Hongbin was ready to interrogate me the second I walked into the installation section of the museum. Our job was really just to walk around and make sure no one ed with the installations, or took something they weren’t supposed to. So we walked through, and he assaulted me with questions so fast that I wondered if being mugged would actually be more pleasant.

    “Okay, so it totally is writing Taekwoon,” he grinned. “What did you guys talk about?”

    “Uh, like...how everyone is their own background and supporting character...stuff. I don’t know. It wasn’t romantic, but I liked it. He’s really thoughtful an-- wait. How do you know him?” I asked, severely confused. Taekwoon didn’t take me as the type of person to mingle.

    “We went to high school together,” Hongbin shrugged, dipping his head as he walked through a maze of red string that ran across every direction from wall to wall -- very hard to maneuver through. “He was always quiet, really cute. It came out that he was gay, like, senior year when he politely rejected this girl that asked him out and she basically leaked it everywhere. He’s really thoughtful -- he was in the poetry club but never read any of his work to anyone. He’d go to the Louder Than a Bomb competitions but never actually competed in them with the rest of the club.”

    “So basically he’s just as recluse as I assumed he was?” I asked.

    “Pretty much.”

    “...he’s amazing.”

    “Calm down, loverboy,” Hongbin laughed. Don’t get too infatuated.”

    “I know, I know -- still, he’s cute,” I shrugged, dipping my head so I wouldn’t bump into one of the many paper planes suspended from the ceiling. I looked around at certain pieces in the museum and wondered if Taekwoon would like them.

    “I mean, he talks to you, and that in of itself is pretty amazing. I’m not saying go for it, but uh...well, no, yeah -- go for it. Not too fast, though. He’s like a kitten; he runs off if you approach him too quickly,” Hongbin laughed and looked me over, as if he was imagining what I’d look like with Taekwoon on my arm. I’d like to think he’d look pretty damn good.

    When I went home that night, I found myself looking out at the sunset, watching it go down. I was never much of a visionary or a romantic, but I liked the idea that he was somewhere, whether on the bridge or his own home, watching it too. That we were sharing a little moment together, and we just didn’t know it yet. It was one thing to start my day with him, but I quite liked the idea of having the chance to end it with him as well. The words ‘Good night, Taekwoon,’ sounded all too inviting, and all I could really do at the moment was hope he thought so too.

    Lunch and the bridge had become a habit. After the first couple of weeks, I’d like to think we’d gotten closer. I knew that his favorite color was dark green, he liked Park Hyoshin (but not nearly as much as Hongbin), he was Buddhist, his parents lived in Jeju, and he was a Literature major, but that he wanted to get his teaching certification to work with kids. He really liked kids. And puppies. And pretty much anything that was small and adorable. His inclination towards cute things was, in of itself, the cutest thing I’d ever witnessed. His hard expression would go soft and he’d start cooing at the object of his attention, his already high voice going up and octave.

    For our Lunch meeting one Friday, we decided to pick up something small, then went to the park. We sat on a bench together, watching people walk by. I never really knew when he would talk and when he wouldn’t. It was always a surprise, and I kind of liked that. I liked that I was always on the edge of my seat even though he was so quiet. There was something magnetic about him, and I think a huge part of that was his unpredictability.

    What I was able to predict, though, was his reaction when two children playing with a soccer ball had accidentally kicked it over to Taekwoon. I watched it land at his feet, and the little boy, only about two or three, waddled over and grabbed the ball tentatively, looking up at him with his big eyes. Taekwoon smiled immediately, cooing softly, “Hello there~”

    The little boy gave a cute gummy smile and handed the ball to Taekwoon with his tiny hands, and he took it with his much bigger hands and smiled brightly as he tossed it over to the boy’s older brother. The little boy laughed and turned, waddling over to his brother to continue their game. I watched Taekwoon watch the two of them like a proud mother. He seriously acted like every child was such a blessing to the planet, and it was by far the cutest thing I’d ever witnessed. I gently poked his arm, and he flushed when he realized that, yes, I was still sitting next to him on the bench.

    “Sorry…” he murmured bashfully and nibbled on his lunch.

    “Nothing to apologize for -- that was so cute~” I crooned and nudged him playfully, making him go redder. He really was just a big, fluffy kitten.

    We finished our food in a comfortable silence, and he walked me back to the museum, looking it over with interest from the outside like he always did before nodding to me and then walking off, a silent affirmation that we’d be doing the same thing tomorrow.

    While my love life (or that’s what I liked to think it was) was slowly progressing and moving in a direction that was, at the moment, unforeseeable, Hongbin and Wonshik were so in love that it hurt a little bit. Every day now, Wonshik would come pick Hongbin up so they could also go out to lunch together, and every day, Wonshik would marvel at Hongbin, from how he wore his hair (or wig) to how he carried himself in his shoes and the way his dimples would be just a bit more apparent than usual because of how wide he would smile every time Wonshik gave him that look. It was a look I didn’t know much about -- only that it had never really been directed towards me.

    Wonshik would wrap his arms around Hongbin’s waist and kiss him slow and sweet, and Hongbin would play with Wonshik’s hair, twirling it between his fingers, which he always had a knack for doing with anyone that was close to him. But it was different with Wonshik. His playing looked and probably felt more like worshipping.

    To say I was jealous was both an understatement and perhaps an inaccuracy. I didn’t want Wonshik. Not the way I used to, when we were seniors and would go to parties together. When we would sneak into the bathrooms or basements or bedrooms where it was quiet, high as balls or drunk off our asses, and just laugh and sort of look at each other.

    “You’re so pretty, Jaehwannie,” he would say and trace his fingers along my cheek. And then we would kiss, and it would be sloppy and uncoordinated, but I would drink it up because he called me pretty, and I believed it and I liked the feeling it gave me.

    We never had , and for that, I’m grateful. I had thought about having with him multiple times, and wanted him badly. But it wasn’t until I was watching him at my post in the museum, holding Hongbin and worshipping him like a deity, that I realized it was never Wonshik I wanted. It was the validation. The love. The support. He was just always an open person that provided his admiration to people without charge. If you managed to amaze him, he adored you, regardless of whether or not he was in love with you or you were in love with him.

    He kissed me because I was pretty and I made him laugh. He kissed Hongbin because he was pretty and made him laugh, but also made him stay for more. No one, in his eyes, was as amazing as Hongbin, whereas when he and I would kiss, I knew that he would perhaps kiss someone else that night or in the hallway at school. I knew because that was Wonshik, and he did not love me, and I did not want him. Not anymore.

    When I was leaving work, Taekwoon was outside. I cocked a brow and smiled, “What are you doing here? Museum’s closed, man.”

    He looked down, typing something on his phone and then turning it off, looking up at me with that intense stare that sent shivers down my spine. He shook his head softly, “I didn’t come for the museum. I came for you,” he explained, and to say I was slightly taken aback is like saying the Titanic got slightly dented. Nevertheless, I played it cool (or as cool as someone like me could play anything) and smiled, “What for?”

    “I was thinking...about dinner,” he murmured awkwardly. “A new place opened, but they have huge servings and...yeah.”

    “You want me to come with you to try out a new place that mainly cooks for two?” I helped him, and he nodded. Without thinking, I grabbed his hand and grinned, “Lead the way!”

    He tensed slightly at me grabbing his hand, but then began to walk, and I followed. It was funny, really. At first he was so tentative to hold my hand, and the next, he was clutching it for dear life once we approached crowds, and he’d either tug me along to barrel through them, or he’d hold my hand tighter and stay close -- it was in those moments that the urge to kiss him was strong, but I refrained. The last thing I needed was to scare him off and up the thing we had going. What the thing was, I wasn’t entirely sure.

    When we arrived, I realized it was one of those traditional places, and we had to take off our shoes at the door and leave them there. The ahjumma directed us to a table, and Taekwoon immediately ordered the shabu shabu. When they began to bring out everything -- the meat, the broth, the noodles, the vegetables -- I realized why he wanted to do this as a pair. It was intense. He and I were both monsters when it came to food, and even still, we were both a little intimidated by everything.

    We cooked the meat together and he asked me about the different pieces in the museum, what I did, who I knew, what I liked about it. He prefered to let me do all the talking, and I was fine with that because, for once, it felt like someone was actually listening. I told him about the museum, and art school, and how my parents and I don’t talk much anymore since they wanted me to be a lawyer and to be straight, which sure as hell was not gonna happen. I stopped midway, when we were adding the noodles to the broth, and noticed that he was smiling. It was slight, but he was smiling.

    “What’s up?” I asked, and he shook his head.

    “Nothing...we’re more similar than I thought. I don’t talk with my parents much either,” he explained. “They’re not exactly keen on having a gay writer in the family.”

    I shrugged and spooned some noodles into my bowl once they were thoroughly cooked. “It’s not a big deal,” I sighed. “Not for me, anyway. I prefer it like this -- not hanging on to anyone that doesn’t deserve the ropes, you know?”

    He nodded, eating more of the meat (he was actually hogging it, but I was too nice and too infatuated with him to actually say anything about it). I decided, since he threw out there that he was gay, it was a decent enough time to ask --

    “So do you, like, have a boyfriend or anything?”

    He shook his head, “I haven’t dated since my first year of college. It didn’t end...well…” he murmured. “It wasn’t...it wasn’t abusive or angry or anything. It just ended very abruptly.”

    “How do you mean?” I asked, then quickly added on, “O-only if you want to tell me! I completely understand if you don’t wanna talk about it!”

    He looked at the food, then at me, then out the window, probably contemplating whether or not he should, and if he could trust me. Finally, he looked back at me and nodded softly in confirmation that it was okay. “He left,” he said simply. “He got accepted into a dance company in London that he really wanted to join, but he only told me by leaving a note and going to the airport in the morning without me. He probably wanted to make it easier and make sure I wouldn’t be waiting for him, since his life is there now. But...it more just felt like I was being abandoned.”

    I reached across the table without thinking, holding his hand. He didn’t flinch. He looked up at me, and while his eyes, as always, were intense, there was something different there. I felt like he trusted me, which wasn’t something I was so sure of before.

    “It’s funny…” he muttered. “I’ve only known you for a few weeks at most, but it feels like it’s been years.”

    “Maybe it means we were meant to meet each other~?” I grinned cheesily. To my surprise, instead of hitting my arm and giving me the usual ‘are you ing serious, Jaehwan?’ look, he nodded. He agreed.

    The ahjumma came over to check on us, and we unlinked our hands and finished eating. We split the bill once we were done, slipped our shoes back on, and left the restaurant. I began heading to the train station, and he walked with me. “Don’t you live around here?” I asked.

    “It’s late…” he shook his head. He didn’t say anymore, and I was too busy being enthralled by his existence and the fact that he acknowledged me to ask questions. We boarded the almost empty train together and sat in a comfortable silence. Halfway through the ride, I felt something on my shoulder. I looked, and Taekwoon was fast asleep, head on my shoulder, and hand resting on my thigh. I tried not to look like a giddy idiot. When we actually reached my stop, I had to wake him up, and he looked up at me like a sleepy kitten.

    “It’s my stop…” I cooed. He pouted -- ing pouted, this cute bastard -- and shook his head. “I’ll go with you.”

    “To my place?”

    He nodded.

    I bit my lip and got up with him -- he was slightly stumbly from being so tired, and it was the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen. I led him along to my place, which wasn’t far from the station at all, and we went inside. When we got in, he took of his shoes, then promptly found my bedroom and flopped onto my bed.

    “U-uh...I’ll...sleep on the cou--”

    “Just come lay down, dumby,” he muttered, his voice laced with drowsiness.

    I sure as hell wasn’t gonna turn down that offer. I climbed into bed with him and laid on my back, just looking at him. His torso rise and fell slowly with his breath, and he peaked open one eye momentarily. “Goodnight, Jaehwan.”

    “Goodnight, Taekwoon.”