spark go off inside, a charge. He was reaching for the chili seasoning on the table but grazed my skin along the way. Jonghyun must have felt sparks as well; he looked at me with a kind of wonder and awe. “Key, I—”

            I had no idea what he was trying to say, but I had a few ideas of what I wanted him to say. I kept playing with the straw in my glass nervously, twisting it across the residual puddle of amber ale, wholly aware that he had previously said it looked ‘cute’ seeing a grown man drink beer through a straw. 

            “Thanks for the food and all.”

            “No problem. Glad you liked it.”

            “Who wouldn't like it?”

            “Well, you did say you like cheap and easy things...”

            “Doesn't mean I don't have good taste.” 

            I wasn't sure exactly what that meant but liked the way he was looking at me when he said it.

            “And, uh…” Jonghyun kept on.

            “Yeah?”

            “Thanks.”

            “For?”

            “The company. I had a nice time.”

            “You make this sound like a date,” I sniffed, writing the true feelings I was having off as a joke.

            “That’s ridiculous, right?”

            “Yeah… ridiculous.” My tone was not very convincing.

            “ ’Cause, I mean, if this is a real date, I should have taken you out.”

            This suprised me. I didn’t expect this, but played along. “Why would you be the one paying and not me? You don’t have a dime to your name, remember?”

            “Because,” he said, matter-of-factly through a sly smile, “I’m the one who likes you most.”

           I still lived at home with my folks at the time—that’s the only thing that stopped me from taking him there. Kim Jonghyun lived on his own, like a real adult. Roommates, sure—but roommates are not the same as parents, and at the time that, given the circumstances of why we needed a place, that made all the difference. The minute we crossed inside and closed the door, my new ‘friend’ was on me, pressing me against the wall with his body. I moaned suddenly—a little too loudly, because he sshed me through a devious smile, then motioned for me to take a right down the hall. The place was a mess, but I didn’t really notice until the next morning; for now, there wasn’t time to notice the cliché disarray of the small, slightly disgusting, bachelor pad. For now, the only thing that was on my mind was tasting the inside of Kim Jonghyun’s mouth one more time…

          “What’re we doing…?” I breathed into him once he closed what I assumed to be his bedroom door behind him.

          “We’re having ,” he said back matter-of-factly, then kissed me again. I could tell by his breathing that he had no intention on slowing anything down.

           “Why?”

          “Whad’you mean why? Why the not?”

           ‘Hopeless romantic trapped in an ’s body’ is right—           

           It was one of those rare times where I didn’t know how to answer. It should have been enough—I mean, it was pretty straight forward of him, but for some reason I was unable to process what he was saying. I didn’t know what to do. I had never been in this situation before. I never had before. I had my reservations against it, and my doubts; had my moment of morality that begged me to consider that this might not be the smartest or safest of ideas—but here I was, shimmying this short single-dollar-to-his-name man who looked almost thirty out of his shirt like he’d self-destruct. It was like I’d never touched a human being before, like I’d never been kissed. I was hungry for him. I was desperate…

            Why was this happening? Why was this stranger on me this way, arms around my waist and moving his lips over my neck and turning the skin as if he was trying to nectar from a flower? What was I supposed to do? I wanted this but I didn’t know why; even more, didn’t know why he wanted it.

            “So… are you—are you gay?” I asked through the insanely pressure in the room, as if it weren’t obvious enough. It was the only thing I could think of to say through it all; I still found it hard to believe that a simple meeting had ended the night this way.

            “Do you always complicate things, Key?”

            “What, complicate—it’s a straightforward question, right? Are you gay or not?”

            “Would I be trying to sleep with you if I didn’t realize you were a man?” he laughed. “This is all really easy—”

            “You mean me. I’m really easy. Is that what you’re trying to say? Mr. Cheap and Easy?”

            Jong kissed me softer this time, refraining just a little. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Are you always this way? Hell, for all I know you’re thinking the same thing about me.”

            I didn’t believe that he really thought this was an issue; he was just being nice. I allowed him to continue proving his determination with his all-over electrifying touch. “So… like, how’s this going to work?”

            “Jesus… you do really like to complicate everything.”

            “No, I mean, who—you know…”

            Light bulb. “Well,” he started, “when you close your eyes and think about what’s gonna happen here, what do you see?”

            “Huh?”

            “Close your eyes~” Jonghyun ran his hands over my eyelids, forcing them to stay shut. “Now…” he continued, and I could feel his lips being to tickle my skin through the words, his hands anchoring excitedly over my hips, “What do you see happening next…?”

            I knew exactly what I saw. I knew exactly what I wanted. And I knew the words too, so I couldn’t help but pant “versatile” very awkwardly as I felt one of his hands drop a little further south.

            “Versatile, huh? I can work with that.”

            “But I—” Was this the time to tell him that I had zero ual experience? That everything I thought I knew or wanted came from a Ph.D. in and customized fantasies?

            “But you~?”

            “I don’t… know how…”

            “Damn it,” he breathed into me. “You are so adorable. Really. I can’t believe I met you…”

            “And I—I’ve never had a one-night stand before…”

            “Who says it’ll only be for one night?”

            At the time, this was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard spoken back to me. At the time, this was my equivalent to a perfect dream. I did not resist him as he took off my shirt and grazed his fingers carefully over my skin—and I certainly did not resist the rest…

            The rest was a blur of sweat and first-time sensory explosions: the smell of him, the sounds we made together, the soft touch of his fingers against my skin, the subtle shifting and sliding of the sheets beneath us. We might not have known a hell of a lot back when we first met, but we knew enough. I never thought it would be that way, my first time or any time, for that matter, and though I feigned regret the next morning, there was something in me that really wasn’t regretful at all. On some level, I already knew that something in my life had changed by meeting this stranger in my shop who convinced me to hand over my V-card for the price of a bowl of noodles.

            It felt amazing. Satisfying. Absolutely worth it, no matter if my conscience told me otherwise. I thought a lot about it that morning as I was lying in his arms in his single age-worn mattress, one corner of the sheets coming off the side exposing rust stains from what I could only assume was a broken spring. Now that the sunlight was coming to ‘shed light’ on the situation, I could easily make out the kind of situation my new friend was in: cramped, tight, chipping paint and a crack running down his bedroom window (he would later tell me he was amazed just to have a window at all, so he didn’t mind); there was no heating unit or A/C, and the few pairs of clothes he owned seemed to be collecting at the base of his bed, in desperate need of cleaning. Half-eaten ramyun packets and convenience-store snack-wrappers littered the ground, in addition to a mix of various beverage bottles that ranged from alcoholic to carbonated (not a single water bottle among them); two magazines and a guitar in the corner with a broken F-string. There was no real furniture—no real anything. It was pretty terrible, even for a guy.

          Did I really just sleep with this guy? In this? It was far from a Disney-esque scenario, even aside from all the homoual stuff. I had always had high standards, but judging by my surroundings the morning after, was apparently willing to throw that all aside in a moment of weakness.

          These epiphanies and false nostalgias were quickly doused by the need to force myself to feel an ounce of regret for my own sake—but it just wouldn’t come. Had he taken advantage of me, or had I thrown myself into things too willingly? Neither one of these categories seemed accurate, no matter how much I tried to convince myself, because nothing could overshadow the fact that I was starting to feel more sorry for him than for myself. How did people live like this? How had his father expected him to survive on his own? I felt sorry for him now more than ever. I had been fortunate to grow up as privileged as I had, supported. But this guy didn’t have any of that; he didn’t have anything at all. He didn't belong here; he didn't fit his surroundings.

          I looked over at him but he was still sleeping. His face seemed to radiate with sunlight; I had a strange feeling come over me, a feeling like I had known this person all my life and had just now met him again. Next, I eyed the broken wrapper on the floor, the one we’d used that night, and wondered how many other ones I’d see if I kept looking. But I didn’t want to find any more. I didn’t want to share him—so I decided to rescue him instead.

* * * 

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