🍑Fics

That bus driver sure as hell saw her at the stop and kept on rolling by, but relief was only a little further away. She paused to straighten her mauve bodice before shifting from a stiffly brisk gait to a switch of the hips. 

“You’re late.” Jeb wasn’t paid much to be a doorman, but he took his job very seriously.

“Wa’n’t my fault this time, I swear.”

“Just hurry up and go in; you’re almost up.” But as she began to step forward, he jerked his thumb to the left. “You know better.”

“And you know it would take longer to go ‘round back than it would for me to just walk through here like everybody else.”

“Well, you ain’t like everybody else in here. Now git.”

Figuring it wasn’t worth the fight—at least not that day—she quickly made her way to the back entrance. As she hustled through the halls, she attempted to smooth a coil back and lock it into place with a bobby pin to no avail. The humidity from outside was nothing compared to the sweltering sweat and sex backstage. After passing several doors marked with a tie around the knob, she paused in front of a mirror for a quick glance.  Sweaty, unkempt hair, chest heaving from her long journey. She’d make it work.

“...by the smooth sounds of the sweetest dame this side of the color line,” Odette noted her cue and the audience’s laughter. With a deep breath she sauntered onto the stage, skin glistening under the harsh lighting. 

“Evenin’,” her voice softened as she was met with sparse responses and subtle nods of acknowledgement from a sea of pale faces. “Name’s Dot, and I like to get straight to the point. It sure is steamy out there, isn’t it?” The breathiness lacing her tone caused the audience to stiffen—for women in the jaw and men elsewhere. “Got me all hot and bothered.” One hand fanned her extended neck as the other freed her curls. “In fact, I think we’re having a heat wave,” her silky notes wrapped around the audience. And in the waves of White, there was one. One lighter than her, but certainly darker than everyone else, and she could hardly believe it.  

“A tropical Heat Wave.

The temp'rature's rising,

It isn't surprising.”

So she sang to him. And only him—eyes locked on black sunglasses that did little to hide his piercing gaze.  

“Gee her anatomy, made the mercury

Jump to ninety three. Yes sir!”

By now the crowd swayed and snapped, charmed by her flirting, but still reserved. Odette made the most of her wild appearance, hands caressing her curves, tousling her hair, beckoning to lonely hearts in the crowd, but One seemed unmoved. Her eyes flitted over to him, smack dab in the middle of the room, and he cocked his head to the side, smirk stretching across his face.

‘Playin’ hard to get, huh?’ she thought. And she could’ve sworn she saw his eyebrow twitch in amusement as he leaned back in his seat. As her siren song came to a close, she couldn’t help but smile. 

He took one last gulp of his drink, a dark liquor, and stood to leave. Odette’s disappointment was masked by thoughts of, ‘I know this Negro is not leaving in the middle of my set,’ but she remained composed and slipped into the next number. Again, as he made his way to the door, he looked back at her with that same sideways smile.

___________________

Saturdays were always the busiest. 

“You sure you can fix it by Sunday morning? Who’da known the boy would shoot up like this, right outta his best suit?”

“You should’a known by lookin’ at his daddy. The man’s a giant.”

“Baby, when I saw how tall Henry was, I had other things on my mind.”

“I’m sure you did, Miss Loretta,” Odette chuckled, examining the pair of pants on her desk. “If I let out the seams and hem it right about here, that should take care of the pants. Jackets ain’t so easy. If he’s broad in the shoulders, that may be it for this one.”

The older woman huffed in frustration. “I can’t get him a new one until I get paid next week.

“Mr. Henry got any old jackets he don’t wear no more?”

Loretta nodded.

“Alright, bring me one of them that’s around this color and I’ll take it in for Little Paul. No charge. Just bring me some beignets and we’ll call it even.”

“Oh, bless your heart, Odette! I’ll go on home and get that right now.”

Two women’s dresses, one girl’s baptismal dress, one boy’s pair of dress pants; not to mention putting the finishing touches on her latest costume…and it was only ten in the morning. She tossed the slacks onto her growing pile of tasks and sighed, mind drifting to the man from last night. 

___________________

It was about half past seven when Louis reached the front door of Le Fleur. 

“Back door,” the burly doorman’s voice was gruff. 

“Excuse me?”

“Back. Door. N*gger.”

Before Louis could react, a voice called out from behind him. “Ah, Mr. du Lac! You made it.” Rather than turn around, he kept his eyes on Jeb. “Well don’t just stand there, Jeb. Let the man in.” Short as he was, Mr. Finley’s presence commanded attention and respect. It helped that he owned the club.

The taller man made no effort to hide his disdain as he moved to the side and opened the door. And in turn, Louis made no effort to hide his smug demeanor as he entered.

“Good to see you, Mr. Finley. You got quite the spot; good to know I finally got some competition ‘round here.”

A hearty, full-belly laugh accompanied his response, “I finally cracked the code on fillin’ the place.”

“Enlighten me.” Louis didn’t hesitate to take a seat, front and center, to get the best view of the stage. He knew exactly how: Her.

”Negro songbird. Goes by—“

“Dot?”

“Already made a name for herself, it seems.” The lights dimmed, almost as if on cue. 

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” Velvet. Smooth and decadent as the curtains drawn. “I’m Dot, and I like to?” She paused, allowing the audience to respond.

“Get straight to the point!” 

“That’s right, Baby.” 

Shaded eyes followed her across the stage. With a heavy sigh, she draped her gloved arms over the piano.

“Boy, I tell ya—I been on my knees all day.” Murmurs and chuckles resounded, only to be met with a theatrical gasp.

“Prayin’ of course! Get y’all’s minds outta the gutter,” she giggled, propping her elbows up on the smooth surface. She hums a bit and makes eye contact with her accompanying musician, a dark-skinned older gentleman with a kind disposition on his weathered features. “You know Ma, dontcha, Slim? Go’on play me a little somethin’.”

He followed her lead, playfully mimicking each note.

“And so I says, ‘Oh, Lord, send me a man,’” she crooned.

“I'm the loneliest woman in the land.

I've worked hard both night and day.” She glided back to center stage, white satin caressing the mic stand before her fingers wrapped around it. She sure as hell could work a room, Louis’d give her that much. And she was easy on the eyes. Rich, buttery complexion. Enough curves to crash a Cadillac. And the voice. Exactly what his clientele were looking for.

“Tryin' to find a good man to come my way.” She glanced in his direction and the heat radiating off of her made his throat dry. But he knew that liquor wouldn’t be enough to quench this particular thirst.

“Send me a Zulu, a voodoo, any old man.” She slid off one glove. “I'm not particular, boys, I'll take what I can.” Then the other. “Oh Lordy, send me a man.” 

A glove landed in Louis’ lap, Mr. Finley’s laugh ringing in his ear once more. 

___________________

The jezebel root in her bra was itchin’ her somethin’ mean, and the end of the night couldn’t have come soon enough. By the time she was allowed to get her things from the dressing room, most patrons had gone home (except the ones who…requested late night private shows).

She emerged from behind the curtain, stopping in her tracks at the sight before her. He had stayed. And there he stood, leaned against the wall absentmindedly grazing a thumb over the fabric of her glove. 

“Thought you might want it back.” He looked up at her, offering a hand to guide her down the stairs.

“Thank you kindly.” His hand was a little cold, but inviting all the same. “I find it hard to believe you waited an extra 2 hours to give me back my glove.”

“My momma raised me to be a gentleman.”

The guffaw that escaped her was almost offensive. “We don’t get many of those around here.” A muffled crash from one of the many hidden rooms punctuated the statement. “Look, Mr…?”

“Louis de Pointe du Lac,” the name rolled off his tongue. 

Recognition flashed in her eyes, but she recovered quickly. “Well, Mr. du Lac, I don’t see why a gentleman would need to wear sunglasses in such a dimly lit room unless he was hiding something. The eyes are the window to the soul, after all.”

He bit back a smile and removed them. “There. Better?”

“Much. Though I ain’t never seen a nigga with bright blue eyes like them.”

“Who you callin’ a nigga?”

“The nigga I’m lookin’ at,” she smirked, hand resting on her hip.

His laugh was a genuine one. “Alright, let’s get to the point, Dot, since I know that’s what you like to do. I wanna make a proposition.”

“I’m not for sale like them girls back there.”

“Everyone has a price. Nevertheless, that’s not what I’m suggesting. Y’see, I got a place of my own not too far from here and I’m looking for some new musical talent.” 

She mulled it over for a moment. 

“There’s a reason you sing to me when I come here. Good lookin’ as I may be, I don’t think that’s it.”

She rolled her eyes.

“This crowd ain’t your speed. And they damn sure ain’t your color.”

“Well, give me some time to think about it.”

“Tomorrow,” his tone was firm. “You performing again?”

“Tomorrow’s the Lord’s day, so no.”

“Ah. You a church girl?”

“Can’t you tell? Mass choir since I was 5.”

Louis licked his lips and she hated that her eyes lingered there. “Funny. I didn’t see a church girl up there.”

“Well you can see one tomorrow, bright and early; ‘round eight o’clock. Right off the corner of Spruce.”

“I haven’t been to a church in a long time.”

“Good thing God don’t keep count, then, huh?” 

“I have some…business to take care of in the morning.”

“Lucky for you, first Sunday means we have an evening service as well. I’ll see you at seven.” She looked past him, noting Jeb’s sour expression before stepping forward to leave.

Louis caught her arm. “Fine.”

She turned back, brown and blue locked together.

“You never told me how my soul looks.”

She chuckled, searching his irises. But her smile faltered a bit. “Lost.”

___________________

It was…small. At least, compared to what Louis was used to. Red and brown bricks and stained glass windows depicting characters he knew in shades he rarely saw in religious spaces. He made eye contact with a Jesus that almost resembled his father. Ruddy skin, sorrowful expression, arms outstretched to offer the world more than it deserved.

Gethsemane Church of God in Christ. “Well, shit…..She’s COGIC,” Louis muttered under his breath, knowing that his plan to show up late would only have worked for a Catholic mass. He’d never been to a Protestant service—Paul was never one to stray from the norm—but he heard about how long winded their preachers tend to be. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and was welcomed by “Amazing Grace,” in a tempo different from what he’d known. An usher offered to guide him to a seat near the front. 

“Thank you, but I think back here is fine,” he smiled, taking an empty spot on the last pew.

The song came to an end and the organ player’s fingers danced across the keys at a slower pace. Odette stood and approached the mic, looking much more timid than he’d previously seen. 

“Sing, girl!”

“Let Him use you!” Murmurs of motivation spread across the room.

“I've heard the story of David

And I've heard of Daniel inside the lion's den

Yes, I've heard of Job and his afflictions, oh Lord

How they all kept the faith right til the end, yes til the end

But when all hope, Lord, have seemed to fail

That's when my God, yes, His power prevails

One thing I know, yes I really know

Prayer changes things.”

Louis had decided years ago that belief was behind him. Prayer wasn’t something he did anymore, but her voice nearly had him fooled. The depth, grit, soulfulness. A drop on his hand startled him. A single tear, for what? He couldn’t tell. Grief, maybe. 

___________________

People stood scattered through the pews post-service, talking like they hadn’t just seen each other last Sunday—or even just a few days ago at Wednesday night Bible study. 

“I thought you said you weren’t performing today,” Louis mused.

“Hush your mouth; don’t nobody in here know about that,” Odette scolded through gritted teeth to his amusement. “Besides, what I do here ain’t performing. It’s worship. There’s a difference.”

“A difference in costume, sure,” he laughed. “Look, all I know is, you’re meant to be singing for me. The crowd’ll love you, I pay my people well—”

“Hold on—”

“And you can enter through the front door.” 

She paused, taking a deep breath. “One performance to test the waters on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I bring my pianist, Slim.”

“Sure, you can bring Ol’ Man River.” 

She rolled her eyes at his wickedly charming grin. “I can’t get out of performing next Saturday, but I’ll see what I can do about Friday evening. You got yourself a deal, Mr. du Lac." 

When she extends her hand for a shake, he gently grasps it to press his lips against her knuckles—not breaking eye contact for a second. “Deal, Miss Dot.” 

A few eyes from the sparse crowd drift toward them, sizing up this man who is clearly not a member of the church. A deaconess was poised to approach.

“Now look what you did,” Odette whispers, fighting the flush threatening her dignity. She glances around for a lifeline and spots Miss Loretta walking down the aisle with her son. “That’s one snazzy suit there!”

The older woman let out a hearty laugh as the young boy beamed with pride. “Thank you, Miss Odette,” he smiled. 

“Of course, Paul. Not too tight ‘round the shoulders, right?”

Louis’ expression dropped as he watched the encounter. He thought himself crazy, as the boy bore no resemblance to his brother of the same name. Not really. But the disposition, in his Sunday best, Bible clung to his chest—it felt all too familiar. 

“How rude of me. This is my new friend Louis,” Odette’s voice snapped him back to the present. 

“I’m Loretta, and this is my son, Paul. Always nice to see young men in the church. You joinin’?”  

“Just visiting. I was uh, raised Catholic. Used to attend St. Augustine with my brother who’s since passed. His name was Paul, too.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But what a coincidence. There was another young man who used to stop by every once in a while named Paul. Wasn’t a member, wouldn’t stay long, but he loved to hear Odette sing on that there choir.”

The songstress smiled, “Yes, I remember him! He said, what was it…? Oh, that ‘although the lyrics aren’t doctrinally sound, the melodies calm his heart.’ He was a little odd, but a sweet man nonetheless.”

Louis froze. “What did he look like?”

“Maybe a little shorter than you. Brown-skin, short dark hair. Matter-fact, you two favor. You think it was—” She noticed him visibly tense before glancing at the clock. “Oh, goodness. You’ll have to forgive us, Miss Loretta. Louis is my ride home and I was supposed to work on June’s baptismal dress tonight. I’ll be looking for my beignets next week though!” She took his arm and dashed towards the door.

“Alright, Darlin’!”

___________________

The ride to Odette’s house was in complete silence.  Once Louis parked, she felt bold enough to break it. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just…I miss him, is all.”

She placed a gentle hand on his and knew that no words suited the moment. 

He pulled his hand away to place it back on the wheel. “Well, this is you, right?”

She nodded. “Thanks for the ride.”

He gave a curt nod in response, watching her get out of the car.

“Louis…If it was your Paul, his favorite hymn was ‘His Eye is on the Sparrow’.”

His smile was hard to read. Tight-lipped, ready to break at any moment. A hand covered his mouth as he nodded again and exhaled. “Get in the house, Odette.”

And against her nature, she did as she was told without more than a soft “goodnight.”

___________________

That Monday morning, Odette hurried to the train station to tell Slim the good news. She darted through the hustle and bustle of arrivals and departures to find the one person sitting absolutely still. There he was, sat on a platform, harmonica in hand, nearby bottle in a brown paper bag. “Slim!”

“Ay there, girl!”

“We movin’ on up, Slim. I booked us a new gig–-and it’s at a Colored joint!”

He took a swig of his drink, expression blank. “You done forgot which way was up? We at a White club now.”

She laughed and sat beside him. “The man says he pays handsomely.”

“He pay handsomely, or you just think he handsome?” A skeptically raised eyebrow punctuated the question.

“His looks are none of my concern. Mr. du Lac runs the place and the cash comes pouring in.”

“Azalea Hall? You must not know the kinda things that go on there.”

“Can’t be much different than what goes on in the back rooms of Le Fleur when them loud ass patrons pay for private dances. Ain’t no ‘dancing’ feel that good unless it’s the devil’s tango.”

Slim tried to conceal a laugh, but couldn’t. “Not that. There’s something off about that du Lac fellow and that White man he always with.”

She didn’t remember seeing him with anyone, but made note of her musician’s warning. “I told him I’d do one show, just to try it out, but I’m only doing it if you go with me.” She batted her eyelashes, bottom lip poked out and hands clasped. “Please.”

Another swig. “Alright, just stop it with them big ol’ eyes. One show.” 

She squealed in excitement and hugged him, almost making him drop his bottle. “Thank you! This Friday. Seven sharp. Wear your blue suit.” Before he could respond, she was up and running. With a heavy sigh, he took another drink and wet his lips to play again for passersby.

___________________

The duo stood in front of the Hall, feeling like the doors were three stories high. Slim held the door open for her with a smile and she returned a slightly askew one as she walked in. 

“You made it.” 

“I’m a woman of my word, Mr. du Lac. This here is Slim.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Slim.” Louis’ outstretched hand was met with a curt nod. Defensive. Or perhaps overprotective. That, Louis could understand. “A man of few words, I see. You’ll find your ivories of the night right through here in the parlor.”  

The two followed him through groups of women gossipping, men gambling and drinking, and pairs of paramours scattered amongst the shadows and secluded areas of the lounge. Slim’s eyes lit up upon seeing the grand piano. It was beautiful, and no doubt expensive. 

“I trust it’s to your liking. And as for you,” Louis turned to Odette. “Allow me to escort you to your dressing room.” 

Slim cleared his throat, attention back on his priority, but her eyes widened briefly in warning. Relaxing a bit, she held up her hand slightly to keep him at bay and let him know she’d be fine. The older man gave one last glance before allowing the younger to whisk her away. 

The room was small, but cozy. Black velvet curtains, solid darkwood wardrobe and dresser with ornate moulding, plush red chaise with golden accents. 

“I’ve never had a dressing room, at least not one to myself. Usually I have to put my things in the broom closet and get dressed once the other girls have gone.” 

His grip on her hand tightened the slightest bit as his smile faltered. She could’ve sworn she saw his eye twitch a bit. “Well, this one’s all yours for the evening…and maybe even longer, should you decide to stay with us. You need anything?”

“Like what?” she tilted her head in genuine curiosity, placing her bag on the vanity.

“Uh, I can send one of my girls in if you need help. Or call a staff member to get you something to drink? Something to eat?”

“I can eat here?”

He paused for a moment. “At Le Fleur, they never…?”

“Colored folks can perform there…but it’s still a Whites only establishment. I’m afraid you’ve been the only exception to that rule, Mr. du Lac.”

He looked at the ground before glancing back at her. “Well, just let me know. Show starts at seven thirty.” Once the door closed behind him, she sat down and stared at her reflection in the large mirror. Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, she pulled out her brown lipstick and applied it sparingly. With only about twenty minutes or so left, she made quick work of getting ready, humming to warm up her vocal cords. A soft knock at the door caught her attention. “Come in.”

“You’re on in five.” Louis cracked the door, but didn’t look into the room.

“Thank you. How do I look?” she mused, opening the door all the way.

He scanned her appearance slowly, taking in each carefully crafted feature. She handstitched the beading on this dress herself; he could tell that a lot of care had gone into it. Mahogany coils neatly coiffed beneath pins and pomade. He preferred it free. Her face was gently flushed with rouge, rather than the heavy-handed standard that enticed patrons because it mimicked heat. Then his eyes landed on her lips.

“You got any red lipstick?”

“Suppose I never really had much reason to wear it, besides…it’s so flashy, it couldn’t possibly look good on me.”

Before he could answer, he heard the crowd getting rowdy in the distance. “I think you’re on.”

He made his way to a seat on the balcony, and her to the stage. With a wink at Slim, she slid into her persona. “Sweet, sweet Azalea! How y’all feelin’ tonight?” She was only met with vague interest, but she knew how to win over a crowd.

“My name is Dot, and I like to get straight to the point. I’ve been…hungry for something new. Something fresh. A different flavor than my usual gig, and I must say…some of you are lookin’ mighty tasty.” A wolf whistle resounded in the sea of drunken laughter. 

“Life is just a bowl of cherries

Don't take it serious, it's too mysterious.”

A jazzy tune danced between Slim’s fingers, igniting a spark in each guest. She walked down the stage stairs into the audience, 

“You work, you save, you worry so,” she glided a finger beneath the chin of a man in the front row, tracing down his neck and chest. “But you can't take your dough when you go, go, go.” Nimble fingers plucked a dollar from his coat pocket before blowing him a kiss. Intoxicated and flirtatious, he played along. And she continued this dance, lulling the crowd into the palm of her hand with each song, leaving them much more generous than when they arrived.

___________________

Odette sat on the edge of Louis’ desk as he counted the night’s earnings. “I almost can’t believe it.”

“Hm?”

“It’s…double the usual Friday night earnings. Dot, look at how much you raked in tonight!”

She reached into the bodice of her sleek navy dress and pulled out about twenty more dollars, reaching to place it on the desk. 

“Keep it. Matter-fact, here.” He placed a wad of cash in her hand. 

“This is way more than what was promised in our deal, Louis. I can’t—”

“Consider it an investment. But tomorrow? It’s your last day at Le Fleur.”

She scoffed, folding her arms as he got up and walked around the desk. “You say that like I don’t have a choice.”

 “Of course you have a choice, and it’s a damn easy one. You loved every minute on that stage,” he leaned forward, placing a hand beside her on the cold wood. “Now tell me what’s holdin’ you back.”

“I’ve heard some things, alright.” Her eyes drifted to his hand and he raised it in surrender.

“If that’s what you’re thinking, I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

“What about the blonde man?”

“What about him?” he asked, shoulders tense again.

“What you two may or may not have going on behind closed doors is none of my concern, but Slim doesn’t trust him. Thinks he’s trouble. I haven’t seen him since you and I met, but if he comes back around—”

“He won’t. We’re not…business partners anymore. And I think you’re focused on the wrong thing here. I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime—”

“And I’m grateful for it; I am. But I don’t want to walk into this blindly and cut myself a bad deal because I got lost in the fantasy. That’s how I ended up at Le Fleur in the first place, and if I’m gonna break that deal, this one better be worth it.”

“It is. Trust me.” His face was dangerously close to hers, eyes piercing.

And suddenly, the door opened. Slim stepped in, a slight wobble in his walk and slur to his speech. “Where the fuck did you get Irish beer?” he asked, hoisting a bottle in the air as Louis stepped back. 

“Slim, I told you not to make a fool of yourself on our first night!” she scolded, rushing to stabilize him. 

Louis chuckled and replied, “I have a supplier who sends the good stuff from Chicago. Looks like that’ll be your last bottle of the night, though. You played well and earned well. If you’re willing to stay, there’s plenty more where that came from.” He went to shake his hand, leaving behind the evening’s payment. “One of my security guards, Elias, can make sure you two get home safely.” 

Slim mumbled something incoherent, but it sounded positive, and Odette took one more look at Louis’ stoic expression before offering a short, “Thanks,” and ushering her friend out.

___________________

Saturday’s performance went by faster than any other. She could tell her heart wasn’t in it; not after the thrill of a crowd that truly connected with her. After almost everyone had left, she tried to calm her nerves as she made her way to Mr. Finley in the back of the lounge. “Sir, may I have a word?”

“What could you possibly need to talk about?”

“My employment, Sir. I’m afraid this will be my last night performing here.”

He glances at the two men on either side of him and they laugh. “What?”

“I’m serious, Mr. Finley. I appreciate the time I’ve gotten to spend on stage here, but there’s something else—”

“What the fuck makes you think it’s that easy? That I’ll just let you walk out of here; as much money as you make me?” 

“You don’t have a choice. My resignation is a courtesy.”

“No choice? I don’t have a choice? You should hope I don’t choose to shoot your ass for talkin’ outta turn.” His voice echoed off the walls as he gripped her arm.

A loud crash and the sound of cracking wood startled the group, and in an instant, Louis had Finley against the wall by the throat. 

“J-Jeb! Jeb!” his voice strained as he called out for the bouncer to no avail. The much larger man had already been bested, slumped against the broken door.

“Ain’t no one ever tell you not to put your hands on a lady?” Louis grinned. A bullet pierced his shoulder, and he calmly turned to the culprit. “Aim higher. Maybe you’ll get rid of this headache I’ve had all day.”

The man sputtered in complete shock before trying to run away. Louis threw Mr. Finley in that direction, knocking both the other men down like bowling pins. Odette watched in horror and borderline disbelief as he murdered each one as slowly and painfully as possible: one ripped limb from limb; the next with his throat slit and more gashes across his body; and last, Louis sank his teeth into Finley’s neck. She wanted to stop him, but he was too far gone, a moan escaping his throat as he sucked him dry before dropping his carcass to the floor.

“Louis—”

The bar tender emerged from the kitchen, clueless and with the most unfortunate timing. Taking in the bloody scene, he dropped a martini glass in utter shock. Before he could make a run for it, or even scream, Louis grabbed him by the collar. “And you,” he breathed. “You are going to make her a fucking drink. Dot!” She flinched at his gruff tone. “Have a seat. Tell the man what you want to drink.”

“Louis, just—”

“Tell him!”

“Um, a French-F-French 75.”

He let the man go to quickly make her drink and pulled out the chair for her. She sat, mind racing. “You’re…”

“Yes. It’s a long story. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I—”

“One French 75!” the bar tender chimed in, timidly sliding it over to her. She took a sip and said, “Thank you. It’s um…It’s good.” 

Without hesitation, Louis took a broken shard of glass and sliced the man’s neck, filling an empty cup with his blood. Odette’s mouth fell open.  “I…I thought you’d let him go.”

“He’s been complicit for God knows how long,” he shrugged. “And it’s been so long since I’ve gotten to feed like this…..I really couldn’t help myself. I suppose you don’t want to toast to your new job?”

“Mr. du Lac, I just watched you murder and—and drink the blood of four men.”

“Three of whom were going to hurt you.”

“Yes, I get that and appreciate you saving me, but you have to understand how insanely terrifying the last 10 minutes have been.”

“I do understand.” He chugged the last of the blood and took a deep breath before continuing. “But you needed me, and I came to help. I just got a little carried away.” 

“A little…?” She took the last sip of her drink before reaching behind the bar to grab a whole bottle of vodka. She’d need it.

      Evie’s leg bounced in agitation, matching the rhythm of a nearby coffee maker.  Drip, drip. Bounce, bounce.  The tapping of her pencil eventually accompanied the symphony of annoying sounds. Glancing at the clock, she became very aware of the seconds ticking by.  Unable to stop herself, she asked rather hastily, “So, do you not like it or something now?”

     The woman sitting behind the heavy oak desk chuckled a bit in response.  “No, Evie. I still like it very much…I just don’t love it yet.”

     “But I thought you invited me here because you loved it,” she nearly whined, becoming even more frustrated. Straightening her slouched posture, she cleared her throat.  “Sorry, Miss Rossi.”

     The older woman nearly laughed at her reaction and recovery.  “It’s fine, it’s fine.  Everyone is sensitive about their art. But I invited you here because I love your potential, and I’m just not seeing all of it from this draft.  Have you gone out and explored?”

     “I’ve been in my room writing this draft since I got here.”

     Miss Rossi’s left eyebrow raised in an expression that Evie couldn’t quite figure out. “So, you mean to tell me that you planned to spend the entire program cooped up in that hotel when you could be out falling in love with Florence?”

     “Oh, don’t get me wrong!  I am very appreciative of this opportunity; that’s why I take this fellowship very seriously--”

     “Don’t,” Miss Rossi stated simply.  

     “Don’t?” Evie questioned, head tilted in confusion.

     “Don’t,” her mentor repeated with a quirk of the side of her mouth.  “I want you to improve this script by not touching it for a week.  You are to venture out and get inspired. Find real, authentic characters,” she began, standing to open the blinds of her office.  “Out there.”

    Evie sighed, looking down at the cannoli in her hand.  “’Venture out’, she says…’Get inspired’ she says…”  She took a rather harsh bite of the pastry, cream spilling out of the side.   “’Waste valuable fucking time’ is what she should’ve said,” she muttered, wiping her face in a slightly brutish manner. Lidded eyes scanned the park to see a crowd gathered near a large spruce tree.  Figuring that it would be the most interesting thing she’d seen all day, she made her way over.

“O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!

Love takes the meaning in love's conference.

I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit

So that but one heart we can make of it;”  

     And there she saw Lysander, played by a man for whom Shakespeare’s most amorous sonnet could do no justice.  With a warm, chiseled face, framed by beach waves, he stood tall and sturdy.  He spoke with valor and passion. He was perfect.

    Evie stared in dumbfounded admiration, cheek full of cannoli as she almost forgot to swallow.  Just as she did, his chestnut brown eyes met her dark, wide ones.  A brief smile graced his features but he never broke character.  

   She wasn’t sure how much time had actually passed, but it seemed like mere minutes before Lysander and his costars joined hands to take a final bow.  

   “Thank you for joining us for another Shakespeare in the Park performance. Please don’t forget to support the arts and support local artists,” he said, offering the audience a boxy grin as they applauded.

    As she watched him say goodbye to the other actors, Evie realized that this may have been her only chance.  Quickly gathering the nerve, she tapped his shoulder before he could walk past her.  “Excuse me,” she inquired, unexpectedly timidly.

    He turned to face her, his curious expression swiftly changing to one of amusement.  “Hi. You saving that for later?” he asked, pointing at the corner of her lips.

    “What?” she asked, bringing a hand up to her face. Feeling a bit of smeared ricotta, her eyes widened, and she immediately wiped it off.  “I swear I usually eat like an adult; I just-”

    “I take it from your accent that it may have been your first cannoli, so I understand,” he chuckled.  “Did you enjoy the show?”

    “Very much so.  You were pretty incredible, which is why I actually wanted to ask you if you’d consider starring in my play…” she trailed off, childishly swaying back and forth out of nervousness.  

     He took note of the motion, finding it endearing as he watched her.  “Ah, you’re a playwright? Well, I’d have to read the script first, of course.”

    “Oh, of course!” she exclaimed, reaching into her bag to pull out a copy. “Just…Just don’t read it now while I’m here,” she laughed uneasily.

     He smiled in response, fingers flipping through the stapled papers.  “Very well.”      

     “This is only a rough draft, and there are a few kinks I need to work out, but I know if I don’t ask you now, someone else’ll snag you.”

      “I didn’t know I was in such high demand.”

      “If you always perform like what I saw today, I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t be.”

      “That’s very sweet of you to say…If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to butter me up so I’ll say yes,” he mused, one bushy eyebrow raised.

      “Well, is it working?” she asked, only half kidding. His hearty laughter made the flush dusting her cheeks a bit more prominent as she tucked a tightly wound curl behind her ear.  

       The wavy-haired brunette pulled out his phone and replied, “I’ll let you know tonight, if you’ll allow me to take down your number. My name is Taehyung.”

       “Evie,” she grinned before reciting her number.

       He quickly typed in her information and handed her the phone to double check the accuracy. “All good?”

      She rolled her eyes as she looked at the contact name, but couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping.

“Cannoli 🥐”

     Anxious wasn’t even the word.  The next day, Evie rolled over on her bed, checking her phone for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes.  With a huff of frustration, she sat up and grabbed the TV remote. Propping her leg up on the bed to rest on bent knee, she began to channel surf.  And then she fell into the rhythm of boredom.  Bounce, bounce. Click, click.  The vibration of her phone startled her and she pounced on the device to read the caller ID.  It was an unknown number, but figuring it was Taehyung, she let it ring three times before actually answering.

     “Hello?” she asked as nonchalantly as possible.

     “You’re a very talented writer.  I’m in, as long as I can help you make a few changes.”

     “As much as it pains me to say this, deal. Edits can be made…within reason.”

     “But of course. Are you busy right now?”

     “Actually, I’m technically not allowed to touch the script for a week.”

     “Is this some sort of American custom, or…?”

     “No,” she laughed.  “Okay, so I’m here for a writers’ fellowship with this big theater company--”

     “Rosso Theatre.”

     “Yeah, how’d you know?”

     “Lucky guess. Continue.”

     “Well, my mentor said there’s something missing, but I won’t be able to find it unless I ‘’venture out’ and ‘fall in love with the city’,” Evie explained with an almost mocking tone.

     “I couldn’t agree more. This is a love story, no?  Why is it that I feel no love between the characters?”  He continued, prompted by her silence. “Your leading man lacks depth, which makes him an unconvincing love interest.”

     “I thought you said I was a very talented writer,” she finally replied, leaning back against her pillows.

     With a soft chuckle, he responded, “Incredibly talented, but not perfect. Now tell me, are you busy right now?”

     “Not at all,” she deadpanned, turning off the TV.

     “Great.  Meet me in the park by the spruce tree in fifteen minutes.”

     She pondered the thought of her safety for a moment. “How do I know that I can trust you?”

     “Simple: you don’t.” She could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

     The brisk air took Evie by surprise. She braced herself, pulling her jacket a little higher on her shoulders as she passed a familiar set of park benches.  ‘I’m out here like I’ve never seen ‘Taken’. These things can definitely happen in broad daylight,’ she muttered to herself.  But she couldn’t deny that the butterflies in her stomach weren’t caused by fear.

     A familiar sandy-brown bomber caught her eye. “Taehyung?”

     “Ah, Cannoli, you made it!” he smiled, turning to face her.  “Oh, and you can call me Tae.”

     “And you can call me Evie,” she corrected playfully, folding her arms.

     He leaned against the spruce tree, his own arms now crossed.  “I know I can,” he shrugged with an endearingly crooked smile.

     “You’re insufferable.”

     “I’m a thespian,” he proclaimed, posture straightening and chest puffed in pride.  “So that’s a given.”  His grin stretched wider at the sound of her laughter.  “Well, Madam Evie,” he began, bowing slightly with one arm over his waist. Her right eyebrow twitched in curiosity as she watched him extend an open hand to her. Humoring him for a moment, she hesitantly placed hers there.  “Are you ready to fall in love?”

     “Pardon?” she asked skeptically.

     “With the city,” he added.

     “Um….yes?”

     “Excellent,” he exclaimed, standing upright.  “The first step is getting you well-acquainted.  Right this way.” Before she could respond, she was gently tugged forward.

     It had only been a few moments of slight physical contact and small talk, but Evie already began to feel her palm sweating. She knew very little about him, most of the knowledge she had acquired thus far being trivial things.   Clearing her throat as she slipped her hand from his, she asked, “Where, exactly, are you taking me?”

    Feeling the absence of her skin, he turned to look at her, biting his bottom lip briefly to conceal a smile caused by her terribly hidden blush.  “I once heard that the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach. Hope you’re hungry.” As if on cue, her stomach betrayed the “not really” that she hadn’t yet spoken.

   Taehyung watched Evie’s eyes brighten as they made their way to the place he called home; a quaint little neighborhood of misshapen, colorful houses, each surrounded by foliage and flora. It bustled with music, and laughter, and within moments Evie could feel, love. Gaze drifting upward, she caught sight of a couple on their balcony, toasting wine glasses. Probably to each other, the young writer assumed, already imagining a story with the two as leads. Seeing a familiar red door, Taehyung slowed to a halt.  “We’re here, but just let me warn you…They can be a bit…much,” he stated, hands in front of him, facing downwards.

   “Who?” she asked, eyebrows high in curiosity, but he had already opened the door.

     “Il mio tesoro!” *My treasure!*  The raspy, boisterous voice of a woman up in age rang in their ears as they entered what looked like a restaurant. A matronly Italian woman of about 65 approached Taehyung, immediately embracing him with a kiss to the cheek.

     Taehyung squirmed in her grasp with a hearty laugh. “Ah, mi stai mettendo in imbarazzo! Zia, Zia!” *Ah, you’re embarrassing me! Auntie, Auntie!*

     As confused as Evie was, she found the interaction to be incredibly sweet. Making eye contact with Taehyung, she gave him a smile.  

    Releasing himself from the woman’s affectionate grip, he grabbed Evie’s hand once again.  “Zia, questo è-” *Auntie, this is-*

     He was immediately interrupted by another elderly woman, about a foot shorter than the first and with a striking resemblance to Taehyung. “Naui bomul!” *My treasure!* She rushed over to embrace him in a similar fashion and he responded just as meekly, his hand falling from Evie’s.  

     “Annyeonghaseyo, Halmeoni.” *Hi, Grandma.* Evie took note of the fact that he was apparently trilingual.  Standing up straight, he adjusted his jacket and gestured to the observant playwright. “Questo è il mio amica, Evie.” *This is my friend, Evie.* And suddenly, her presence became known to the older women who had finally stopped fawning over the young man they so clearly adored.

     “Amica?” they both asked in unison, tones hinged on amused skepticism.

     “Sì. Amica,” he replied, matter-of-factly, chin held high.

     Not wanting to be rude, Evie took the lapse in conversation as an opportunity to introduce herself.  She wasn’t sure why, but she really wanted their approval. “Ciao! Mi dispiace…Il mio italiano non è…molto buono.” *Hello! I'm sorry…My Italian isn't…very good.*

     “Abbiamo notato,” *We noticed.* the Italian woman replied, causing the Asian woman to giggle.

     “Zia!” Taehyung scolded in a playful manner. “Sii gentile. Sono la sua guida turistica e ho solo una settimana per farla innamorare di Florence.” *Be nice. I am her tour guide and I only have one week to make her fall in love with Florence.*

     “Solo Florence?” *Only Florence?* the Asian woman inquired, one eyebrow raised.

     “Sì, solo Florence,” he replied, a coy smile playing his innocent eyes false.

     “Ah, naui bomul,” she sighed with a knowing smile, pinching his cheek.  “Come, come. Sit, sit,” she then offered, waving towards a table set for two.  

     Evie quickly followed orders, thanking both women, and Taehyung took the seat across from her. The two women then rushed to what Evie assumed was the kitchen.

     “Before they force feed you Korean-Italian fusion dishes, I should probably tell you who they are,” he grinned, resting his elbows on the table. “Chan-hee and Gaia. One is my grandmother-”

     “Obviously,” Evie nearly deadpanned.

     “Because she’s Asian?” he challenged teasingly.

     “Because you have her eyes and the same mole on your nose,” she replied, folding her arms.

     He wet his lips before they split into a smile.  “So, you have been staring at me.”

     “So I can pick you out of a lineup; don’t flatter yourself,” she retorted, still unable to hide her own teeth.  “Now, who’s the other?”

     “Her best friend, business partner, and possibly former flame? I could never tell for sure, but I do know they met in culinary school back when being a woman in culinary school was a big deal. She’s been like my great aunt for as long as I can remember. One speaks Korean and Italian, the other just Italian, and neither knows much English, as I’m sure you could tell.”

     The smooth, yet pungent, smell of garlic suddenly wafted into Evie’s nose as the two women approached the table with more food than she felt comfortable accepting.  “Made with love,” Gaia said, accent as thick as the cream sauce poured over pasta and seafood.  The younger patrons thanked both elders and they smiled in response.  “Sorry, our English is not…very good,” Gaia continued.

     “Abbiamo notato,” *We noticed.* Evie, giggled, mimicking the woman’s earlier tone in a manner that was both playful and respectful.

     The woman let out a hearty laugh in response, placing a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder.  “This one, I like! I like, mio tesoro!”

     “What do their nicknames for you mean?” Evie inquired, twirling a fork in the angel hair piled on her plate.

     “Both mean ‘my treasure’,” Taehyung replied.

     “Very special to us,” Gaia spoke proudly.

     “Eh, bring business,” Chan-hee added.  “Very handsome; many girls.”

     And for the first time, Evie could’ve sworn that she saw a light blush creep onto his cheeks. His eyes met hers and he gave her a sheepish smile.  “Lunch for you is on me, though,” he defended with a slight shrug.    

     A short while after the elders went back into the kitchen, Evie and Taehyung found themselves with empty plates and full stomachs, deep in conversation.  

     “I don’t think I can eat another bite,” Evie sighed, pushing her plate away. “Everything was absolutely delicious.”

     “One more thing!” Taehyung exclaimed, reaching for a small covered dish.

     “I really can’t,” she laughed.  After a short pause, she couldn’t help but ask, “What is it, though…?”

     With a lazy smirk, he lifted the ceramic top to reveal a decadent, brown dessert. “Tiramisu.” He watched in amusement as her eyes lit up, pupils growing in size.  “Come on, Cannoli,” he seduced, grabbing a spoon and dipping into the sweet temptation. Holding it up to her, he offered, “Just one bite.”

     She hesitated for a moment before giving in and leaning forward to take a bite. Taehyung grinned as she hummed in delight, her eyes closed in bliss.  “Good, right?”

     “Amazing.  Aren’t you gonna have some?”

     “I don’t think I can eat another bite,” he mocked.

     She rolled her eyes and grabbed the spoon to offer him some. “It’s only fair, Taehyung.”

     With a light laugh, he accepted the offer.  “I thought I told you to call me Tae,” he said, mouth full.

     “Yeah, well I told you to call me Evie,” she shrugged with a playful tone, dipping the spoon back into the dessert.

     It wasn’t long before the two were thanking the elders and making their way out of the restaurant.  “Well, if there’s one thing to love about Florence, it’s definitely the food,” Evie smiled, a slight bounce in her step having developed as they walked down a narrow stone path.  

     “One of many,” Taehyung replied, checking the time on his phone.  “Oh, we have to hurry, or we’ll miss it!”

     A few rushed steps and heavy breaths later, Evie finally asked, “Where are we now?”

     “The Piazzale Michelangelo, Florence’s terrace.  Now, I usually hate the touristy locations, because I generally hate tourists, but this place is kind of essential,” he explained absentmindedly as he peered over the horizon to see what looked like the entirety of the city.  “Just…,” he paused for a moment and glanced at her.  Gently grabbing her shoulders, he moved her slightly to the left. “There,” he remarked proudly, pulling out his phone to check the time again.

     “If we’re here for sunset, we’re a little late, don’t you think?” she chuckled, noting that the sky had already shifted from hues of blue, to shades of pink and orange, and was settling into purple.

     “The sunset is beautiful, yes, but that’s not what we’re here for.  Do Americans always ask so many questions or is this just a quirk of yours?”

     She frowned at the comment, nose scrunching in distaste, causing him to laugh. And suddenly, the dimming colors of the sky were pierced by bright lights igniting all over the city, each architectural masterpiece set aglow.  

     “Perfect timing,” he sighed, feeling quite pleased with himself as he took in the sight.

     In that moment, Evie was speechless, which didn’t happen often.  

     “Beautiful, no?” he asked.  Noticing her complete silence, he looked over at her.  His features settled into an expression of admiration as his hands slid into his pockets.  “Really…really beautiful.”

     “Hm?” Evie came to, finally meeting Taehyung’s gaze.  “Oh yeah, it is,” she smiled, tucking a curly behind her ear. She shifted her weight over on one foot and clasped her hands behind her back.  “Thanks for bringing me here, Tae.”

     Rather than ruin the moment by smugly pointing out the lack of formality, he offered a gentle smile.  “You’re welcome, Evie.”    

     “Hey, you said you hate tourists; why go out of your way to help me?” she inquired after a few moments of comfortable silence.

     He swayed back and forth from heels to toes.  “You just seem…different.”

     “Is that what you tell all the girls to get them into your grandma’s restaurant?”

     “No.  I may be a flirt, but I’m no liar,” he replied, only half joking.  “I could tell from watching you watch me,” he reminisced, eyes drifting back to the landscape.  “And then I read your borderline brilliant script and…I don’t know. You just don’t strike me as the average, run-of-the-mill tourist.  And despite how stiff your writing can be at times, you’re a hopeless romantic like me; you just don’t know it yet.”  His eyes met hers again and it was then that she noticed how closely they were standing.  

     “You are certainly putting that theater training to use.”

     His head fell back in laughter as he took a step back.  “I see skepticism is another American quirk of yours. Believe it or not, my goal is not to make you fall for me, though I’m sure I could.”

     “Are all Italians this overly self-assured, or is it just a quirk of yours?”

     “Just a quirk of mine,” he answered, coolly.  “But rest assured, Cannoli, my only goal is to help inspire you to write the amazing love story that I know is deep inside that beautiful brain of yours.”

     “What a selfless thespian you are,” she chaffed.

     “Oh, of course! The theater is my first love, after all,” he recited dramatically, one hand placed over his heart.  “But, it’s getting late and I should probably take you home.”

     The walk to Evie’s temporary housing was relatively quick, given that Taehyung knew every shortcut available.  Though she refused to acknowledge it at the time, Evie was almost sad that the night was coming to an end.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was a date.”

     “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted it to be a date.”

     “Then I’m glad you know better,” she quipped, turning to face him as she leaned against the door.

     “Your second date with Florence, if you choose to have it, will start tomorrow. Bright and early; 7 AM.”

     “Can we make it 10?” she nearly whined.

     “I’m afraid not, Cannoli,” he responded sympathetically.  

     With a heavy sigh, she begrudgingly agreed.  “My play better be amazing.”

     “And amazing it will be.  But until tomorrow, I must bid you adieu,” he beamed.  And there, again, was the close proximity that Evie had noticed earlier.

     “Goodnight, Taehyung,” she replied, masking the amusement in her voice as best she could.

     With one final bow, he began to walk backward from her door.  “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow,” he nearly shouted into the night.

     “Chiudi quella cazzo di bocca!” *Shut the fuck up!* a deep, masculine voice called out from a nearby apartment.

     Evie doubled over in laughter at the sight of Taehyung’s surprised expression. “You’re insufferable!” she wheezed.

    Inez stared up at the white ceiling, wondering how she would get out of it this time.  She couldn’t use her period as an excuse; it’d passed two weeks ago.  Maybe he wouldn’t have remembered?

    A well-angled thrust brought her attention back to the shirtless man on top of her, causing a groan to escape her throat.  Just as his fingers reached for the button of her jeans, she grabbed his hand.  “Uh, Seungcheol?”

    He quickly retracted his hand and pushed himself off of her, plopping down on the bed.  “S-sorry,” he muttered, running a hand over his face and using the other to brace himself on his knee.

    “No, don’t be.  I just,” she trailed off for a second as she sat up and pulled her shirt back down.  

    “Is it me?” he asked suddenly, taking her by surprise.  

    “What?  No, of course not! It’s just….just-”

    “Just what, Inez?  I don’t know much about periods, but I don’t think yours occurs as frequently as you say it does,” he said with a humorless laugh.  She made a mental note not to use that one again as he continued to speak.  “You never told me about any chronic illness, so I don’t think the constant headaches and stomach aches are real either, and food poisoning doesn’t really work on command. You don’t owe me sex, by any means, but there’s a reason we haven’t had it yet and I just need to know if I did something wrong.”

    Her heart broke at the uncertainty in his voice and the look of his somber expression.  “No, you didn’t do anything wrong…but I did by not being straightforward with you.” She turned to face him, crossing one leg under the other as her hand fidgeted with the navy-blue blanket beneath them.  He mimicked her body language, feeling nervous, himself, as she paused for a moment. “I’m abstinent.”

    Both of his eyebrows raised slightly, not in shock, but in pure curiosity.  “So, you’re a virgin?”

    “Yes.”

    “And you plan on staying a virgin until…?”

    “Marriage.”

    He closed his eyes, gliding a hand through his hair with a sigh.  “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he mumbled under his breath.  

    “I’m sorry, but it’s a personal commitment I’ve made for my own well-being” she said quietly, eyes drifting away from him.

    “There’s really no reason for you to be sorry.  I’m just glad I hadn’t fucked anything up,” he replied with a smile.  “I’d heard of the ninety-day rule and assumed that’s what this was for a while, but it’s been like a hundred seventy five days, not that I’m counting or anything,” he rushed the last part of his statement, giving her a tense chuckle.  Seeing her crack a smile, he took both of her hands in his.  “Look, I’m not gonna lie and say I’m thrilled about this, but I totally respect it.”

    “That’s the usual answer,” she shrugged.  “I understand if you no longer want to pursue a relationship with me-”

    “You don’t have to give me some scripted way out, okay? When I said I loved you, I meant it. I still mean it.”

    “I…love you, too.  But I can’t ask you to give up something you really enjoy. I can’t make you want what I want.”

    “All I want is you, Nez.  And if having you comes with this, then I want this, too.”

    “Seungcheol, you want to have sex with me,” she stated bluntly, pulling her hands from him.

    “No, Inez. I want to make love to you, and I want it to happen when you’re ready…So I’ll wait. As long as you need me to.”

    She felt her eyes begin to water and her stomach tighten as she searched his face and posture for any sign of dishonesty. She was met with none.

    Inez felt a gentle whack at the back of her head, the sound of rustling paper bringing her back to present day.  “You day-dreamin’ again?” her fiancé asked.

    “Not exactly,” she giggled.  “Just thinkin’.”

    “Well, while you were sitting here thinking, I finished putting our bed together.  You were absolutely no help at all,” he half-smiled, sitting beside her in the pile of old photos.  “It’s more of a mess down here than when I left you half an hour ago.  So much for you being a housewife.”

    She rolled her eyes playfully, shoving her shoulder into his. “Well, we’re not married yet…Besides, I make too much money to be a housewife and we both know you’re the domesticated one.”

    “Fair enough.  There was that one time you almost burned my place down trying to make me breakfast,” he replied, picking up a conveniently placed photo of him smiling in bed with a plate of charred something Inez watched Rachel Ray make, but couldn’t execute quite as well.  His teeth caught his bottom lip to conceal a laugh, not managing to prevent a smug snort from escaping his nostrils.  

    “I can’t believe you kept that,” she muttered, reaching for the picture and huffing in irritation when he moved it just out of her reach.  “Whatever. Look, I’m sorry you had to put together the bed and the dresser-”

    “And the TV stand.”

    “That, too.  But let’s be honest, I’m not the handiest, anyway.”

    “Also fair.”

    “I can help you break the bed in, though,” she offered, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

    “Oh?” he inquired, his own bushy brows bouncing to life.

    Moments later, Seungcheol laughed heartily as she childishly pounced onto the bed, already creasing the neatly tucked sheets.  “I suppose my version of breaking in the bed was wishful thinking at best,” he teased.

    She happily patted the spot beside herself as a response and he followed her silent instruction.  “Mmm, you feel that?” she asked seductively, nose scrunched and eyes closed in pleasure as she ran her hands over the smooth material of the sheets.

    “Yes, I felt it when I put these on the bed,” he chuckled, eyes narrowing in amused skepticism.  

    “But did you really feel them?” she pushed, the rasp in her voice increasing as the volume and pitch decreased slightly.  She laid down, stretching in a catlike manner as her shorts-clad legs caressed the fabric.  

    “I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s definitely working,” he replied, shoulders slightly shaken by laugher as his hand absentmindedly toyed with the sheet and his eyes scanned her body.

    She giggled once again and continued.  “400 thread count…Egyptian…cotton.”

    He laid down next to her, following her lead.  “Oh, yeah?  Mm, tell me more.”

    “That matching throw pillow over there?”

    “Yeah?”

    “Covered in 100% pure silk.”

   “Ooh, you know I love it when you talk interior design textiles,” he grunted, biting his lip flirtatiously.

   “And you wanna know the best part?” she asked, trailing her fingers up his torso.

    “Hurt me, Baby!”

    “I got it all on sale!” she exclaimed in an exaggerated moan.

    “Oh yeah, just like I like it!” he yelled breathlessly, clutching his stomach as a roaring laugh poured from his mouth.

    She sat up, leaning over him, features brightened with laughter.  “And if you thought that was hot and heavy, wait until you see the marble dining table I ordered,” she added, wiggling her eyebrows.

    “And just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier.” His hand reached up to cup her cheek, half-smile fading into an expression of pure admiration.  “I love you,” he said, smiling once again as she turned to lightly kiss his palm.

    “And I love you,” she replied, eyes searing into his. Without warning, he pulled her into a deep kiss, and she shifted to straddle his waist.  His fingers slid under her shirt, but only to gently tickle her sides. Her laughter tasted sweet and he decided that he wanted nothing more than to taste it every day for the rest of his life.

    Before long, his shirt lay forgotten on the floor as their pace quickened. Hers followed soon after, leaving her in a mildly stretched sports bra.  “B-babe?“  His voice cracked a bit as she nipped at the skin below his ear.  

    “Hm?” she asked, shooting up with dilated pupils and rushed breathing.

    “Maybe we should uh…,” he trailed off, eyes immediately drawn to her lips before trailing down her chest. “S-stop.”

    “Yeah, we should definitely-” she paused to catch her breath. “You wanna stop now?” she asked, nodding to encourage an honest answer.

    He copied the gesture, nodding frantically as his words betrayed him.  “No—Yes! I meant ‘yes’!”

    “Okay, I’ll just-” she began, shifting a bit to steady herself and causing a groan to escape the base of his throat.  “Sorry! Sorry, I’ll get off!  As she plopped down on the bed beside him, he sat up and rested his hands on his knees.  “Thank you…for making sure we don’t get carried away during the moments when I’m a little too far gone.  I know it can get really hard for you.  I mean ‘difficult’!” She quickly corrected herself, giggling at the unintentional pun.

    He narrowed his eyes at her, clearly unamused, before sighing and tilting his head back to look at the ceiling.  “I made a promise.  Besides, we’ve already waited two years.”  He looked down at her once more and offered a crooked smile.  “One more week won’t kill us.”

    She grinned and repeated the phrase.  “One more week…Wow, we’re really getting married.”

    “And I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” he added, pressing his forehead against hers.

    She smiled and leaned in to kiss him, only to be met with his hand.  “Nez, it literally just went back down.  C’mon.”

    With a gleeful chuckle, she gave a quick “sorry” and a peck on the cheek.  “I’m gonna go get the curtains.”  She stood up and walked to the door.  “One more week,” she pointed at him and winked before leaving the room.

    The screeching of an alarm did nothing more than irritate Jimin. With eyes tightly shut and a heavy sigh, he slammed his hand on the bedside table, somehow managing to silence his phone.  Releasing himself from the grip of grogginess, he dragged himself out of bed and over to his closet.

    “Not like it matters,” he mumbled to himself, haphazardly sifting through his clothes before selecting a pair of light-wash skinny jeans and a white button-up shirt.  His ears perked up at the sound of his roommate’s door opening, with the rest of him following suit as he threw his clothes on the bed and bolted for the bathroom.  He slid past the younger male and grabbed the door handle, much to the boy’s dismay. “You snooze, you lose, Kid.”

    With a click of his teeth, the boy whined, “C’mon, Jimin. I gotta take a piss!”

    “And I got morning wood to chop before my first class. I’ll need an extra ten minutes, so piss outside, Niagara,” Jimin laughed, closing the door behind himself.  Turning to face the shower, he took a deep breath and leaned down to turn it on. Soon after, his clothing was tossed into a nearby hamper and he stepped under the comfortable warmth of the water. He let some fall onto his face in the hopes of it waking him up fully, though that didn’t quite work.  “Well, here goes nothin’,” he mentally trailed off and bit his lip, one hand gliding from his face and down his torso to wrap around his length.

    “Off to whore yourself out for cash again today?” the younger male asked, watching Jimin enter the living room, steam wafting around him.

    He stopped in his tracks, holding onto the towel around his waist indignantly. “I am not a whore, Jungkook. I’m a model.  An artist.  A-”

    “Sex worker?” Jungkook asked with a raised eyebrow, propping his feet on the coffee table.

    “I’m not a sex worker, though that is a completely valid line of work,” he replied, walking over to push his roommate’s feet off the table before heading back to his room to get dressed.  

    The brisk April breeze caressed Jimin’s face as he sat on the park bench watching people pass by—kids on their way to school, morning joggers, and a host of folks making their morning commute.  He glanced down at his watch while taking a sip of lukewarm caramel macchiato.  “7:30…She should be here by now,” he thought to himself, scanning the area one more time. His eyes landed on a very familiar head of hair.  Bright turquoise, tightly coiled hair, to be exact.  Hair that you could see from a mile away. He couldn’t help but smile as he observed her observe everyone else, bottom lip caught between her teeth as her pencil danced across the page in her sketchbook, almost as if it had a mind of its own.  

    This was a part of his morning routine now—drinking coffee in the park and admiring the curly-haired artist before work.  She’d sit on a blanket under the same oak tree every day, hoping her subjects wouldn’t catch her drawing them and becoming adorably embarrassed whenever they did.  So as not to deter her, her pretended not to notice her gaze lingering on him, assuming she was immortalizing him within the book’s pages.

    At 7:45, Jimin decided it would be best to get to the studio early.  After tossing his cup in a nearby bin, he got up and finished his walk to work.  

    “Ah, you must be Jimin!” a middle-aged woman with waist-length, bone-straight black hair greeted him at the door.  

    “Yes, Ma’am,” he smiled, offering to shake her hand.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jamison.”

    “And you, as well. Just follow me this way to the storage room so you can change and grab a robe.  The students should start filing in any minute now. I have a few early birds,” she chuckled, leading him out of the studio space.  “Let me know if you need anything, and feel free to come out when you’re ready!”

     He nodded with a smile as she closed the door behind herself.  Then, he began to undress, calmly pulling off each item of clothing and folding it before placing everything on a stool.  He grabbed one of the robes from a nearby hook and slid it on, making sure to tie it tightly.  As he exited the storage room, he heard the woman’s voice again.

    “Just a few reminders before I introduce you to today’s model. First, all electronic devices must be put away.  No photography is allowed.  You are to respect the model at all times, which means you must keep your hands and comments to yourself.  We’re all adults here; I’m sure I don’t have to teach you how to behave.”

    He figured that was his cue to come in, so he stepped into the bright light of the studio and shyly smiled at the students, all of whom seemed to be around his age.  

    “This is Jimin, and you all will have the honor of painting him today.”

    “I think I’ll have the honor of being painted by all these talented artists.  From the work I’ve seen, you guys’ll make me look ten times better,” he laughed, feeling relief as the class responded positively.

    “Well, then, up you go,” Miss Jamison beamed, gesturing toward the platform in the center of the room.

    Jimin confidently hopped onto the platform and untied the robe, letting it fall from his shoulders before stretching himself into a graceful pose.  The sound of the fabric hitting the ground was drowned out by the creaking of the studio’s door.

    A light, airy voice chimed, “Sorry I’m-,” before quickly becoming silent.  Knowing that only one person had been missing, the rest of the class continued working. Jimin, on the other hand, completely froze, as his eyes met those of the tardy student and trailed up to the bright turquoise, tightly coiled hair that could be seen from a mile away.  

     “Late…,” she finished, hastening to her chair and easel.

    “Lost track of time at the park again, I assume?” Miss Jamison inquired, walking behind her and plucking a leaf from her curls before presenting it to her.

    The girl giggled and took it from the older woman.  “Yeah, sorry, Miss J.”

    “Well, get started before the boy cramps up.  We’ll be taking our first break in about twenty minutes.”

    Jimin watched her get settled, suddenly feeling even more vulnerable.  He noticed her eyes skim across his body, her cheeks blushing at the sight of his lower region.  He could almost hear her internal monologue as she reminded herself that she’s an adult and an artist, so nudity shouldn’t be a big deal.  Seeing her so flustered caused him to smirk, which he failed to conceal.

    “Alright, class!  That’s it for today.  Jimin, thank you again for joining us.”

    “Thank you for having me!” he chirped in response, tugging the robe back on as he stretched his limbs.  “Is it okay if I take a look at everyone’s work?”  The class gave an affirmative response, each student eager to show him their paintings and secretly hoping that he would favor theirs. His fingers tugged at the tie around his waist as he made his way around the room, admiring all the different interpretations of his appearance.  He did have a favorite, of course.  The one that looked the most like him happened to be hers, though he knew that was because she’d had the advantage of observing him every morning for the last two weeks.  “How much do you want for it?”

    “What?” she inquired in disbelief.

    “How much?” he grinned, watching her brown orbs widen.

    “No, I heard you, I just—it’s not even that good!”

    “Nonsense.  If I set it as my Tinder profile picture, I’ll be married by next week,” he laughed.

    “I couldn’t charge you anyth-”

    “Would $200 cover it?  I’d offer more, but I’m low on cash.  Actually, wait here.”  He began to walk backwards towards the storage room and pointed at her.  “Don’t move,” he challenged playfully, one eyebrow raised with a finger pointed in her direction.

    The girl looked over at Miss Jamison who smiled with a shrug. “It is a really good painting.”

    When he returned, fully clothed, everyone else had left.  “I’m Jimin, by the way,” he said, holding out the money.

    “Hazel, and I can’t take your money.”

    “Sure, you can.  You just open up your hand and-”

    “You know that’s not what I meant,” she rolled her eyes, amusement clear in her tone and expression.  “$200 is a lot.”

    “This painting is worth $400, easy, and if I could, I’d give you every last cent.”

    She swiped a curl from in front of her face before answering. “Well, thank you, but-”

    “I know, I know.  You obviously can’t be swayed…,” he raised his hands in defense.  “So how about I give you $100 and take you out to lunch tomorrow?”

    “You’re kidding, right?”

    “What, I take it I’m not your type?  Or is it that I haven’t left much to the imagination?” he teased.

    She laughed and shook her head, figuring he’d be persistent. “Why?”

    “So I can see the other drawings of me in your sketchbook,” he replied, head tilted.

    “How’d you--…You’ve been watching me in the park,” she spoke her realization, crossing her arms in amusement.  

    “Which means we’re even.  Meet me under your oak tree tomorrow at noon,” he smiled, carefully picking up the painting and leaving the money in its place before leaving.

    “So, you spent $100 of our rent money…on a painting?” Jungkook asked, running a hand through his hair.

    “It’s not just any painting, and I’ll make the money back by the end of the week,” Jimin replied, setting the painting down against the kitchen counter.  

    Jungkook stood up from the couch and walked over to take a look at it, immediately releasing an obnoxious laugh.  “You spent $100 of our rent money for an ego boost; there’s no way your dick is that big.”

     The older boy punched his roommate in the shoulder, initiating a bicker and banter session that lasted until they tired each other out.

    The next day, Jimin sat alone beneath the oak tree on a navy-blue blanket at ten after twelve.  Checking his phone for the third time in the last five minutes, he reminded himself that “she’s probably just running late”.  

    “Sorry I’m late,” Hazel breathed, plopping herself in front of him on the blanket.  

    “Judging by what I saw yesterday, late is your on-time,” he chuckled in response.

    “And smug must be your friendly.  Maybe I should’ve made you wait a little longer,” she playfully chided, opening her large bag.  

    “Well, then you would’ve missed out on this incredible lunch I packed for us,” his grin glowed with pride as he pulled a basket from behind himself and sat it between them.  

    After fishing around a bit, she found her sketchbook. “Ah, let me guess…tarte flambée? Perhaps a crudité platter,” she spoke in an exaggerated French accent.

    “I don’t think I could afford to even google those things….but I hope you still like what I got,” he replied, opening the basket and laying out the food he had prepared.  She looked at the spread and couldn’t help but giggle.  An assortment of mini sandwiches, pasta salad, fresh fruit, and sparkling lemonade.

    “It’s perfect,” she smiled softly.  Before she could reach for anything, he placed his hand over the food, palm upward.  

    “Not so fast.  Sketchbook.”

    “A deal’s a deal,” she shrugged, handing it over before picking up a sandwich and taking a bite.  She watched him carefully, taking note of the time he spent lingering on each page and each of his reactions and expressions.  He was about halfway through the book by the time she had eaten her third mini sandwich.  “You gonna eat?” she asked almost sarcastically.  

    “Huh?  Oh, yeah, I just….You’re really talented, you know that right?”

    The sincerity in his voice made the tips of her ears turn red, and she inwardly thanked her hair for covering them.  “Thanks, but I just draw what I see.”

    “I don’t even see this when I look in the mirror,” he muttered more so to himself, as his fingers grazed his image on a page.  

    “Well, that picture is from two or three weeks ago. You’ve changed a lot since then,” she thought aloud, gently lifting his chin without thinking much of it.  He watched as her eyes explored his facial features, feeling a bit lightheaded. “The sun’s been out quite a bit recently, and I’m sure you tan pretty easily.  And if I’m not mistaken, you have a bit of stubble coming in,” she giggled.

    He lightly brushed her hand aside.  “You’re very observant.”

    “And you’re blushing.”

    “It’s allergy season,” he offered a fake cough in defense, causing her to laugh.

    “You’ve been out almost every night for the last three weeks. You must really like this girl.”

    “She’s amazing, Kook,” Jimin gushed, falling onto the couch beside his roommate.  “She’s---she’s beautiful, and funny, and so incredibly talented, and smart, and sweet, and I could listen to her talk for hours--- about anything!  Everything she has to say about culture, or art, or politics---it’s all just so interesting and insightful and oh my god, what is happening to me?” he spoke hurriedly, giddy laughter punctuating his rambling.  

    “You’re in deep,” the younger male simpered, offering a half-finished beer.  

    “Shit…I think you might be right,” he deadpanned, taking the drink and chugging it.

    Jimin followed the directions on his phone as he clumsily paced through the unfamiliar neighborhood.  He came to an abrupt stop as a shabby apartment complex that you’d miss if you blinked.  “Second floor…Room 221,” he mumbled, entering and heading for the elevator.  After wandering around for a few minutes, he found the correct room and used his foot to tap the door since his hands were full.

    Hazel quickly opened it, giggling a bit as Jimin greeted her as best he could with a paper bag from a local bakery between his teeth. “You know you didn’t have to, right?” she politely inquired, grabbing the bag as well as one of the coffee cups in his hand and inviting him in.

    “I know, but I wanted to.  The bakery near my place makes those things you liked so much when you studied abroad. Canelés, right?” He wasn’t sure if he was reading her expression correctly, but she seemed surprised.

    “You remembered.”  She opened the bag and looked inside, already catching the scent of vanilla.  “Thank you, Jimin.  This was really sweet.”

    His free hand flew to the back of his neck, nails scratching nervously.  “Don’t mention it.”  He finally ripped his eyes from her to take a look around the apartment for the first time. “Nice place,” he smiled, taking in all of the colorful décor.  

    “Thanks.  I have to show you the studio, though!” she replied, taking his hand and leading him to the biggest room.  The wide windows allowed the sun to illuminate the entire room.  Paintings lined the walls and occupied every corner and paint splattered shelving housed more art supplies than he could count.

    “It’s amazing.”

    “I know right! The overall apartment is shit, but my studio has such a great view and the natural light around golden hour?  Ugh, it’s like a dream,” she sighed before taking a sip of her iced coffee.  

    “I can imagine…”

    “Well, if you say yes to my proposition, you won’t have to,” she hesitantly added, fingers tapping the cup.

    “Proposition?”

    “I’m supposed to be working on a piece for a gallery showing next month, but I wasn’t inspired to paint anything until recently.”

    “What inspired you?”

    “Well…you,” she blushed.  “Don’t get a big head about it, but I wanted to ask you to model for me, personally.   I can pay you, and it’ll be more than what you got last time. $40 per session, with a total of four sessions.”

    “That’s-”

    “I know it’s not much, but it’s all I can afford right now.  You know, starving artist and all that.  But, if I sell it, I can promise you a sizeable cut.”

    “Hazel, you don’t have to do that.”

    “I know.  But I want to,” she parroted with a playful shrug.

    “This is usually just for when friends and family visit,” Hazel explained, pulling out an air mattress.  “But for the next four sessions, it’ll be part of our setup. Now if you wouldn’t mind disrobing.”

    Jimin nodded and began to undress.  “Are you going to paint me like one of your French girls?”

    She chuckled and answered, “Something like that,” as she unfolded a white sheet.  “Do you consent to me occasionally touching you to adjust things like hair or the sheet?”

    As much as he wanted to make a suggestive joke, he knew that this was important to establish and that she took it seriously as a professional.  “Yes, you have my consent.”

    “Thank you.  Now, lay down here and position yourself comfortably.  I want the finished painting to be…intimate.  Not vulgar or sexual at all.  But intimate, and gentle, and warm.”

    He nodded again to affirm that he understood and laid down on the mattress, resting his head on his arm and stretching out his legs.  

    “Okay, now face me just slightly,” she directed, draping the sheet over him organically.  “And I just need a soft facial expression.  Like one of innocent adoration.  Of love, y’know?”  She placed her knuckle under his chin to tilt his face upward a bit and their eyes met. With a soft smile, she gently brushed a lock of hair behind his ear.  “Yeah, kinda like that,” she remarked, eyes breaking from his to momentarily examine him.  

    “You know somethin’, Hazel?” Jimin asked, voice low and gaze lingering on her.  She hummed in response and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly.  “I’ve been naked in front of dozens of people…and I’ve never felt nearly as vulnerable as I do right now.”

    “I’m sorry--” she began, unsure of what she might’ve done to make him feel uncomfortable.

    “Don’t be,” he smiled softly, eyes lidded.

    By the time she had finished her sketch and first layer of paint, the sun had filled the room with golden light, bouncing from surface to surface.  He nearly purred in delight, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth embrace him, and she stopped momentarily to observe.  He was stunning; every beige turned gold and every brown turned bronze.  Sculpted and sunlit, pouty lips pressed into a crescent of contentment and lashes casting mile long shadows over flushed cheeks.  

    “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he interrupted her train of thought.

    “Very,” she offered, setting her paintbrush down.  “We’re about due for a break.  Wanna take a look outside the window?”

    He nodded eagerly and sat up, wrapping the sheet around his waist before sitting on the windowsill and patting the spot beside him.  She granted his silent request and sat there, looking through the glass. “It’s like it goes on forever,” he said of the cityscape.  “Like this town isn’t nearly as small as it seems.”

    “And it seems pretty small, especially when you’ve been here your whole life.”

    He bit back a grin and replied, “Yeah, well, at least you got to travel abroad, even if only for a few months.  It must suck seeing and experiencing so many amazing things and then coming back home.”  

    Her gaze shifted to him as he took in the view and she couldn’t help but smile.  “I don’t know,” she pondered for a moment.  “I think that I’ve learned how to find the magic in the mundane.  With a keen enough eye and adventurous spirit, you’ll find that anywhere can be as amazing as Paris.  Dans une grande âme tout est grand.  Blaise Pascal.”

    “English, please?” he probed with a light chuckle, turning to face her.

    “In a great mind everything is great.”

    Jimin turned his back toward the window, leaning his head against it with a heavy sigh.  “God..I could listen to you talk forever.”

    She giggled and shook her head.  “I sincerely doubt that. And why would you want to?”

    He tilted his head slightly in her direction.  “You know, as brilliant as you are, you’re incredibly dense.”

    “Or maybe I just wanted you to be a little more straightforward,” she countered, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other.

He sat forward, mimicking her expression.  “Then maybe you should’ve taken the initiative to lead by example.”

    “Fine.  Embrasse moi,” she nearly whispered, eyes peering into his.  “Need me to translate?”

    Feeling heat rush to his face, he leaned in closer, eyes darting to her lips. “No…I think I got the gist of it.”

    Within mere seconds, their lips collided, though it felt like hours, if not days.  Time was both ever-present and nonexistent whenever Jimin was with Hazel.  Frozen, yet fleeting, keeping them suspended in a haze that he had grown quite fond of.  Her hand traveled from his face down his torso, setting his skin ablaze. Though he felt frantic, wanting to release all he had been feeling over the last month or so, she was calm, her movements soothing the ache he felt for her.  Pulling her onto his sheet-shrouded lap, he made quick work of unbuttoning her top and latching onto her neck to leave bright purple paint splatters across her brown canvas.  Just as her bare shoulders adjusted to the temperature, they were pressed into the mattress.  He loomed over her, legs tangled in the white cotton, and admired her blissful demeanor—lips full and parted, breath heavy, skin flushed, eyes low.  

    “Je te veux,” she murmured, tracing his lips with her thumb as she gently grasped his face.

    He shut his eyes tightly, a groan caught deep in his throat. “F-fuck, that sounded so good…,” he stuttered, fingers struggling to loosen her belt.

    The two basked in an afterglow that put the sun’s rays to shame. He leaned over to kiss her once more before speaking.  “I read somewhere that many of the greats slept with their muses: Picasso, Dalí, like everyone during the Renaissance, and don’t even get me started on the Greeks,” Jimin explained, absentmindedly running a hand up and down her arm.

    “Oh yeah, well everyone was fuckin’ everybody back then.  The Greeks were old school freaky,” she laughed.  “But don’t get too used to this.   I still need to finish this painting, so we can’t get carried away every session.  As a matter of fact, I should probably start on layer two.”

    Before Hazel could reach for her clothes, Jimin grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles.  “One request?”

    “Anything…within reason,” she warned teasingly.

     “I just need you to bang out another hit.  Y’know something real groovy- that’s what you kids say nowadays, right?” the middle-aged man chuckled, shoving one hand into his pocket as he leaned against the wall.

   “Yeah, something like that,” Jihoon sighed, running a hand over his face in a mix of annoyance and exhaustion.

   “I know you can do it.  That’s why I hired you, and you’ve done it before.”  

    “But my heart’s just not in it.  I didn’t sign on for disco, Mr. Jamison.”  

     The man looked at him with a smirk before taking a long drag of his cigar.  “You signed on for whatever the fuck I tell you to write and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it ‘long as I’m cutting you a check.  Now get to work,” he sneered. Tapping the end of the cigar, he didn’t even watch the ashes hit the floor before leaving the studio.  Jihoon watched in anger as Jamison exited, accidentally snapping his pencil in half.

     About an hour later, he balled up yet another piece of paper, throwing it into the overflowing bin on the other side of the room.  “Shit,” he mumbled, dropping his head to the wooden desk.  ‘Washed up before thirty…Who would’ve thought…?’  His eyes drifted between the clock on the wall and the blank pages of his notebook.  “Fuck this,” he said defiantly, grabbing the book and a pen before making his way out of the studio, as well.

     “Another scotch on the rocks, please,” Jihoon requested, punctuating the sentence with a slight hiccup.

   “I don’t know, Man…I think I might have to cut you off,” the bartender replied, slightly amused at the hazy look in his patron’s eyes.

   “C’mon, just one more. I swear I’m okay,” he pleaded with only a slight slur to his diction.  

     Their banter was interrupted by applause as another singer took the stage at the front of the dimly lit bar.  Jihoon turned his attention to the bronze-complected, demure woman that stood in front of the microphone.

     “How y’all doin’ tonight?,” she began.  “I’m not really one for introductions, and most of you know me already, so I’ll just get started with a number by good ‘ol Miss Flack. Y’all dig?”  Noticing the crowd’s positive reaction, he wondered what made her so special.  

Then she opened her mouth.

“Strumming my pain with his fingers Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song”      At that moment, Jihoon knew that this was the sound he had been searching for.  The harmonies he couldn’t hold on to.  The melody he’d been missing.  This woman’s voice, so soulful and sultry, was exactly what he needed.  

     “Who’s that?” he asked the bartender.  

    “Oh, that’s _____.  She’s a regular here.  Performs every Friday night for open mic.,” he replied.  Jihoon nodded, deep in thought.  

      After finishing her set, she took a bow, humbly accepting the applause that rang through the air.  “Much love, much love,“ she smiled.  “Enjoy the rest of open mic night, and I’ll catch y’all on the flip side.”  With one final wave, she walked down the stairs at the front of the stage.  

     “Great set, as always,” the bartender said as she walked by.  

    “Thanks, David,” she smiled.

   Figuring it was now or never, Jihoon stopped her before she could leave.  “Uh, excuse me.”  She turned to look at him with a pleasantly curious expression.  “You were amazing up there.”  

    “Thank you.”  

    “I’m not sure of how to say this, but basically…I need you.  Wait, that sounds terrible.  I need your voice.  That’s not much better,” he muttered the last part under his breath before inhaling deeply.  Exhaling, he inwardly cringed at the confused look on her face.  “My name is Lee Jihoon and I’m a musician.  I write and produce for Copasetic Records.”  

     She nodded, skepticism clear on her face.  “You don’t believe me.  It’s okay, I wouldn’t either,” he says, handing her his card.  “Anyway, I’ve been banging my head against the wall trying to find a new sound and I think I just did.”

   “And that sound is…me?” She placed a hand on her chest in disbelief.

   “Yes.  Money’s no object.  I just need you to record a song for me.”  

    She skimmed over the card before handing it back to him. “No thanks.”  

   “What?” he asked incredulously.

   “I’ve heard the stuff you produce and it’s not my style.”

   “But this song would be different.  With your voice and my lyrics, we could make a hit.”

   “With your lyrics?” she scoffed.  “Ooh baby, do it real groovy,” she recited humorlessly.  

  “Okay, so that wasn’t my best song, but-Wait!” he exclaimed, following her as she walked out of the bar.  

     “Look, I only saw ‘Foxy Brown’ once, but I’m a fast learner.  Keep following me and I’ll have no problem kicking your ass.”

   “No need,” he raised his hands in defense.  “I’m just asking that you take my card…In case you change your mind.”

   “Fine, but that’s not likely to happen.”

     Jihoon became a regular at that bar over the next few weeks.  Drinking numbed the pain of him having sold his soul to Copasetic Records and seeing _____ revived what little hope he had left in the music industry.       

     “You’re pretty damn persistent, aren’t you?” she asked, taking a seat on a bar stool before ordering “the usual”.  

  “No, but I’m pretty sure I’m becoming an alcoholic,” he chortled.  David placed a martini in front of her and Jihoon stopped her before she could pay for it.  “It’s on me.”

 “I don’t accept drinks from strangers,” she simpered.  

  “Well, I don’t think I’m that strange, do you?” 

     She thought for a moment before speaking again.  “What’s the catch?”

 “No catch.  Just buying a drink for a beautiful girl.”

 “Thanks, but drinks and compliments don’t get me into bed or the studio,” she said in a slightly teasing tone.   

  Well, she was half right.

     Soft smoke clouded the air in Jihoon’s bedroom as they found themselves tangled in a mess of bare limbs and plush sheets. He watched intently as her lips curved around the joint and released a cloud as smooth as the sound of her voice. As smooth as whiskey gliding down his throat. As smooth as the fabric beneath them.

   “…And so I found a gig at the bar and just…never left,” _____ exhaled, smoke flowing throughout her words.

  “But you could be doing so much more,” Jihoon sighed.  “Pass.”

   She handed him the blunt and he took a long drag before continuing to speak.  “Don’t you wanna see your name in lights, _____?”

 “Not if it means being a puppet with a record exec’s hand up my ass…Sorry,” she laughed, noticing Jihoon deadpan at her comment.

   “Look, I came to LA hoping for something different.  Something worthwhile that would make me happy.  Then I experienced hunger…I did what I had to do and then I got used to the money.  Figured that if I just played along for a while, I’d eventually get to create what I wanted…but I guess I was wrong.”  Realizing that this was clearly a sensitive topic for him, she placed a hand on top of his.   

     He smiled softly at her before putting the roach out in the ash tray on the bedside table.  As a silent “thank you”, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, tasting mint, hemp, and bliss. 

     The next morning, Jihoon woke up to an empty space in his bed and the sound of his piano in another room.  After sliding on a pair of boxers, he made his way into his living room to find _____ sitting at his grand piano, his red flannel loosely fitting around her small frame.  

     “You’re pretty good,” he smirked, leaning against the door frame.  

    She jumped a bit, immediately removing her hands from the keys.  “I’m sorry.  I just couldn’t resist.”  

  “She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” he asked, walking over and gliding his hand across the wood.

   “You ain’t never lied,” she smiled, still mesmerized by the instrument.  “Play something for me,” she grinned, finally looking at him.

 “Alright.  Any requests?”

  “Surprise me,” she shrugged.

     He nodded and began to play the tune of “Killing Me Softly”, causing her to laugh a bit.  “Of course you picked this song.”

  “Sing for me,” he beamed, fingers gracefully tapping.  

“Strumming my pain with his fingers Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song”

     “Beautiful,“ he complimented before adding, “Oh, and the singing was good, too.“  She giggled a bit before leaving a sweet kiss on his lips.

About two months had passed before Jihoon showed _____ his song book. 

     “I have a surprise for you.”

 “What is it?” she asked, rolling another blunt.

   He pulled out a small notebook and handed it to her as she placed the herb on the table.  “Back page.”

     She smiled and opened it, landing on a page with her name on it.  He watched her expression nervously as she read.  “Jihoon, this is beautiful,” she gushed, eyes trailing along the words of adoration and love.  “Did you write something to accompany it?”

 “Of course,” he smirked, standing to go to the piano.  Cracking his fingers, he played the first few notes.  “Sing for me?”

 “Of course.”

     They ended up recording that song, not through persuasion, but of _____’s own suggestion.  Soon after, the two found themselves sitting in a mess of velvet and leather, Mr. Jamison’s office.  

     “I really think we’ve got a hit on our hands, Sir,” Jihoon said.

   “Play it,” he responded stoically.  Jihoon followed his orders before sitting down next to _____ and holding her hand tightly.

     As the song came to an end, Jamison laughed bitterly.  “What the fuck is this?  This isn’t disco.”

 “We know, but we feel that this is better.  Soul is going to outlive disco, Mr. Jamison.  It has a timeless sound that’ll carry into the 80s without a doubt.”

 “Jihoon, I don’t pay you to feel.  I don’t pay you to think.  And I definitely don’t pay you to bring no-name sluts in here with their demos.”  Jihoon’s blood boiled at his words and _____wanted nothing more than to leave, but she refused to leave Jihoon there.  “I pay you to write.”

  “Not anymore,” the younger male calmly stated.

 “What?”  

“You heard me.  I quit.”

 “Your contract binds you-”

 “As long as working conditions are satisfactory.  And they’re not. I. Quit,” he said through his teeth before standing up and grabbing his girlfriend’s hand.  “Good luck keeping your fucking company from tanking.”  

     By 1981, disco had, in fact, died. Copasetic Records had gone bankrupt and closed, giving rise to a new company.

   One owned by Jihoon and _____.  

  After years of struggling through performing, networking, and negotiating, they had created a label consisting of various soul artists.  Some even began to branch out into some new genre.  Jihoon believed it was called hip hop or something similar.  _____ swore that in time, it would catch on.

     “Jihoon, we’re gonna be late to our own party!” _____ exclaimed, walking into their bedroom.  She frowned, noticing him hunched over the bedside table.  “Jihoon, I thought you said you weren’t doing that anymore.”

   He quickly stood up, wiping his nose.  “I know.  I just…I’m really stressed right now and- _____, wait!” he called after her as she left the room.  Following her out, he grabbed her arm.  “I’m sorry, okay?”

 “You shouldn’t be sorry for me; you should be sorry for yourself.”

   “And why is that?” he challenged, fed up with her constant nagging.

   “Well, for starters, your nose is bleeding,” she said, ripping her arm from his grasp.

   “Shit,” he muttered, going into the bathroom to clean it.

     A few hours later, the two were greeting guests at a party for the label’s first anniversary.  Setting his wine glass down on a nearby table, Jihoon searched the room for _____.  Once he spotted her, he quickly made his way over and pulled her to the side.  “I’m done for good,” he said.

 “You’ve said that b-”

 “I know, but this time I mean it.  I’ve seen so many people go after fucking with that shit, and I know you’re terrified that I’ll be next.  But I won’t be. I’m not leaving you any time soon,” he explained, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

 “I love you,” she smiled, placing one hand on his cheek.

   “And I love you. ‘Ya dig?,” he chuckled.

   She nodded, laughing before kissing him softly.   “I should get back out there.”

   “Go.  I’ll meet you onstage,” he smiled.  As she walked off, he reached in his pocket, clutching the tiny velvet box with a grin.

     “And to think that it all started in a bar,” _____ said, causing everyone in the crowded room to laugh.  Jihoon smiled as she told the story of how this all came to be.  In that moment, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.  As she invited him to come up and say a few words, his hand gripped the box tighter.

   “Well, before I talk about the label…I want to- no, I need to say something.”

     Just then, a shot echoed throughout the room, launching everyone into a panicked frenzy.  _____ screamed as Jihoon fell to the floor, clutching his bleeding stomach.  Rushing to his side, she lifted his head and yelled into the crowd, “Someone call 911!”  As she looked around, she noticed a familiar face in the crowd.  Mr. Jamison, who stood in an almost dazed state as people rushed towards him.  

     “Jihoon, stay with me, okay?  Everything’s gonna be alright,” she said, trying to stay composed as he coughed up blood.  “You said you wouldn’t leave me any time soon, remember?”

   “I love you,” he struggled to say.

   “I love you, too,” she cried.  Her watery eyes met his lidded ones as she felt his heart begin to slow down.  The small velvet box caught her eye, having fallen out of his pocket, and she could’ve sworn her own heart stopped as realization hit her.  “No no no…,” she repeated, shaking her head.

He stopped her by speaking as clearly as he could manage.  “_____…Sing for me…one last time.”

    Marlo lit another cigarette, letting the toxic smoke calm her nerves.  It was a filthy habit she had quit a few years prior but returned to due to all the recent stress she’d been under. Extra hours at work, an overbearing mother, a failed marriage-- if it weren’t for her five-year-old daughter, she would’ve gone insane by now.  

    She sat on the plush bed that had once been a source of warmth but was now as cold as she felt and stared down at the papers in front of her.  Taking a long drag of the cigarette before putting it out in an ash tray, she picked them up and headed down stairs.  Seeing her husband sitting on the couch, eyes glued to his computer, she walked over to him.

   “Hey…Can we talk?”  

   “It’s not important, is it?  I’m kinda busy right now.”  

    With a sigh, she walked around to the back of the couch, draping her arms over his shoulders.  “Well…How about we do something that doesn’t require any talking at all?” she trailed off, seduction falling from her mouth as it placed kisses down his neck.  He went rigid at the sudden display of affection.  

    Gently shrugging her off and sliding off his glasses, he inquired, “What is all this?”  

    Straightening her posture, she moved her hand to massage the tension building in her left shoulder. “It’s a test…and you failed,” she replied blankly, dropping the papers onto his lap.  He quickly picked them up and his eyes landed on one word in big, bold letters: “Divorce”.  There was a strong silence between the two, and she figured he wouldn’t say anything, so she decided to go back upstairs.  

    “Why?” he asked the simple question just as her foot grazed the first step.  

    “Because we’re not happy,” she answered, continuing up the stairs.  He hastily followed her, careful not to wake their daughter as they passed by her room and entered their own.  

    “What do you mean we-”  

    “Can you look me in the eyes and honestly tell me that you’re happy with our marriage?”  She turned to face him and stared into his eyes, but they quickly shifted downward, suddenly taking an interest in the shag carpeting that she had grown to hate over time.

   “Exactly.”  

    “Well, what can we do?  We’ve tried counseling and everything.  I just don’t know what’s wrong with us…,” he explained, eyes finally meeting hers.  

    “What do you mean you don’t know?  Seungcheol, we avoid each other like the plague.  We barely speak to each other anymore and you haven’t touched me in almost a year.  That’s what’s wrong.”  

    “Is that what this is all about?  Sex?  You know what, fine.  Let’s do it right now,” he said, hurriedly grabbing a condom out of the night stand drawer and opening it.

    “What the fuck, Cheol?  We can’t even make love anymore? You honestly think a quickie is going to fix this?” Marlo snatched the rubber from his hands and threw it on the floor, words rushing out into a traffic jam of aggression. 

    “Th-that’s not what I meant, I just…What do you want me to do?” her jaded husband sighed in frustration, running a hand through his dark locks.

    She took in a deep breath and answered, “Well, first I want you to sign those papers, and then I want you to be up and ready to meet the divorce attorney tomorrow. Nine AM sharp.”  

    He was about to reply, but a tiny voice called out from another room.  “Mommy!  Daddy!”  

     The two rushed into their daughter, Lynn’s, room.  She described a nightmare she had and they both calmed her down, leaving as soon as she went back to sleep.  

    Seungcheol closed the door quietly and said in a low voice, “So, did you even stop for a second to think about our daughter?”

    “Of course, I did.  She’ll stay with me,” Marlo stated matter-of-factly as they made their way back to their room.

     “There is no way in hell you’re keeping my daughter from me.  If there’s anything good that’s come out of our marriage, it’s her, and I’ll be damned if I let you take her away.”  

    “Well, it’s not really your decision, so-”

    “How can you be so selfish?  You know she needs me.”  

    “No, she doesn’t…Neither of us need you.”  

    “Look, just because you didn’t have a father growing up, doesn’t mean that you have to project your misery onto her by taking away hers.”  He took in a deep breath, realizing what he had just said and instantly regretted saying it.

    She looked at him with a sad smile, scoffing in disbelief before saying, “We’ll discuss this tomorrow morning. Now get out. I’m sure your spot on the couch is getting cold.”

     The next morning, Marlo sipped her coffee and sorted through some paper work at the kitchen table.   Seungcheol walked in, avoiding eye contact as he made his way over to the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee, and took a few sips.  The weight of the silence between them felt unbearable as he stared ahead out the window. Letting his head drop and releasing a heavy sigh, he finally spoke. “Look, I’m sorry.  That was a really low blow, but I just…,” he trailed off for a moment, wishing that talking to her was easy again.  “Don’t you want to try to work this out?” he asked, turning to face her.

    Without even bothering to look up from the papers in front of her, she replied, “We’ve tried plenty of times.  We need to move on.”

     “Fine.  Let’s go.”  

    The car ride was completely silent, like most of the meeting with the divorce attorney was.  Marlo and Seungcheol split the property and came up with schedules for Lynn but stayed quiet for the most part.  After signing a few papers, the attorney stood up, collected his things, and said, “Everything should be sorted out soon.  Give it about thirty days, and everything will be finalized.  Think you can stand each other for that long?” He joked, trying to lighten up the mood and cut the awkward tension.  The strained couple nodded and gave their best attempts at pleasant smiles.  

     A few days later, Marlo and her closest friend, Lena, were sitting on her couch having “girl time” while Lynn was out on a play date. The soon-to-be divorcee lit a cigarette, causing her friend to stare in shock.  

    “What? I’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” she said, defensively.  

    Her companion shrugged. “Hey, whatever blows your hair back…Speaking of, I guess you would go back to smoking, since this whole divorce thing has left you without your other stress reliever,” she smirked, making an odd gesture that Marlo assumed was referring to sex.  

    “Don’t remind me!” she said, putting the cigarette to her lips with a slight roll of her eyes.  

    “C’mon, admit it,” Lena smirked.  

    “Admit what?” Marlo muttered, taking a long drag.  

    “That you miss it.”  

    “Miss what? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marlo replied innocently, allowing the smoke to pass through her nostrils.  

    “THE SEX!  The hot, steamy-”

    Marlo threw a pillow at her face nearly yelling, “Shut up!”  

    The two friends couldn’t help but laugh, and once things finally quieted down, Lena hesitantly asked, “So…When was the last time you guys…y’know?”  

    Marlo took a quick puff and bit her lip, honestly not wanting to answer.  “About 11 months ago…,” she sighed.

   “You haven’t gotten laid in almost a year?!”  

    “Do you mind?! The walls are thin as hell in here! I don’t want the neighbors knowing all my business!”  

    “Well, apparently there isn’t that much business to know about!” Lena replied, doubling over in laughter.  

    “Look, can we just drop this and change the subject?” Marlo asked, putting out the stub of burnt matter.  

    “Fine.”  

     Marlo looked up at the clock to see that it was half passed six, just about time for Lynn to come home.  She quickly got up, dropping the cigarette into an ash tray.  “Shit, shit, shit…,” she mumbled, swatting away the cloud of smoke that surrounded them. Lena chuckled as she watched Marlo frantically grab the air freshener and spray a trail of it behind herself as she made her way to the window, opening it to air out the room.  The room was finally clear when the doorbell rang.  

    “Mommy!” a small voice greeted as soon as she opened the door.

    Putting on her “happy face” as she crouched down, she wrapped her daughter in an affectionate hug.  Hearing a horn honk, the mother-daughter duo looked up and waved at the woman who dropped Lynn off.

    “Hi, Auntie Lena!  Wanna see the picture I drew?” Lynn asked as Marlo took off her coat.

     “Of course, I do!”  

    The little girl eagerly hopped over to the couch to show her artwork and Lena scanned over it, trying to maintain a smile despite the sadness in her eyes.  “Hey, why don’t you go pick out your favorite pjs and brush your teeth for bed, okay?”  Lynn nodded and ran upstairs, while Lena turned to her mother.  “You might want to take a look at this.”  

    “What is it?” she asked, taking the paper.  The picture depicted Marlo and Seungcheol with their daughter between them.  She was colored in pink with long arms that connected to both of her parents, while they were colored in blue.  

     Later that night, when Lynn was fast asleep, Marlo sat on the couch, staring at the picture and fighting the urge to cry until she was numb.  Seungcheol entering the room prompted her to quickly wipe her eyes, just in case.

    “You okay…?” he asked almost timidly as he observed her distraught appearance. She silently handed him the drawing, watching his expression drop upon scanning it. “Is this really how she sees our family?” he breathed, brows furrowed in a mix of sadness and confusion.

     Marlo dropped her head into her hands, unable to verbally respond as she felt her throat constrict.  Seungcheol awkwardly sat beside her, unsure of what to do.  He felt the urge to wrap her up in a tight hug but settled on comfortingly rubbing her back.  

    The next night, they decided that it was finally time to tell Lynn.  

    “Princess?  Mommy and Daddy need to talk to you about something,” he spoke softly, sitting on the edge of the small bed.  

    “About what?”  

    “About that picture you drew yesterday…,” he trailed off.  

    “You didn’t like it?” she frowned.  

    “Of course, we liked it…It was…uh, accurate…But, we wanted to ask you why you drew it.”

     “Well, Anna drew a picture of her family, so I wanted to draw a picture of mine,” she explained, pulling the picture off the nightstand.  “There’s me in the pink and there’s Mommy and Daddy in the blue.”  

    “Why did you use those colors?” Marlo asked.  

    “Because you and Daddy are sad, and blue means sad.  And pink is for love, so I’m pink because I love both of you….and because you and Daddy don’t love each other anymore.”  

    “Well, that’s not true.  Of course, we love each other,” her mother replied, folding her arms under her chest.  

    “Then how come you don’t hug each other anymore?” Lynn asked, on the verge of tears.  

    Her father pulled her into his lap and explained, “Sweetheart, there’s a difference between loving somebody and being in love with them.  Mommy and I aren’t in love anymore, but we will always love each other.  Your mom is special to me, because without her, I wouldn’t have you, and I’m sure she feels the same way about me.”  

   “We’re not going to be husband and wife anymore, but we’re still going to be Mommy and Daddy and love you just as much okay?” Marlo added.  Lynn nodded, trying her best to understand, and allowed her parents to tuck her into bed.

     About two weeks had gone by and things didn’t really change that much. Seungcheol and Marlo went about their business as they normally did, though they decided to at least be cordial for Lynn’s sake. On that Thursday, Marlo skimmed through her planner, eyes stopping at one specific date. “Dinner with Mom”….and she was supposed to bring Seungcheol and Lynn. Grabbing a pillow and burying her face in it, she screamed in frustration just as her estranged husband walked into the living room. He stood before her, bowl of ice cream in hand and spoon in mouth with his head tilted in confusion.

    “You okay…?” he mumbled, teeth clinking against the silver utensil.

     “Yeah, I’m fine…,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair and getting irritated once a finger got stuck in the kinky texture.

He set his bowl of ice cream down on the table and sat next to her, sticking the spoon into the mountain of ice cream. “We’ve been together for almost eight years, Marlo. I can tell when you’re lying.”

    Leaning her head against the couch, she nearly growled, “I forgot that I scheduled dinner with my mom for tomorrow.”

    “What’s wrong with that? Your mom’s great.”

    “Well of course you’d think that. She loves you,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

     “Yeah, she does, doesn’t she?” he smirked. “But I’m sure it won’t be that bad. You’ll be fine.”

    “No…We’ll be fine…,” Marlo corrected, hope and optimism lining her tone.

    “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

    “Well……You and Lynn are supposed to be there, too.”

    “Doesn’t she know we…? That we’re…? You haven’t told her yet, have you?” he asked bluntly.

    “Not really…No,” her voice sounded timid. “It’s just not the right time!”

    “So, when are you going to tell her?” he asked skeptically, shoving a spoonful of cold vanilla cream into his mouth.

    She twiddled her thumbs for a second, knowing he wouldn’t like her answer. “I was planning on telling her…after…”

    “What? Why?”

    “So she wouldn’t be able to talk me out of it! ‘I swear, Marlo, you’re letting a fine young man slip right through your fingertips! What ever happened was probably your fault, so you should just apologize. My poor granddaughter is going to grow up with daddy issues and become a stripper!’,” she mocked her overbearing mother, causing Seungcheol to almost choke at that last statement.

    “Quite the pessimist, isn’t she?”

    “To say the least.”

    “…Here. You need this more than I do,” Seungcheol said, handing her the bowl of ice cream.

    She gave a weak smile and thanked him. “So, are you going tomorrow night, or…?”

    “I’ll think about it…But you should really tell your mother the truth...and do it as soon as possible.”

      When she got home from work that Friday night, she was surprised to see Seungcheol and Lynn fully dressed and ready to go to dinner. “You’re really going?”

     “Yes, now hurry up and get ready. I laid your dress out on the bed.”

    “Which one?”

    “The black one.”

    “Oh, good choice,” she muttered, making her way up the stairs.

    After about ten minutes, he figured she was taking too long and went to check on her. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he watched her attempt to pull the zipper of the dress over her child-bearing hips. “Here, hold still…,” he offered, stepping closer to hold her waist.

    Marlo felt tingles shoot through her nerves as he pulled the zipper up, his fingers lightly gliding against her skin. Rather than act on or even try to process the strange feeling, she simply thanked him as she turned around.  Noticing that his tie was crooked, she gave him a knowing smile. “You were never really good with ties, huh?” she all but giggled, reaching up to adjust the fabric for him.

    “I guess not,” he laughed lightly. He watched the concentration on her face, wishing he hadn’t forgotten what it was like being this close to her.  He didn’t even realize he’d been staring until she cleared her throat.

    “Well, uh, we should probably get going…”

     Marlo’s mother fawned over Seungcheol and Lynn, like she usually did, but kept her criticism of her daughter to a minimum for once. Things were going pretty well until he cleared his throat to speak up. “Miss Maria, there’s something we’d like to tell you.” Marlo’s eyes widened as she looked at him.

    “What is it Sweetheart?” her mother asked.

    “Yeah, Sweetheart…What is it?” Marlo asked with a raised eyebrow, almost daring him to say something.

    “It’s, uh….something very important,” he hesitated, feeling a bulge form in his windpipe.

    “Oh, you’re having another baby, aren’t you?! I thought you were looking a bit plump, Marlo!”

   “No, we are not having another baby! I’m not pregnant,” she quickly replied in irritation before sighing in defeat. “We’re getting….a divorce…”

    “What? How could you do this?!” The older woman began her ranting as Marlo stopped a passing waiter and requested the strongest alcohol the restaurant had.

     The ride home was quiet.  Lynn was with her grandmother, and that just left Marlo, Seungcheol, and the silent tension between them.

    “I’m sorry,” he offered, grip loosening on the steering wheel.  She merely shifted her gaze out the window beside her, perching her chin on her elbow.  With a heavy sigh, Seungcheol’s fingers tightened and eyes fixated on the road ahead.

    Marlo sat on the bed, staring at a pack of cigarettes, aching to let the tar ease her nerves.  A knock at the door broke her from her concentration briefly, and she called out, “Go away!”  To her annoyance, Seungcheol merely opened the door and stepped inside.

    “Knocking was just a formality. If you didn’t want me in here, you would’ve locked the door,” he quipped, causing her to roll her eyes as he plopped onto the bed.

   “What do you want?”

   “To talk.”

    “About?”

    “Us,” he stated simply.

    “In a week and a half, there won’t be an ‘us’,” she said quietly.

    “I know, and I want us to end on good terms. I really don’t want to resent the mother of my child.”

    “That’s all I am?” she asked, tone almost bitter.

    He felt the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement, dragging his fingers through his hair as he formulated a response. “Well, first you were my best friend…And then I thought you were the love of my life…But I would hope that we could at least be friends again.”

    For the first time since he entered the room, she looked at him, facing the fear of finding his eyes searing into hers. “What happened to us?”

    “I guess…We just got really busy with other things--especially our work schedules—and we just…drifted apart. It felt like I was coming home to a stranger.”  His eyes drifted from hers to the carton sitting between them.  Without thinking, he asked, “Why’d you start smoking again?”

   “Stress,” she nearly shrugged, voice somber and dry. Just as she reached for the pack, he placed a hand on top of hers.  

    “I’m sorry I pushed you to this.”

    With something resembling a smile, she looked up at him and replied, “You didn’t…And I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

    He slowly stood up, gently taking the cigarettes and tossing them on the dresser, ignoring her soft protest.  “Just for tonight,” he explained, and she nodded in agreeance.  “Well, um…Goodnight,” he added timidly, taking a step backward towards the door.

    “W-wait,” Marlo stuttered, holding out a hand to stop him. “You don’t, uh…You don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore—if you don’t want to, I mean.”

    A wide grin stretched across Seungcheol’s face as he reclaimed his spot on the bed beside her.  “Thanks.”

    Seungcheol woke up the next morning in an empty bed, slightly panicked that he would be late for work. He usually left before Marlo did, but ended up barging into the bathroom right as she was getting dressed, startling her a bit. He took in the sight of her lacey black bra and gulped, before turning in the opposite direction to hide his red face. “I, uh, I-i’m sorry. I just, um-”

    “It’s alright. I mean, I know it’s been a while since, but you’ve seen me naked before,” she chuckled, buttoning her shirt.

    “I know that. It’s just a little weird since, well, you know…”

    “Yeah, well I’ll let it slide this time, since we’re technically still married,” she smirked, brushing by him as she went to find her shoes. “See ya later!”

    Seungcheol gave a weak “bye” in response, watching her retreating figure as he slumped against the wall. Then he dragged his hands over his face, knowing he shouldn’t be feeling this way about his soon-to-be-ex-wife.

     Things had been going better in the past week or two than they had for the entire last year of their marriage and, honestly, it was giving both of them a lot of mixed emotions. Was going through with the divorce really the best decision? Neither spouse was completely sure at that point.

     Marlo stared into the swirling pot of sauce, nearly laughing at how similarly her head felt.

    “Smells great. What is it?” Seungcheol asked, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

    “Spaghetti. Just finishing up the sauce and the pasta should be done in a few minutes. Here, try some,” she suggested, holding the spoon up to him. He tasted it and nodded with a broad grin.

    “That’s really good.”

    As she turned to stir the pasta, he picked up another spoonful and tasted it as quietly as he could manage. Suddenly, he felt something warm hit his forehead.

    “I can hear you slurping, you wet noodle,” Marlo giggled, watching the noodle fall from his face.  Seeing his playful glare crack, she decided to make a run for it, but he swiftly grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his chest. The smiles melted off their faces as they stared at each other, feeling compelled to lean in. But as he got closer, she realized what was happening and placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “Cheol…We can’t,” she whispered.

    “But I thought…”

    She shook her head and cut him off, pushing lightly. “We just can’t-- I can’t. I’m sorry.”  

    He could barely form a sentence as she made her way out of the kitchen.  “Wait, Marlo! I’m sorry! I-”

    “The food’s done. Make sure Lynn finishes all of her dinner. I’m going for a drive,” she hastily replied, grabbing her purse and running out the front door. Seungcheol threw himself onto the couch and sighed heavily, covering his face with his hands. After a few minutes, he heard something bubbling in the kitchen and jumped up to attend to it. “Shit, the spaghetti!”

     After that, the two made an effort to keep things from getting awkward again, but insisted on reducing physical contact as much as possible. With little understanding of where these newfound feelings came from, they decided it was best to go through with the divorce, so as not to risk any further emotional confusion—especially for Lynn, who was somehow under the impression that her parents were “turning pink” again.  

     ‘Twenty-nine days….’ Marlo thought, putting in her earrings. ‘A lot’s happened, that’s for sure…’ As she looked in the mirror, her thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. After quickly straightening out her dress, she went downstairs, immediately being met with catcalls from Leena. Covering her mouth to stifle a laugh, Marlo glanced at her daughter who looked back in awe, and then at her husband who… Well, she couldn’t really read his expression. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she gave a quick twirl before asking, “You sure it’s not too much?”

    “Of course not! You look amazing. We’ll have a new husband for you by the end of the night!” Leena teased, nudging her shoulder.

    “Leena!”

    “Alright, sorry!”

    Seungcheol couldn’t help but furrow his brow at Leena’s comment, something that she happened to notice, although Marlo didn’t.  Lynn broke his trance by tugging on his pants leg.

    “Daddy, doesn’t Mommy look pretty?!”

    Marlo looked at him, slightly nervous yet eager to hear his response.

    “Yeah. She looks…absolutely stunning…,” he answered, talking more to her than Lynn. Leena smirked, noticing the romantic and sexual tension between them, and grabbed Marlo’s hand.

    “Well, let’s go celebrate tonight being your last as a married woman!” She started to pull her towards the door, but she resisted for a second to speak to Seungcheol.

    “I arranged for Jamie to pick up Lynn for a sleep over, so you could go out, too.”

    “Nah, I think I’ll just hang out here for the night. I’ll make sure to pack a bag for her, though…Have fun,” he said, giving her a dim smile.

     A few hours later, Marlo walked into the house, exhausted, but not from drinking or partying. She had spent most of the night making sure Leena didn’t get into too much trouble. After kicking off her shoes and tossing her bag on the couch, she made her way to the bedroom. “You didn’t have to wait up for me,” she yawned, walking in to see her husband at the edge of the bed, knee bouncing in anxiousness and eyes glossy and blank as they faced the television.  Without responding, he slowly got up and backed her against the dresser.

    “What are you-”

    “Please, Marlo…Just trust me…,” he whispered, placing a hand on her cheek. Feeling her breathing become labored, she placed a hand on top of his and nodded.  Her mind went blank as his lips met hers, and hands that were meant to push him away slid up to tangle themselves in his hair. To her disappointment, he pulled away to ask, “Now can you tell me that you honestly didn’t feel anything?”

    Feeling the blissful tingle fade away, she untangled herself from him and turned away. “We can’t do this again, Seungcheol.”

    “Marlo, answer the question,” he demanded, pulling her face back to him to force eye contact.

    “No, I can’t, alright? I can’t lie and say that I didn’t feel anything,” she admitted in frustration.

    “Then what are we going through with this for, Marlo?” he asked, voice teetering on desperation as his other hand cupped the opposite side of her face.  

    “It’s just too much of a risk.  I-i-”

   “Love is a risk. And I know that scares the hell out of you—it scares me, too…But it’s a risk I’m willing to take as long as it’s with you.”

    “And what if everything falls apart again? Us loving each other may not be enough,” she struggled to say, a single tear gliding down her cheek.

     He smiled softly, finding comfort in her vulnerability, and swiped his thumb along the damp path. “Marlo…I don’t just love you; I’m in love with you.  And I think that difference will make it enough.”

    She took a long pause before saying, “I’m in love with you, too.” That’s all it took to send the two into another passionate kiss as they stumbled towards the bed.  She shuddered, feeling her dress zipper glide down as he laid her on the plush comforter.

    “Then I want you to show me,” he breathed, voice heavy with desire. With a content sigh, she pulled his lips to hers, deepening the kiss hastily and harshly which earned her a deep groan from the bottom of his chest. It wasn’t long before their clothing was thrown aside, his mouth leaving bright marks along the column of her neck, drawing out sounds she didn’t even know she could make anymore.  And with wandering hands, shaky breaths, and longing glances, Marlo and Seungcheol made love for the first time in eleven months…and twenty-nine days.

     She woke up the next morning feeling warmth wrapped around her waist. Looking over, she saw the sleeping face of her husband under a mess of ebony hair. She ran her fingers through it and smiled.

    “Mmmm…Good morning,” he mumbled, pulling her in closer and giving her a peck on the lips.

    “Good morning…I wish we could stay like this all day.”

    “Well, Lynn’s with Jamie…and it’s only 8:26….,” he replied, checking his phone.  

    Marlo’s eyes widened and she shot up to a sitting position.

    “What’s wrong?” Seungcheol asked, slowly following suit.

    “The divorce is going to be finalized today at nine o’clock!”

All of this isn’t just a coincidence Just just my own feeling The whole universe is different from yesterday Just just from your happiness

     Jimin smiled, watching her deep brown eyes open and fill him with a warmth that made him feel…alive.  He took note of how the sunlight streaming in from the window made her skin glow before glancing down at her pillow, only to see the black scarf that never managed to stay wrapped around her tightly wound curls. With a lighthearted chuckle, he whispered a soft “good morning”.

     Her morning routine that day was much more calm than usual. Jimin recalled watching her hastily move about just yesterday, desperately craving caffeine as she complained about her hair still being damp. Resting his hand behind his neck, against the headboard, he relaxed into their plush white sheets and sighed. 

     “Hmm…Black or blue?” she mumbled, examining the two dresses that hung on the back of the closet door.

     “Blue,” he yawned in response, eyes closing as he was engulfed by the mundane comfort of their bedroom.

     “Blue…That’s his favorite color,” she smiled softly, nodding her head in reassurance before reaching for the garment.

When you call me I am your flower Like I’ve been waiting for it We bloomed dazzlingly It is almost like the destiny of the universe It is just how it is You know I know You are me, and I am you 

     She found herself sitting on a bench in the park.  It was windy outside.  Just like it was that same day, a year ago. As she sipped her coffee, a leaf fell from a tree branch above, and landed in her hair.  But before she could brush it off, Jimin reached over and plucked it from her coils.  

     She scoffed lightly, thinking it ironic to be grateful to the wind for its small gesture.

     They sat in silence as he gazed at her, taking in all of her features. She seemed tense…and he couldn’t figure out why. 

     Once she had finished her beverage, she stood, tossing the empty cup in a nearby bin and taking a deep breath.  He followed her quietly as she left the park, figuring she would lead him to whatever was troubling her.

As much as my heart flutters, I’m just as afraid Fate keeps being envious of us I am just as afraid as you are When you see me When you touch me 

     It wasn’t long before he found himself staring up at a large set of black gates.

     “…Has it really been a whole year, already?” he mused, walking beside her as she shuffled through the multitude of grave stones. 

     After a few minutes, she settled in front of one in particular.  Her heart grew heavy and her eyes watery as she stared at the name etched in a bleak shade of gray.  

     “Hi, Jimin…,” she smiled sadly.

     He felt something similar to pain shoot through him at the sound of her voice cracking.  Moving to stand in front of her, he stared intently into her eyes.

     “Hi, _____,” he replied, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to hear him.

     “How’s Heaven?” she asked, a bit of dark humor lacing her tone.

     “I’m looking at it right now,” he answered, reaching up to caress the side of her face.  She raised her shoulder a bit and brushed it over the area, feeling a slight chill skim it.  He frowned, both at her reaction to his touch and the way she looked right through him.

     “I miss you…so m-much,” she stuttered, feeling composure slip through her fingertips.  

     “I’m right here, Baby,” he responded, wishing he could shed the tears that felt so real.

     “I dream about you all the time.”

     “Well, that’s the only way I can reach you,” he shrugged, releasing what sounded like a somber chuckle.

     “I love you,” she sniffed, wiping furiously beneath her eyes.

    “I love you, too…More than you could ever understand.”  

The cosmos moved for us There was nothing slightly out of place Our happiness was expected Cause you love me And I love you

     She buried herself beneath the white sheets of their bed, spirit completely drained.  Her phone vibrated for what felt like the hundredth time that day.  She knew her friends meant well, but she couldn’t help but to feel annoyed at their refusal to let her cope alone, in peace.  Glancing at the notifications, she read the words, “Are you okay?”,  “Do you need anything?”, and “Come watch the eclipse with us! It might help take your mind off things. We don’t think Jimin would want you to be upset for too long.” 

     Rolling her eyes, she sank into the plush pillows that gave her a false sense of safety and comfort.  Right before closing her eyes, she decided that she preferred to welcome the darkness into her home by herself.  The room dimmed around her as she drifted off.

     Jimin sat on the bed beside her, internalizing her pain as the room grew darker.  He had to leave the physical realm on that fateful day; it was beyond his control; but when given the choice, he decided to stay with her in this lesser form for as long as he could.  However, he couldn’t rid himself of this feeling of guilt and the longer he stayed, the less he could bare it.  Seeing her this way--being the reason she felt this way--and being able to offer no more than an occasional dream or slight breeze…It was all too much. 

     He solemnly looked down at her hand, cursing himself for having ever taken the privilege of holding it for granted.  Expecting to phase right through it, like usual, he placed his hand on top of hers.  

     The feeling of something cold and solid on her hand caused her to flinch.

     His eyes widened in shock as he felt her skin against his.  “_____?” he spoke gently, causing her to stir in her sleep.  “_____?” he repeated more sternly, lightly shaking her shoulder.  

     Her eyes cracked open and her mind went blank at the sight before her.  Sitting up, she came face to face with the love of her life.

     “If this is another dream…I don’t want to wake up this time,” she said simply. 

     “Don’t say things like that,” he shook his head, hastily reaching to press a hand to her cheek.  She flinched a bit at the sudden change in temperature, but before he could quickly move away, she held him in place.

     “No,” she said defiantly.

     “But isn’t it cold?”

     “Freezing, but it’s to be expected since you’re….,” she trailed off, unsure if she should even say it.

     “Dead?” he finished the statement for her, a bitter smile gracing his face. 

     Her eyes glazed over his features, taking them all in as if nothing had changed. ‘Casket pretty,’ she thought, images of his sweet face still bright under the dim, unflattering lighting of a morgue creeping into her mind.  

     “Physically, yes…but in my heart you’re alive as ever…God, that was cheesy,” she cringed.

     “You must really miss me, then,” he smirked, finally moving his hand to lock his fingers with hers.  

     “Of course, I do.  I happen to love you, you idiot,” she chuckled, feeling genuine happiness fill her chest for the first time in months.

     He grinned at the sound before replying, “And I happen to love you, too.”

You are my penicillin The one who saved me My angel, my world I am your calico cat One who came to meet you Love me now Touch me now  

     Without another word, she leaned forward and placed her warm lips atop his slightly chilled ones…And without hesitation, he tried his best to reciprocate the same warmth he felt.  

     After what felt like an eternity, they parted, and though she was the only one that technically needed oxygen, Jimin felt nearly breathless, as well. 

     “This is by far the most vivid dream I’ve ever had,” she whispered.

     “I don’t…I don’t think this is a dream, _____,” he replied, still puzzled by this fortunate stroke of serendipity.  Had he prayed for a moment like this?  Probably a hundred times by now, and he was sure that she had, too.  But why did God…or Fate…or whoever decided to play this seemingly cruel joke on them--why did They choose to answer those prayers now?  And how long did They intend to let them bask in this happiness before ripping them apart only to send them back to their respective realms of existence? 

     “Well, if it’s not a dream, then how do we make this last forever?”

     Just as he was about to answer, he noticed the room beginning to brighten, little by little.  Looking down at his fingers laced with hers, he realized his color was beginning to fade.  “I don’t think we can,” he replied, holding up their hands to show her the difference, all the while fighting to keep a smile on his face.

     “What?  No!” she exclaimed, turning towards the window.  

     He caught her face between his hands, bring it back to face him.  “Never look directly at an eclipse, you idiot,” he laughed lightly, despite feeling tears gather at the inner corners of his eyes.  He decided to stay strong for her, refusing to let the burning droplets fall from his eyes.  Seeing her brown orbs develop a slight gloss over them caused him to press his forehead against hers with a sympathetic smile.  

Just let me love you Just let me love you When the universe was first made Everything has been decided Just let me love you 

      “You can’t leave me again, Jimin,” she whispered.

     “I never did.  I’m always with you, _____…even if you can’t see me.”

     She nodded before turning slightly to press a kiss to his cold palm. With a gentle brush of his finger, he swept away a few tears that had trailed down her cheek. Without another word, they wrapped themselves in each other, under the white sheets, finding comfort simply in holding one another.  They gazed at each other as the room slowly brightened and while he still could, he reached over to tilt her chin up.  She smiled softly, knowing exactly what he wanted.  

     Leaning up slightly, she kissed him with as much love as she could muster, and he did the same.  Feeling his touch lighten, she pulled away slightly. Much to her dismay, he had faded even more, the light from the sun wearing through his image. Reaching up, she wiped away a single tear that he had unknowingly let escape.  

     “I love you.”

     “And I love you.”

     Not wanting her to see him completely disappear, he whispered, “Close your eyes.”

     She shook her head, feeling her insides churn at the thought of never seeing him again outside of her dreams. 

     “Please,” he almost begged, his entire appearance growing pale.

     Taking a deep breath, she did as he asked.  A brief moment later, a light breeze brushed across her cheek and she opened her eyes.

     A blank space illuminated by blinding sunlight.  

    The sheets fell around her as she grazed her hand over the empty, cool spot.  Closing her eyes again, she pictured his beautiful smile.  And even though she already longed for his touch again, she couldn’t help but be grateful for their fortunate stroke of serendipity.

     “Until we meet again…”

     “Ayo, Coups!  You mind spottin’ me?” Mingyu asked, gesturing towards an apple on the produce vendor’s cart.  

    “I ain’t spottin’ shit; I lent you money last week.”

   “Fine,” the younger male snickered, plucking the bright red treat and taking a bite out of it before his superior could tell him to put it back.  

     “You better pay for that, you little thief!” the elderly owner exclaimed.

   “Cool it, Mr. Jung.  We don’t want no trouble,” S. Coups said, clearly amused at the thought of this old man threatening his able-bodied friend.  Taking a coin out of his pocket, he flicked it in the air, making it an easy catch for the gray-haired shop keep.  

     “You’re alright, Choi.  Those other ones you hang out with?  Not so much.”  

   “Eh, what can ‘ya do?” the black-haired boy shrugged with a sly grin before running off to join his friends down the street.  “Have a nice day, Mr. Jung!”

     “Have a nice day, Mr. Jung!” Mingyu mocked as S. Coups caught up.  

    “We don’t want no trouble, Mr. Jung!” Vernon chimed in with the same tone.  

    “Ayo, shut the fuck up!” S. Coups laughed.  

     “You should thank him for covering for you. Being a jackass doesn’t get you anywhere or anything,” Wonwoo informed the two younger boys.  

    “It got me this apple,” Mingyu countered, taking a bite for emphasis.   

    “And it almost got you a cap in the ass.  I swear Mr. Jung is packin’,” S. Coups said with a nudge to the boy’s side.  

     “Wonwoo with his books and you with your manners think you’re so fucking great, huh?” 

    “Well, I can’t speak for Wonwoo, but my manners are what got me a game of backseat bingo with Hyojin last weekend while you were at home twiddlin’ your dick,” the eldest smirked, causing everyone else to laugh.

     More playfully careless banter was exchanged between the four friends as they approached the bus stop.  “Alright, now if they say anything to you, don’t respond,” S. Coups ordered, upon seeing a few white kids waiting there.

   “I ain’t no candyass, Coups,” Vernon muttered.  

    “Don’t say another fucking thing.  You almost got us killed last time.”

     The four boarded the bus in silence, ignoring the few white kids that made snide comments or spat slurs.  “They’ve run out of original material.  Ain’t that a bite,” Wonwoo said under his breath.  

     “The fuck did you just say?” one blonde haired boy asked.

   “You heard me.”  

    Before the blonde boy could answer, the bus door opened again and a girl with warm brown skin and coiled black hair walked on, clutching a few grocery bags to her chest.  By the time she made it halfway to the back, the four Asian boys had become old news.  Even more people shouted at her while making obscene hand gestures, but she simply kept her eyes on the back window.  

     S. Coups’ eyes followed her from the moment she stepped on until the moment she sat down at the back of the bus.  He scanned over her features before moving down her body, only to be interrupted by a pluck on the head snapping him out of his trance.  

     “What are you looking at?” Vernon asked.

   “Huh? Oh, nothing,” S. Coups replied, pulling a lollipop out of his pocket and unwrapping it.

   “You were lookin’ at that black chick, weren’t you?” Mingyu said, already knowing the answer.  

    “Maybe so,” he shrugged, popping the candy into his mouth.  

     “You’re keen on a black girl?” Wonwoo asked.  

    “My god, guys, she’s black not a fuckin’ leper.  And yeah, I mean…She’s beautiful, and she’s-“  

  “Black.  She’s black, Coups,” Vernon interjected.  

    “You don’t like it when people judge the way you look, do you?” the eldest male reprimanded.

   “I’m not judging her, I’m just saying you’re asking for trouble.  Mrs. Choi would just about drop dead.”

   “Yeah, well you said that when I got my piercings and tattoos, but her heart’s still beatin’ ain’t it?”  

     The bus came to a sharp stop and their topic of discussion arose from her seat and walked towards the front of the bus to leave.  She made swift eye contact with S. Coups, and he swore on his great grandfather’s grave that she smiled at him.  He got up as she passed him and turned to look at his friends, giving them a salute and sideways smile.  

    “You’re joking,” Mingyu deadpanned.  

   “Nah, I’ll leave the jokes to you Bozos,” the oldest responded with a laugh before leaving the group.  He gave them a small wave as they rode by him and tossed the stick from his candy on the ground before turning around to find the girl struggling with one of her bags.  Rushing to her side, he used his hand to support the bottom of it, startling her a bit.  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.  It just looked like you needed some help,” he smiled.  

    “…Thanks,” she hesitantly replied.

    “I can carry one if you want.  They look kind of heavy.”  

    “Thank you kindly, but I can handle it,” she said defiantly.  Taking another step forward, she tripped over a rock, causing an apple to fall from one of her bags.  S. Coups caught it and placed it back on top.  

    “You can handle it, huh?” he chuckled.  

    She stopped in her tracks and looked at him almost incredulously.  “Why are you being nice to me?”  

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”  She simply rolled her eyes with a scoff.  

    “Look, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not like that.”  She searched his face for any sign of deception or dishonesty and couldn’t seem to find one, so she reluctantly allowed him to help her.  

     “You got a name?” he asked, walking beside her.  

    “Annabelle.”  

    “Annabelle; that’s pretty.  I like it,” he smiled at the way her name rolled off his tongue.

   “What’s yours?” she asked in response.  

    “Coups.  S. Coups.”  

    “What kind of name is that?” she giggled.  

    “It’s my kind of name.  What, you don’t like it?”  She shook her head, laughing at his mockingly offended expression.  “Well, my real name’s Seungcheol, but let’s keep that between us.  Only you can call me that.”  

    “Well, don’t I feel special.”

     “You definitely should,” he chuckled.

     “Hey, we’ve been walking for a bit. Not that I mind the extra time with you, but why’d you get off the bus so far from your block?”  

    “Bus doesn’t ride through black neighborhoods.  I ‘spose you ain’t too keen on walking through one, neither?”  

    “I’m keen on you, so I’d follow you anywhere,” he smirked.  

    “You ‘bout as slick as that grease you slather your hair in,” she laughed.

     About a block later, she stopped again.  “Well, there’s my place right on that corner.”  

    “You don’t want me to walk you to your door, do you?”

   She paused for a moment before answering, “My mama would kill me if you strolled up to the door.”

     “I can’t even be upset, since mine would do the same if she saw you.  It’s because I’m Korean, right?”  

    “No, she’d say you look like a hoodlum,” she began, gesturing towards his outfit.  “But yours would say the same about me, so I guess we’re even.” 

    “Albeit for a completely different reason,” he muttered, shoving one hand into his pocket.  “So, what if I wanna see you again?”  

    “Like when?” she asked.

     “Like all the time, but we can start with tonight,” he replied with a crooked smile.

     She bit her lip in thought and S. Coups took note of how pretty her lips were.  “My mama’s usually in bed by the time the street lights come on.”

     “Great, I’ll pick you up at eight thirty.”

     Annabelle sat on her bed, waiting and thinking about all the things that could go wrong.  But just as the list got too long, she remembered that smile of his.  Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was eight twenty-five.  She hopped up from her bed and took a look in the mirror, fluffing her hair and applying a coat of lip balm.  Then she quietly made her way downstairs and out the door. 

     S. Coups popped another lollipop out of his mouth to greet her.  “You made it!” he smiled.  

    “What, did you think I would punk out?”  

    “I don’t know, but from what you told me, your mama’s kind of intimidating.  A real ‘no bs’ kinda gal.”  

    “Well, she is, but she worked a double yesterday, so she’s knocked out.  I wouldn’t chance anything by staying out too late, though.”

     “Don’t worry.  I’ll have you home well before she wakes up for her next shift.  Quick question…You afraid of motorcycles?”  

     “Careful, Sweetheart.  You hold me any tighter and I just might propose,” S. Coups laughed.

 “I wouldn’t be holding you so tight if you weren’t driving like a bat out of hell,” Annabelle replied, voice cracking when they hit a speed bump.  

    “Sorry ‘bout that. I hope your eyes are open, though, since you’re supposed to be giving me directions.”  

    “Oh, right…,” she muttered, opening her eyes to take a look around.  “Make a left at the next corner.”

     After a few more minutes, the vehicle came to a stop in a dimly lit neighborhood.  S. Coups got off the bike, locking it into place before offering a hand to his date.  Normally, she would have declined, but she was still a bit dizzy, so she accepted the gesture.  

    “Where are we?” he asked.  

    “You’ll see,” she smiled, tugging him down a small hill to a slightly worn-down building.

     She knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before someone opened an eye level slot.  

    “Password?” questioned the pair of dark brown eyes.

    “SlimJim,” she answered confidently.  The door opened to reveal a black boy around their age.  He smiled at her but gave S. Coups a strange look as she pulled him through the room and down a flight of stairs to what he figured was the basement. The room was packed with black kids, all dancing and having a good time, the jukebox blasting the latest tunes.  A few came to greet Annabelle, and he got a couple stares every now and then, but overall, nobody paid him much attention.  

     Unwrapping a lollipop, he watched in amusement as she got pulled to the middle of the dance floor by two of her friends.  She was one hell of a dancer, and quite the social butterfly; he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. She made everyone around her smile…including him.  

     “You aren’t gonna stand here all night, are you?” she asked, jogging back over to him during a song change.

   “I’m not much of a dancer,” he replied, shifting the candy to one side of his mouth as he leaned against a table.

   “That doesn’t matter to me. I brought you here to have fun.”  

    “I don’t know…,” he trailed off, contemplating whether he wanted to embarrass himself or not.

   “C’mon, Candy Man.  It’s just one dance,” she teased, gently tugging on the front of his shirt.

   “One dance?”

   “That’s all I want.  Besides, I’m sure that’s all you could handle,” she smirked.

  “Oh, really?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.  

    Crossing her arms, she replied, “Mhm.”  Without breaking eye contact, he slid his leather jacket off and placed it over a chair.  Taking a few steps back, she beckoned to him with her finger, that same playful smirk still gracing her features.

     “So, I was that bad, huh?” he asked as they walked back up the hill.

   “What?  No, of course not.  Why would you think that?”

  “Your friends were laughing.  They thought I was a total spaz, didn’t they?”  

  “…Well, yeah, but they thought you were a cute spaz,” she giggled.

   “I’ll take it.”

     Noticing a slight chill shake her shoulders, he wordlessly took off his jacket and draped it over them.  She simply smiled, knowing it was pointless to try to convince him that she didn’t need it.  “Thanks.”  

    “Don’t mention it,” he replied, nonchalantly sticking another lollipop into his mouth.

   “I swear you always got one of them suckers hangin’ from your mouth.”  

    “Better than a cig.  I quit a while back” he shrugged.

   “Can’t argue with that.  My friend told me kissing a boy who smokes is like kissing an ash tray,” she said, slightly leaning on his bike.  

    “Oh, really?” he asked with a raised eyebrow as he stepped closer to her.  

    “Mhm,” she mused, gently pulling the lollipop out of his mouth.  After looking into her eyes for a moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, tilting his head a little to deepen the kiss.  

     “What did that taste like?” he asked as he pulled away.

   “…Candy,” she smiled.  “What did it taste like to you?”  

  “Heaven,” he smirked, causing her to laugh and playfully roll her eyes.

 “These things must be the reason you do all that sweet talkin’,” she said, holding it out to him.

   He plucked it from her fingers and responded, “Maybe so,” before popping it back into his mouth.    

     Realizing that it was getting really late, S. Coups decided to take Annabelle home.  After a short ride back, he insisted on dropping her off at her door since everyone was asleep, anyway.  

     She took off the jacket and went to hand it to him, but he just raised his hand to stop her.  “Give it back to me on our second date.”

   “And what makes you think you’re getting a second date?” she inquired, folding her arms as her lips tilted into a smirk.

   “That kiss,” he said without hesitation, biting his bottom lip as he watched a blush tint her cheeks. 

     “Well, you have until then to practice your dance moves,” she quickly recovered.  

  “Will do.  Next weekend; you, me, and that dance floor.”  

  “Will I see you again before that?”

   “I’ll be around.  Why, would you miss me?” he teased.

     “No,” she scoffed, folding her arms.  

    “Well, that’s a shame, ‘cuz I’d miss you,” his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as he spoke.

    “Sweet as candy; slick as grease,” she chuckled, shaking her head.  

    “Yeah, but you like it,” he smirked, leaning in again.

   “Maybe so,” she quipped, giving him a light peck on the lips.  

    He released her and said, “I should probably get out of here before the parentals notice I’m still out.  Goodnight, Sweetheart.”  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out yet another lollipop and held it out to her.  With a grin and a light laugh, she accepted it.  

    “Goodnight, Candy Man.”

     “So, nothing happened?” Wonwwo asked.  

    “Nothing,” S. coups answered, tossing a white stick on the ground.  

    “Look at that shit-eatin’ grin!  He’s fuckin’ lyin’!” Mingyu laughed.  

     The four boys stopped at the produce cart again a few days later.  No matter how much poking and prodding his three friends did, they couldn’t get S. Coups to describe his night with his new love interest.  

     “Aye, Mr. Jung!  Can I get one of them roses over there, please?” he asked the owner.

   “Sure can.  For a special lady, I assume?”  The young boy simply winked and tossed a coin to the elderly man.  

    “Thanks, Mr. Jung,” he said before continuing to walk towards the bus stop.

     “’Nothing happened’ my ass!  Tell us what went down!” Vernon snickered, pushing his friend’s arm.

     “It’s none of your fuckin’ business,” S. Coups chuckled, pulling another piece of candy from his pocket.

     “So, explain how you ended up bringin’ that Chinese boy to the Juke,” Denise playfully demanded, leaning over the convenience store counter.

  “He’s not Chinese.  He’s Korean,” Annabelle absentmindedly replied as she flipped through a magazine. 

  “Whatever he is, he sure as hell can’t dance to save his life,” her friend laughed.  Annabelle rolled her eyes and closed the magazine before placing it back in the rack.

   “He can’t dance just because he can’t dance; not because he’s Asian.  And if you must know, we met on the bus.  He helped me with my groceries and walked me home.”  

     “Like all the way home?” her friend inquired.

   “Well…’til about a block away from home, which was close enough.”

     “Yeah, close enough for your mama not to catch you with some Chinese boy dressed like a hoodlum,” Denise snorted as she started restocking the candy on the counter.  Annabelle gave her a dirty look and she raised her hands in a defensive position.  “My fault.  I meant Korean.”

     S. Coups smiled to himself, twirling the rose between his fingers as he walked down the street.

   “So, now that the kids are gone, are you gonna tell me what happened with that black chick?” Wonwoo asked nonchalantly, closing his book.

   “Nothing happened!” the raven-haired boy laughed in response.

   “Then what’s got you smiling like an idiot?”

     He paused for a minute, biting his bottom lip.  “She’s amazing, Man,” he all but gushed.

   “So, something did happen!  She was that good of a shag?”

   “What?  No, we didn’t…We didn’t have sex.”

   “So, what the hell did you do?” the younger asked bluntly.  

    “We went dancing.”  

    The younger male looked at him incredulously.  “You?  Dancing?”

     “He really got you sprung, huh?” Denise smiled, resting her chin on her hand.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say sprung…”  

  “I would.  I ain’t seen you this happy since your mama let you stop getting perms,” she laughed.

   “He’s just really really…sweet,” she grinned, glancing down at the candy next to the register. “Hey, Denise, gimme two of them candy pops right there.”

     “Sounds pretty damn nifty,” Wonwoo smiled, sitting down on his stoop.

     S. Coups leaned against the railing and nodded.  “It was.”  

     The two watched as a Korean couple a little older than them walked by holding hands, and S. Coups couldn’t help but smile a little wider at the thought of being like that one day.  Wonwoo frowned a bit, noticing the dreamy look in his friend’s eyes.  

     “You know it won’t be that easy, right?”

     “Yeah…I know,” he replied, plucking a thorn off the rose.

     Wind chimes could be heard over the soft hum of the radio as the convenience store’s door opened.  “Hello.  How can I help….you?,” Denise trailed off as she looked up to see Seungcheol standing at the front of the store. 

    “Hi…I’m looking for Annabelle he said hesitantly, recognizing Denise as one of her friends from the party.

   “She’s uh…She’s in the back room.  She’ll be out in a second,” she replied, still a little surprised that he ventured out to their neighborhood. 

     “You’ll be around, huh?” Annabelle mocked, one eyebrow slightly raised as she came from the back room carrying more magazines.  He smiled at her and shrugged as she placed the books on the counter.

   “I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

   “Considering most people avoid this neighborhood, I find that hard to believe,” she joked, walking over to him.  

     “Alright, so maybe I just wanted to see you,” he admitted with another crooked smile, handing her the flower.  

    “Maybe?” she asked.  

  “Alright, so I definitely wanted to see you,” he corrected himself with a light laugh.

     “Thank you, Seungcheol.  It’s beautiful,” she admired the rose.

 “Not as beautiful as you.”  Denise rolled her eyes behind them, pretending not to listen as she counted her till. 

     “Oh, I got you something, too,” Annabelle beamed, pulling a lollipop out of her pocket.  He chuckled and took it from her.  

    “Sweet,” he grinned, unable to fight the light blush that dusted over his cheeks and nose.

   “Not as sweet as you,” she cooed, placing her hand on his cheek.  

     “Well, you’re both about to give me a cavity.  Could y’all take this little love connection somewhere else?,” Denise teased, shutting the cash register.    

     “Sorry about my friend, Denise. She don’t mean no harm,” Annabelle spoke quietly as the two of them walked down the block. 

  “She’s funny.  Reminds me of my friend, Mingyu.  Hopefully you’ll be able to meet him and the others soon.”

     She gave him an unsure look and he reached down and grabbed her hand.  “They’ll like you; I’m sure of it,” he assured her.   As he looked down at their joined hands, he thought of the couple he saw earlier that day and smiled.

     “What’s got you grinnin’ like a Cheshire cat?” she giggled.  

    He laughed and shook his head.  “Nothin’ in particular.  Being with you just makes me happy, that’s all.”

     Before she could reply, she heard murmuring from across the street.  Looking over, she noticed two black women whispering to each other while staring.  “Oh, no,” she sighed.  

    “What’s wrong?”

   “Nothing.  It’s just one of my mama’s co-workers over there mindin’ our business.”  

     He quickly let go of her hand.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to get you into any trouble.”

   “You didn’t,” she smiled genuinely, intertwining her fingers with his again.  “Let ‘em stare and whisper all they want.  I’m sure my mama would’ve found out eventually anyway.”

     S. Coups thought for a moment before speaking.  “Hey, wanna get out of here?”

  “And go where?”  

    “My side of town.”

   “I don’t know if that’s a good idea…,” she trailed off.  

  “Nobody’s gonna fuck with us; trust me.  You do trust me, right?”

     She indulged in the nervous habit of chewing her bottom lip before nodding with an equally nervous smile.

     “Just a little bit further,” S. Coups grinned, gently tugging her along.  They passed another group of trees before coming to a clearing.  Annabelle took note of how beautiful it was.  Flowers of every color, lush grass as far as the eye could see, a small pond of sparkling blue water- she had never seen anything so pure. 

     “This place is amazing!  How did you find it?” she asked once they sat down.

 “I didn’t.  My father did like twenty-something years ago.  Used to bring my mother here back when they were dating.”

 “How romantic,” she smiled, looking over the landscape.

  “What can I say?  I learned from the best,” he smirked, causing her to roll her eyes.  

     He laid back and rested his head on his arms as he continued to speak.  “My parents would just lay here, looking at the clouds and talking for hours.”

 “About what kinda stuff, if you don’t mind me asking?” she inquired, gently running her fingers through his hair.  After about the third time, she felt grease accumulate on her fingers and decided to stop.  

     “Wait, why’d you stop?” he asked in an almost offended tone, clearly disappointed.

 “I just remembered that you dunk your head in a vat of Crisco every day,” she laughed, showing him her hand.

 “Oh shit, I’m sorry.”  He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her before letting his hand rest on the ground.  

  Wiping her fingers off, she urged him to continue.  “Back to your parents.”

     “Right…..They just talked about everything, I guess.  My pops said they talked a lot about living the American dream.  Y’know, nice house, nice car, white picket fence.  An apartment, a hoopdie, and a barbed wire fence is what they ended up with, though,” he laughed humorlessly as he stared at the sky.  

     Laying down beside him, she supported her head with one arm and said, “America seems more like a nightmare than a dream to me.”

 “I’m sure I can understand why.”  

  “What do you think of it here?”  

    “Personally?  It sucks…But I figure my parents came here for a reason and decided to stay for a reason…So it must be better than whatever they left behind.”  

     He felt her hand slide into his and smiled, looking over at her.  After a few seconds of him admiring her as she watched the clouds drift by, she finally turned to meet his eyes.  In their comfortable silence, he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

     Annabelle slid into her house and closed the door as quietly as possible before tip-toeing through the corridor.  “Annabelle!”

     “Shit…,” she mumbled to herself.  “Yes, Mama?”

     “Come in here.  I need to speak with you.”

     She walked into the living room and sat down in front of her mother, waiting for her to initiate the conversation.  “What’s this I hear about you runnin’ round town with one of them little Asian hoodlum boys?”

   “He’s my friend, Mama.”

   “Your friend?  What kind of friend?”  

    “Just…a friend.”     

     S. Coups walked into his room, only to find his father waiting for him.  He sighed a bit, knowing a lecture was the only possible reason for him to be there.

     “Seungcheol, we must talk.  Now.”  S. Coups simply nodded and sat down on his bed.  “What’s this I hear about you bringing one of those colored girls around here?”

 “She’s my friend.”  

  “Your friend?  What kind of friend?”  

  “Just a friend.  I don’t know what else you want me to say, Dad,” S. Coups answered, avoiding eye contact.

 “I want you to tell me why you’re bringing your colored friend into our neighborhood.  You’re just asking for trouble,” Mr. Choi said, voice raising slightly.  

     S. Coups finally looked up at his father with a blank expression.  “Why do you call her colored?”

   “Because she is.”

   “Then what are we?”

   His father remained quiet for a moment.  

     “What are we, Dad?  We definitely aren’t white, no matter how much you want us to be, so what are we?” he asked in an almost harsh tone, though he kept in mind that he was still talking to his father.  

     Mr. Choi stood up from the desk chair and said, “We are trying to get by…and I don’t want you making that any harder than it already is,” before leaving the room.

     S. Coups felt his left leg bouncing in agitation as his father closed the door.  Reaching over to pull open his desk drawer, his eyes locked on a single cigarette.  After what felt like hours of contemplation, he closed the drawer before reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out the lollipop he’d gotten from Annabelle earlier that day, and unwrapping it with shaky hands.   

    A faint tapping against her window woke Annabelle from her already unsatisfying slumber.  With a light grumble, she got up and walked over to the dark frame before looking out and down.  Finding none other than Seungcheol standing there, pebbles in hand, she quickly backed away and yanked off the scarf that had been protecting her curls.  “Seungcheol Choi, what the hell are you doing?” she asked, amusement betraying her attempt at a scolding tone as she looked out again.

    “You’re a heavy sleeper.  I damn near threw a brick.”

    “That doesn’t sound like a hate crime at all,” she deadpanned.

    “You know what I meant.  Now are you gonna come down here or what?”

    “Why should I?” she inquired, folding her arms.  “It’s been over a week since I last saw you.”

    He sighed in defeat, running a hand through his hair before responding.  “I know, and I’m sorry.  Just—Just come down….please, Annie.”

    Hearing the remorse in his voice, she did what he asked and ventured downstairs and outside.  “You really shouldn’t be here in the middle of the night.”

    “I know, but I just had to see you.  And I know your mama’s out on her night shift, so I figured the timing was right” he shrugged sheepishly.

    She took a look around before grabbing his hand and pulling him inside.  “Come in, just in case.”

    Seungcheol’s eyes wandered throughout the living room, taking in all the pieces that held cultural significance.  Smiling at a picture of a bright-eyed girl with two puffballs atop her head, he asked, “Is this you?”

    Rolling her eyes, she walked over and turned the picture over, placing it face-down on the shelf.  “Tell me what’s going on, Seungcheol.  You gone crazy?”

    “I’m crazy about you,” he replied in all sincerity, hand grasping hers.  “And I know everyone thinks we shouldn’t be together, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.”  She remained silent, eyes staring into his with no readable emotion, so he continued. “I….I threw out my last cig the other day, and I thought of you when I did it.”

    “Well, I’m glad you’re taking better care of yourself.”

    “That’s part of it,” he began, releasing her hand and stepping back to lean one shoulder against the wall.  “But I also couldn’t risk tasting like an ash tray the next time I got lucky enough to kiss you,” he finished, earning a soft giggle from her.

    “So, you came here after dark to tell me that?” she asked, tone lighthearted, but still mildly confused.

    “I came here because--” he paused, trying to gather his thoughts.  “I don’t know why I came here.  I was just sitting in my room thinking about all the bullshit I’ve been hearing over the last week and about how I let it keep me away from you…And I just needed to tell you that I don’t care anymore, about any of it.  All I care about is you,” he breathed, letting his words fall from his mouth in a jumbled mess.  

    She sighed heavily, crossing her arms again as she stepped closer.  “I’d be lying if I said people weren’t getting to me, too…But all I want is to be with you,” she timidly spoke, eyes finding his.

    Without another word, he pulled her into a deep kiss, taking the initiative to press her against the wall. Having missed the feeling of her coarse hair, he trailed one hand up from her face to gently twirl a lock around his finger as his other hand drifted to her back.  She couldn’t help but smile as her hands gripped the lapels of his leather jacket and tugged them down.  He released her momentarily to slide his jacket off, letting it fall to the floor.  

    Pulling about a centimeter away, he whispered, “I don’t know much about love, but I sure hope it feels something like this,” brushing his nose against hers.

    “Well, we got all the time in the world to figure it out.”

    “Just you and me?” he asked, eyes lidded.

    She nodded before pecking his lips once more.  “Just you and me.”

    “And if anybody says a fucking thing, you come get me, alright?” S. Coups said sternly, masking the worried feeling threatening to overtake him.  Annabelle nodded, giving him a nervous smile.  He unwrapped a lollipop and stuck it in his mouth as the two turned to face the doors of the school, which somehow seemed even larger than usual.  

    She laced her fingers between his, giving him a reassuring squeeze.  “Just you and me, Candy Man.”

   “Really, _____, it’ll be fun!” Lorraine nearly pleaded.

  _____ crossed her arms, head tilted in skepticism. “Wine tasting with you and your boyfriend?  No thanks; I’d rather not be the third wheel and-”  

  “It’s free~,” her best friend sang.  

  _____ pondered the idea for a moment.   What’s the worst that could happen?  Besides, going anywhere for free alcohol is almost always a good idea. “Fine…Pick me up at seven.”

     She walked into the lobby of the building and looked around, absentmindedly adjusting the strap of her dress as she took in the ostentatious décor.  As her eyes skimmed the room, a poster caught her eye.  “Wait a second…couple’s wine tasting?” she asked incredulously.  

    Lorraine and her boyfriend, Taehyung, trailed in behind her, nervously smiling at their friend’s discovery. “Yeah, we just thought that maybe since you recently became single…”  

    “No.  No.  Hell no,” _____ stated firmly, already moving towards the door.  

    “Oh, come on, _____.  One blind date wouldn’t hurt,” Taehyung reasoned, lightly grabbing the flustered girl’s arm and turning her back around.  

    “You both know how much I hate blind dates,” she said, speaking in a barely hushed tone, hoping not to draw any attention.

    “Yeah, but he’s my closest friend and a really great guy.”  

    “And he’s really hot,” Lorraine added, earning a quick, irritated look from her boyfriend.  

    “He could be the sexiest man alive, and the answer would still be-”  

    “Hey, Jimin!  Over here,” Taehyung called out to his coworker, motioning for him to come over.  

    “Too late; haha!” Lorraine whispered.    

    _____ rolled her eyes, figuring that she should at least get a good look at the poor soul they had invited on this double date.  ‘…Well I’ll be damned…,’ she thought to herself as she came face to face with a definite candidate for the title of sexiest man alive. Dark brown hair fell over deep brown eyes, and pleasantly round cheeks contrasted perfectly with a deadly sharp jawline.

    He came over and greeted Lorraine and Taehyung before turning to _____.  “And you must be _____,” he smiled.  

    “I must be,” she laughed awkwardly, holding her hand out for him to shake.  He gently grasped it without hesitation and brought it to his pouty lips for a soft kiss.  “I’ve heard a lot about you.”  

    “Only good things, I hope.”  

    “Of course, of course,” he chuckled, the sound a gentle melody that she desperately wanted to hear again. 

     The two couples separated but were close enough to keep an eye on each other. Jimin pulled out _____’s chair for her and she thanked him as she sat down.  ‘So far, so good….,’ she thought to herself. Then she perused the menu for a few moments before the dark-haired stranger spoke up.

    “Any preferences?” he asked.  

    “I’m really not too knowledgeable about this stuff, so it’s all Greek to me,” she replied shyly.  

    “More like Italian, but I get what you mean,” he teased with a slight smirk, causing her to smile and blush a bit.  A waiter stopped his cart by the table and asked for the first wine selection, making sure to suggest a few. Jimin gave _____ a quick look in a questioning manner, but she simply shrugged nonchalantly as if to say, “your choice”.  

    “Moscato d'Asti to start with, please,” he requested, not even bothering to look at the menu.  The waiter nodded and grabbed a bottle from a bucket of ice before filling two glasses halfway.  He then placed them on the table and the two thanked him as he moved on to the next couple.  

    _____ took a sip, letting the saccharine taste overtake her taste buds, and nodded in approval.  “Good choice; I like it.  It’s sweet and refreshing,” she smiled.  

    “Well, they say a person’s wine preference is reflective of their personality,” he replied, tilting his glass slightly.  

    She raised an eyebrow as her finger danced across the rim of her wine glass. “Then, what’s your preference?”  

    “Grenache,” he stated simply, eyes swimming dangerously deep into hers.  

    She quickly glanced down at the menu to find the words “spicy” and “bold” written under his wine choice. “So, let’s try that one next,” she suggested.  

    “You sure you want to skip to that one?  I mean, it’s soft on the palate, but the alcohol content is pretty high and…to be honest, you seem like a bit of a lightweight,” he said in the politest way possible.  

    “Excuse you, Mr. Wine Connoisseur; I am not a lightweight,” she retorted playfully, setting her glass down on the table.  

    “Alright then, if you insist.”  Jimin got the attention of the waiter and ordered her request.  The waiter gave them an odd look, since he knew that particular wine was supposed to come later but did as he was told and went back to another table.  “Cheers,” Jimin smirked, holding out his glass to her with a mischievous glint in his eye.  

    “Cheers,” she answered with a similar expression as she tapped her glass against his.

     About an hour, 3 bottles, and a very in-depth conversation later, it was safe to say that _____ was far passed tipsy.  She moved her hand to grab her glass and almost knocked it over before Jimin caught it.  “Oops,” she almost laughed.  

    “I think you’ve had enough for tonight, _____,” he said, trying not to laugh, himself.  

    “Agreed,” she responded, massaging one of her temples.

     Unwilling to ruin her friends’ date night, she accepted Jimin’s offer to take her home.  As she sat into the back of the cab, she turned to her date.  “Hey, Jimin?”  

    He looked at her with a crooked smile, eyebrow quirked in curiosity. “Hm?”

     “You were right. I am a lightweight,” she said, launching herself into a fit of giggles as the two settled in.  

    He couldn’t help but smile at how adorable she was, even in her drunk state.  Placing a hand on top of hers, he replied, “I figured as much.”  The entire ride was spent with him listening to _____’s drunken rambling, engaging her in conversation as much as he could manage and finding the entire endeavor to be quite amusing.  

     “Here, let me,” Jimin suggested, gently taking the keys after her fourth attempt at opening the door.  “Think you can make it in okay?” he asked, a bit skeptically.  

    “Of course I can!” she said indignantly.  She took about two steps into her house before tripping on the mat at the front door. With a sigh, he bent down to help her up, bracing her weight against his body as they made their way upstairs.

     She flopped onto the bed as Jimin found the bathroom.  “Do you have any pain killers?” he called.  

    “Medicine cabinet!”

    He shuffled through a bunch of pill bottles and went for the lowest dosage that would still help with the massive headache he knew she’d eventually have. “Here, take this,” he said, hurrying back into her room with a pill.  She grabbed a nearby bottle of water and chugged everything down as he bent down to her eye level with.

    “Are you okay now?”  

    “I’m fine.”  

    “You sure?  What’s twelve times twelve?”  

    “One forty-four.  I’m drunk, not stupid,” she deadpanned.

    “Touché,” he laughed.  There was a comfortable silence for a moment, until she felt bold enough to interrupt it.  “You’re really pretty,” she hummed, still emboldened by the fiery liquid courage running through her system. 

    He looked at her in surprise for a second but smiled right after.  “So are you, _____.”  

    “And you’re really sweet,” she added warmly.  

    “So are you,” he chuckled.  

    “And I really want to kiss you right now.”  

    He paused for a second before answering.  “And I really want to kiss you, too…”  

    _____ leaned in with closed eyes and felt something soft press against her lips.  However, it wasn’t his lips…It was the pad of his finger.  “But you said you never kiss on the first date,” he grinned, repeating what she had told him earlier.  Finally opening her eyes, she couldn’t help but pout as he removed his finger. He laughed softly and tilted her chin upward to place a light kiss on her forehead.  “Goodnight, _____.”  

     _____ woke up the next morning with a slightly nagging pain instead of a massive headache, and a vague understanding of exactly what had happened the night before. Slowly rising from the mess of sheets and clothes, she looked over at her nightstand and saw a piece of paper with writing on it. 

    “I had a great time last night. ;) ***-***-****,” she read the neat cursive as her mind drew a complete blank.  ‘What the fuck happened last night…?’

     “Please pick up, please pick up,” she muttered, listening to the phone ring.

    “Hello?”  

    She swallowed nervously as his smooth voice reached your ear.  “Um…Hi, Jimin.  It’s _____.”  

    “I had a feeling you’d call,” he chuckled.  

    “Yeah, I saw your note and I was just wondering, uh…What exactly happened…last night?”  

    “It was amazing, _____.  You made sounds that I never heard a woman make before.”  

    “What?…I-I…Look, whatever happened, or didn’t happen last night-”  

    “I’m joking, _____.  We didn’t have sex,” Jimin interrupted her stuttering with a laugh and she felt relief wash over her before a wave of ‘wtf’ hit.  

    “What the hell, Jimin; I almost had a heart attack!” she exclaimed. Laughing a bit, herself, she pressed her hand against her chest to calm down.  

    “But last night really was amazing to me…and incredibly entertaining, because you’re hilarious when you’re drunk.”  

    “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she retorted in a playfully sarcastic tone before adding, “But remind me to never drink that much again.”  

    “Gotcha….So I guess that means you’ll go on a second date with me…?”  

    Smiling at the sound of uncertain hope at the base of his voice, she replied, “Only if there’s no alcohol involved.”  

    “Agreed, Little Miss Lightweight,” he nodded, feeling his mouth stretch into a wide grin.

     Mosaics was, without a doubt, _____’s favorite class because she got to discuss her favorite literature and write to her heart’s content.  It also helped that every now and then she’d catch glimpses of the cute teacher’s aide whenever he stopped by to drop off paperwork.  She would never admit it out loud, but she always put in a little extra effort when she knew he would be grading the assignments.  

     ‘That’s strange…,’ she thought, staring at the empty chair at the front of the room.  Taking her seat at the second table from the board, she took out her latest assignment and set it down on top of her folder.  Class was going to start in ten minutes and the professor wasn’t there.  He was always early. 

     Figuring that maybe he was running late, she shrugged and began proofreading her work again as the other students filed in.  “Professor Johnson’s not here?” one girl asked.  

     “That’s weird. He’s never late and he never skips.”

     “Maybe he died or something.“

     “Shut up! No he didn’t.“

     “If he’s fifteen minutes late, school policy says we can leave.“

     The murmuring of her peers came to an end when someone cleared their throat.  “Good afternoon, class.”  She looked up from her paper to see the subject of her admiration, Yoon Jeonghan.  

     “Is Johnson dead?” one of the boys called out.  

      “No, he’s not.  His daughter went into labor this morning, so he’ll be out for a bit to take care of some family matters.  I’ll be filling in until he returns.” The class gave mixed reactions, but for the most part, the girls seemed far more pleased than the boys.  “Well, thanks for that uh…warm welcome, I suppose. Anyway, let’s get started.  Take out your books on Greek mythology.  We’re going to tackle romance today,” he smirked with a slightly raised eyebrow as he pulled a book from his bag.  

     Rather than sitting in the chair behind the teacher’s desk, he opted for sitting on the desk, itself.  Setting the book aside, he grabbed a piece of scrap paper and a pen before quickly jotting something down.  Without warning, he tossed it in _____’s direction. “Catch!”

     The class snickered as she clumsily caught the crumpled-up ball of paper.  “Read it aloud please,” he requested, crossing his legs.

     She took a quick glance around the room, suddenly feeling nervous about the attention being thrown at her, quite literally.  With one unsure look at him, she obliged and read the note.  “I swear by the temple of Beyoncé that I will marry Yoon Jeonghan…?”  More snickering filtered into her ears as the blonde TA sitting before the class bit back a grin.

     “Great.  You and I are now betrothed.”

     “What?” she asked in mix of disbelief and confusion.

     “You just swore on a deity that you would become my wife,” he shrugged.

     “Beyoncé…Really?” she added in skepticism.

     “Well, have you seen her?” he laughed, causing the rest of the class to join in.  “My personal feelings for Beyoncé aside, she is worshiped by modern society in a manner that is reminiscent of ancient Greek religious practices. The story we’re going to talk about today is that of Acontius and Cydippe.”

     Finally understanding the meaning of this little skit, _____ nodded.  He looked around the room, only to see blank stares aside from her interested one. “Alrighty then…Can anyone summarize the story for the class?”  

     After a few moments of complete silence, she decided to raise her hand.  “Ah, my bride-to-be,” Jeonghan joked, gesturing for her to answer.  “Enlighten us.”

     “Well, in short, Acontius and Cydippe were both attending a festival in honor of the Goddess Artemis.  Acontius fell in love with Cydippe at first sight, or so the legend says, and while she was at the temple of Artemis, he threw an apple at her.  On the apple was written something along the lines of ‘I swear by the temple of Artemis that I will marry Acontius’, and after she read it out loud, she was bound by this oath to do so.”

     “Very well-said,” he commended, running a hand through his golden locks.  “Now I want reactions.  How do you guys feel about this narrative and the fact that it’s classified as a love story?”

     A girl in the back of the room raised her hand and Jeonghan’s face lit up as he called on her.  “Well, I think that’s really fucked up.  ‘Scuse my language,” she quickly corrected herself.

     “No, you’re right!  It is fucked up.  Why is it fucked up?”

     “He basically tricked her into marrying him!  She had literally no say in it, whatsoever.”

     A few other people vocally agreed with her and suddenly, the entire class was engaged in discussion.

     “Alright, before class is over, I need to tell you what your assignment is.  I want five pages on how the story of Acontius and Cydippe is related to today’s state of our patriarchal society.  Great discussion today.  I’m looking forward to reading your thoughts Wednesday.”

     “Hey, I have a question!” one boy from the second row interjected.  After receiving a nod from Jeonghan, he asked, “What’s your policy on late assignments?”

     Jeonghan chuckled a bit and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose before picking up the trash bin from behind the desk and putting it in front of the white board.  Then, he picked up a red marker and wrote “Late Assignments” with an arrow pointing to the trashcan.  “There ‘ya go,” he smirked, pointing to the statement with his thumb.  The class made noises of disapproval, but they were slightly amused at his gesture.  As everyone began to leave the class, Jeonghan stopped _____.

     “Hey, _____?  Can I talk to you for a second?”

     “Yeah, is everything alright?” she inquired, clutching her books to her chest.

     “That’s actually what I wanted to ask you.  I just wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable with me using you as an example of sorts today during class.”

     “Oh, no, it was fine!  It was actually kind of funny.  I wasn’t offended or anything.”

     “Okay, great.  I just needed something to get through to them, y’know? To make it interesting. From what I’ve read, it seems like you’re the only one who simply enjoys the material.  That last paper you wrote on the Trojan War was absolutely genius, by the way,” he spoke eagerly, leaning against the white board.  

     “Really? Thanks so much, Mr. Yoon!”

     “Call me Jeonghan.  I’m not much older than you, after all,” he chuckled.

     She nodded, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.  “Right.  No problem…Um, was that all?” she asked timidly. 

     “Oh, yeah. That was it.  But thanks for participating in class and good luck on your paper.”

     “Thank you.  See you Wednesday, Jeonghan,” she smiled, taking a few steps back towards the door.

     “See you, Wednesday, Wifey,” he teased, causing her to almost trip.  “Joking!  I was totally joking.  Are you alright?” he asked, one hand reaching toward her, the other covering the smile forming on his face as he fought the urge to laugh.

     “Y-yeah, I’m good. I’m fine,” she stuttered.  Taking another glance at him, she accidentally bumped into the door-frame, before finally making her way out of the room.  He shook his head in amusement, sitting down on the desk once again.

     Each student walked into the room and placed their assignment on the desk, greeting Jeonghan as they went.  “Looks like everyone handed their papers in on time.  Guess my policy worked, huh?” he quipped, earning a dry reaction from the class.  “Wow, you guys are dull today.  Quite tragic, if I do say so, myself.  And speaking of tragedies, today we are going to discuss one of the most tragic love stories of Greek mythology: Orpheus and Eurydice,” he spoke as he sauntered to the front of the desk and sat down.  

     A few “aww”s were heard throughout the room, and a look of surprise crosses Jeonghan’s face.  “I’m guessing from that reaction that some of you actually read this one.  I’d say I’m impressed, but I don’t want to jinx it.  Let’s see…Can anyone tell me what it’s about?”

     “Isn’t that the one where the girl stepped on a poisonous snake and ended up in the Underworld?”  a male classmate asked.

     “Yes, and then what happened?” the TA probed.

     “Then uh, her husband went down there and faced all these obstacles to get her, but Hades said she could only leave if he didn’t look back.”

     “And did he look back?”

     “Yeah, he did, and she basically got dragged back to Hell.  Didn’t he eventually get murdered, too?”

     “Yes, he did,” Jeonghan answered, getting up to open a desk drawer.  He pulled out a bouquet of roses and placed them on the desk.  Plucking one from the bunch, he approached the student and held it out to him.  “Nice summary.”

     The boy looked at him incredulously and Jeonghan scoffed.  “It’s a flower, not a dildo.”  The class laughed, and the boy shrugged his shoulders before taking the rose.  “Besides, romantic gestures between men aren’t uncommon now, nor were they uncommon in ancient Greece.  In fact, we’re eventually going to get to the story of Hyacinthus.  Very tragic.  Very gay.  Very interesting.  But I digress,” he continued, walking back to the desk.  

     “Any thoughts?” he prompted, taking his usual seat, but this time choosing to prop one foot up on the desk.

     “It kind of reminded me of the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.  You know, when the wife turned into a pillar of salt just because she looked back as the city was being destroyed?” a girl in the front row added.

     “Yes, it does seem similar.  It’s pretty interesting that most deities have been known to test humans, despite knowing how weak-willed we tend to be.  Nice observation,” he smiled, picking up another rose and handing it to her.  “Alright, let’s dig deeper!” he exclaimed, grabbing another rose and putting it between his teeth.

     By the end of class, there was only one rose left.  Most of the students were active in the discussion. But _____ hadn’t really offered anything yet. It’s not that she had suddenly become disinterested in the material…It’s just that she was so distracted.  She had been thinking about the previous class since…well, since the previous class.  

     “Any final thoughts on today’s love story?” he asked, twirling the final flower.  He looked around and nobody seemed to have anything to add.  Then his eyes landed on _____.  “Any input from my bride-to-be?,” he asked, expression hopeful.  She felt the nerves from her stomach bubble up to her throat as she looked at him and tried to formulate a response.  

     Just then, shuffling about could be heard throughout the room as students packed to leave, signaling that class was over.  “Saved by the metaphorical bell,” he chuckled lightly.  “Everything alright?  You were pretty quiet today.”

     “Yeah, everything’s fine.  I guess I’m just a little out of it today.”

     “Flower for your troubles?” he offered with a bright, friendly smile.

     She chuckled lightly and took the rose, giving it a light sniff.  “Thanks, Mr. Y-,” she stopped, noticing how his eyebrow quirked.  “Jeonghan.” 

    “Before you go, I wanted to ask you something, and I hope you won’t think I’m too forward,” he spoke with a tone that struck her as nervous and unsure, though he was usually the poster child for confidence.  

    “Well, you’ve already proposed to me, more or less, so I doubt you could be much more forward than that,” she joked, matching his tone.

    He chuckled and responded with, “I was wondering if uh…If you’d like to uh…discuss the subtle nuances that differentiate Greek from Roman mythology over coffee or something, sometime this weekend.”

   Taken aback for a moment, she quickly regained enough composure to reply.  “As tempting as that sounds, I’m not sure if that kind of thing is allowed,” _____ explained, hating that school policy could get in the way of something she’s wanted since September.

    The corner of Jeonghan’s mouth turned up in amusement and he ran a hand through his golden locks, tousling it lightly.  “School policy states that professors aren’t allowed to date students, but it doesn’t say anything about TAs…I checked…twice,” he chortled.  “And I won’t become an adjunct until well after you graduate, though that’s something we’d only have to worry about if we make it to the first date.” At the last few words, he looked at her with a skittish smile and tense shoulders, hands buried deep in his pockets.  

    “As long as we’re not risking your job, I’m in,” she grinned, shifting to rest her weight on one side.

    “I appreciate your concern.  Quite fitting for a suitable wife,” he teased, mimicking her posture.  Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket, he pulled it out to turn off the alarm that had gone off.  “Well, I have to get going, but I’ll see you in class Friday?”

    “Of course.”

     Joshua had always been a particularly imaginative boy.  Reading became his first love at a very young age, and shortly after, his love affair with writing began.  As he grew into adulthood, he honed his skill diligently, always eager to read something new that might spark his imagination in a way it hadn’t been before.  So, when he got a job at the local library, he felt like he was in Heaven.  Years passed, and his mental repertoire only grew larger.  But despite the vast number of stories he had collected by the time he reached age twenty-two, he never could’ve imagined falling for her.

     She was a walking disaster.  A five-foot-five tornado of a girl who brought with her a hectic sense of calm wherever she went.  A contradiction, he was sure, but somehow, it just made sense to him in the most confusing yet intriguing way.  He remembers the first time he saw her stumble into the library like it was yesterday.

     He sat at the front desk, head propped on his left hand as he held open his newest read with the right.  The pitter patter of rain against the windows kept him company as he sat in the empty building.  His ears perked up at the sound of the bell on the front door ringing lightly. Glancing towards it, he noticed a girl, around his age, who had been drenched to the bone.  She waddled over, her baggy clothes, now soaked, weighing her down a bit.  

     “Uh, hi,” he hesitated.

     Raising her hand to lift the endearing mess of auburn curls away from her eyes, she smiled brightly at the clerk.  “Hi, there!” she chirped.

     Joshua took note of her features.  They were a little rough, but adorable all the same.  Golden taupe skin littered with terra cotta freckles and adorned by rosy cheeks whose color spread across her wideset button nose.  “How can I help you today?” he asked, setting his book down.

     She parted her slightly chapped lips to reply, “I’m here to return a book, actually.”

     “In this weather?  I admire your dedication,” he chuckled.

     “Well, you see, my last three returns were tardy, and I really can’t afford another late fee,” she rambled, hand busy searching for the novel hidden somewhere at the bottom of her seemingly bottomless bag.  

     “Yeah, those fees do start to add u-”

     “Found it!” she exclaimed, pulling it out victoriously, before quickly reaching up to cover her mouth in embarrassment.  “Sorry,” she giggled nervously.  

     The corner of Joshua’s mouth twitched upward in something of a smile at the sound.  It seemed as though the almost childlike innocence about her went beyond the pleasant roundness of her face.  “It’s fine. The place is empty; has been all day,” he shrugged, taking the book and opening it to process the card in the back.  He gave a quiet ‘thank you’ when she handed over her library card unprompted.

     When he looked up from the computer, she was gone, but noticing the trail of water on the floor, he figured she had just gone to the back section to pick out another book.  A few moments later, she returned with a stack of books that piled up above her nose.

     “Quite the avid reader, aren’t you?” he laughed lightly.  The same melodic sound left her throat as he watched the corners of her eyes crinkle from the smile that he couldn’t see but knew was there.  She placed the books on the counter and he began to process all of them.  He stopped at one particular book and smiled brightly. “Starry-Eyed. I loved this one.”

     “Really? It was a good one?” she inquired, resting an elbow on the wooden countertop.

     “It was amazing!  It’s just…nevermind.  Sorry,” he cut himself short.

     “No, what is it?!”

     “I just don’t want to spoil the ending for you!” he laughed.  

     “No such thing!  Besides, I usually read the end first, anyway.”  The confused expression that crossed his face prompted her to explain. “Knowing the end makes connecting the dots more fun!  Besides, studies show that it makes reading more enjoyable.  It’s science.”

     “Well, can’t argue with science.  Anthony dies in the end before he can confess his love to Julia, and that apparently upsets most of the people who read this, but I won’t tell you how he dies. You’ll just have to find that out on your own.”  

     “Fair enough. And I’ll come back and give you a full book report on it,” she joked.  “I’m Maggy, by the way.”

     The dark-haired librarian felt a grin stretch across his face as he replied, “Joshua.”

     Two days later, the door forcefully swung open, the bell’s excessive ringing catching Joshua’s attention.  His lips curved into a smile as his eyes landed on the auburn bush that was moving towards the counter.  

     “This is bullshit!” she exclaimed, placing the book in front of him. Crossing his arms in amusement, he let her continue.  “He totally could’ve confessed to her if he just put his pride aside and then they would’ve lived happily ever after!”

     “But where’s the fun in that?” he chuckled.  

     “The happily ever after is the fun part, you heartless pessimist!”

     “I like to think that I’m more of a realist,” he explained nonchalantly, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned over the desk.  She frowned at his response, her slight pout making her seem even cuter to him.  “So, on a scale of one to ten, how much did you love the book?” he asked in a knowing tone.

     “Eleven,” she sighed, resting her chin in her hand in a similarly relaxed fashion.

     And that’s how their two-person book club began.  He would start from the beginning. And she would start from the end. And they would meet somewhere in between. And somewhere in between the time they first met and the time she kissed him goodbye, he knew he had fallen in love with her.  But we haven’t quite gotten there yet.

     He can’t recall the exact moment that it happened for the life of him. Years later they’ll argue about it over glasses of champagne with their closest friends admiring their playful banter. But again, we haven’t quite gotten there yet.  At this present moment, he has three guesses.

     The first is Children’s Day at the library.  He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her sitting among the children on the floor, pretzel style, reading to them with excitement as she put on funny voices.  They stared at her in awe and adoration, and to be completely honest, so did he.  

     As he was putting some books away in the kid’s section a few moments later, he noticed a little boy tug on her arm.  Once the children dispersed to find new books to take home, she followed him to a nearby shelf.  She leaned down for him to whisper something in her ear before smiling and standing upright again.  

     “This one?” she asked, pointing to a book on the top shelf.  

     He nodded with a bright grin and she reached up to grab it, having to stand on her toes in order to do so.  Handing him the book, she giggled when he wrapped his arms around her legs to thank her in the form of a hug.

     “You’re staring,” a tiny voice called out to Joshua from a few feet away.

     The sound startled him, though he’d never admit to being frightened by a five-year-old.  “What? I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he replied nervously, having trouble meeting the precocious little girl’s gaze.  She was a regular there, so he remembered seeing her often.

     “I’m little, but I’m still smart. You like her; it’s ovbious!” she exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips as she mispronounced the word.

     He quickly shushed her, frantically placing a finger over his own mouth.  “We’re in a library, remember?”

     She rolled her eyes and leaned forward to whisper, though it was still rather loud, “You like her!”

     Joshua’s hand flew to his forehead, his face burning in embarrassment.  Was it weird that maybe he did kind of like her? Was it weird that it was apparently so obvious, a child could pick up on it?  “Oh my god…. Okay, look, if you just run along and forget this, I’ll forget your last late book return, so that you can pick out a new one today.”

     The pigtailed nuisance pondered the thought for a moment before replying with a nod.  “Deal.”

     “Great, now go pick your book and get outta here, okay?” he smiled in relief.

     “You got it, Mr. Book Man!”

     About an hour later, Children’s Day came to an end and Joshua had finally processed the last of the nosy little girl’s books.  As Maggy approached the front desk, the child looked up at Joshua and winked as best she could before running off and exiting the library.  He found the gesture peculiar but assumed that it was in reference to their little agreement.

     “Hey, Josh?” his curly haired friend asked, a sly smile prominent on her face.

     “Yeah?”

     “Wanna explain why that little girl gave this to me?,” she giggled, reaching over the desk to hand him a folded piece of paper covered in crayon.

     He deadpanned, silently taking the note and opening it, his expression changing to one of horror as he scanned the crudely written letters.  

     ‘DO YOU LIKE MR. BOOK MAN? CURCLE YES OR NO’

     “That little-” He felt more embarrassed than angry, but before he could finish his statement, she took the note back and grabbed a nearby pen. He watched her in confusion as she scribbled something on it and handed it back. Looking at her with a raised eyebrow prompted her to nod towards the note in his hand.

     “Open it.”

     He did so and couldn’t help but laugh.

     “I had a feeling you wouldn’t say it first, but getting a five-year-old to do your bidding?  That’s a bold move, Mr. Book Man,” she smirked.

     “She, uh…She took the initiative on that… But I’m glad the feeling is mutual,” he smiled.    

     Perhaps Joshua fell for Maggy when she read the first draft of his first novel. It wasn’t finished at the time, so unfortunately for her, she had to start from the beginning.

     “I can’t believe I’m letting you read this,” he muttered, watching her eyes dart across the screen of his laptop.  Shifting uncomfortably, he leaned against the headboard of his bed and let his eyes drift to the beige wallpaper across the room.  “It’s so embarrassing.”

     With a sigh, she set down the laptop and closed it, turning to face him and crossing her legs. “Want me to tell you something embarrassing about myself to make things even?” Noticing him nod, she picked up a tasseled pillow and played with the fringe on the edges.  “You may not have noticed, but I happen to be very uncoordinated.”

     Without meaning to, Joshua let out a snort.  Looking down ad her band-aid-clad legs, he laughed.  “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

     With a scowl that wrinkled her nose in the least intimidating way, she threw the pillow at him, though he managed to catch it.  

     “You gotta gimmie something better than that.”

     “Fine,” she hesitated.  “My middle name is Beatrice.”

     “…Beatrice?”

     “Yes, Margret Beatrice Johnson.  Don’t you dare laugh.”

      He pressed his lips into a thin line, to keep a smile from forming. “It’s very…refined.”

     “Yeah, yeah.  Your turn,” she murmured, moving to sit next to him against the headboard.

     “I guess we’re going back and forth then, huh?” he chuckled.  She nodded in response and he let out a long sigh. “Alright, uhhhhhh….Well, I don’t know if you could consider this to be embarrassing per se, but before our first date, I hadn’t been on one in over a year.”

     “Any particular reason?” she asked, turning to look at him.

     “I guess no one piqued my interest,” he answered, meeting her gaze.

     “I suppose I can take that as a compliment,” she smiled proudly.

     “I’d say you could,” he grinned.  “You are by far the most…interesting girl I’ve ever met,” he added.

      She rolled her eyes in response before an idea seemed to strike her. “Well, that explains the weird disconnect between the love interests in your novel; no offense.”

     “None taken. I’m admittedly out of practice, which leaves me with a rather foggy point of reference,” he shrugged.

     She bit her plump bottom lip lightly, a nervous habit he picked up on a few weeks prior. Eyes leaving his, she let her hand find his.  “Well, now you have me,” she said in a soft tone, fingers toying with his slightly larger ones. “If anything, at least for research purposes,” she added on with a slight laugh to soften the impact.

     Locking his fingers with hers, he replied, “And I think you’ll be the perfect muse.”

     As she looked up, she was met with lidded eyes and fresh mint.  Just as their lips were mere centimeters apart, she pulled away. “Josh, I’m leaving in a few weeks.”

     Eyebrows now raised, he couldn’t help but utter, “Well, I definitely pictured that going differently.”  Releasing her hand and running his own through his hair, he let out a breath he was unaware he had been holding.  “Leaving?”

     “I got a job offer out of state that starts in September, and I just know that long distance isn’t for everyone, not that I wouldn’t be willing to try; it’s just that there are so many girls here who’d love a chance to be with you a-” her rambling was silenced by Joshua’s lips.

     “Josh…I can’t help but think that this is a bad idea, because we both know how this kind of thing ends,” she almost whispered as they pulled away.

     The corner of his mouth curved upward, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “Well, a very interesting girl once told me that knowing the end makes connecting the dots more fun…It’s science,” he chortled.

     “Well, can’t argue with science,” she giggled.  Leaning back to rest her weight on her palm, she tilted her head to the side and asked, “Do the couple in your story get a happy ending?”

     With a gentle hand under her chin, he leaned closer and gave an unsure smile.  “I really hope so.”

     Or maybe he realized he loved her the day he had to let her go.  

     Joshua hastily made his way through the crowded the airport, knowing that her flight would be leaving soon. Shrugging his messenger bag onto his shoulder, he looked around, searching for her auburn mess of curls.  

     “Josh, over here!” she called out to him from the food court.  A grin stretched across his face as he walked over, taking in her figure, dressed in that one sweatshirt he hadn’t been able to find for the life of him.  “Well, don’t you look snazzy,” she giggled, gesturing at his neatly tucked button-down and tie.

     “Thanks. I uh—I wanted you to remember me as well-dressed,” he blushed lightly.

     “Josh, I’m moving, not dying,” she replied, taking a sip of her Slurpee. Without a second thought, she held it out to him to offer some.  “Want some?”

     “No thanks,” he politely declined.  “And I know,” he added with a nervous laugh, hand darting to the back of his neck.  “I just wanted to look nice for you.”

      That was enough to make her heart melt faster than the frozen drink in her hand. Years from now she’ll swoon over how thoughtful he always was, noting that this was the very moment she had fallen for him.

      She wordlessly wrapped a gentle hand around his tie and tugged him into a chilly, chaste kiss.  “You’re adorable; you know that?”

     “Says the five-foot klutz with a million freckles,” he teased.  Just as he was about to get lost in another kiss, he remembered the weight in his bag and pulled away.  “Oh, I have something for you!”

      “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

      “I know, but I wanted to,” he shrugged before opening the bag and pulling out a book.  Watching her eyes light up as he handed it to her made him smile uncontrollably.

      “Starry-Eyed,” she read the cover with a bright grin and burning cheeks. “Our first book.”

      “And in this entire galaxy that exceeds my foggiest notion of existence,” he began, waiting for her to finish the quote.

     “There is no place I would rather be than lost within the depths of my lover’s starry-eyed gaze. Thank you so much, Joshua. I love it.”  Before she could pull him into a hug, he stopped her.

      “One more thing,” he explained, reaching into the bag again as she placed her drink on a nearby table.

      “Flight 29 D now boarding,” the stoic voice over the airport’s system informed, grabbing their attention.

     Joshua quickly pulled out a stapled stack of paper and gave it to her.  “I want you to be the first to read it.”

     “Your manuscript?”  She exclaimed, scanning the front with his name and the title boldly written.  “I can’t wait to read this on the plane.”

     “Well, I want you to read the last sentence on the last page right now...So I can see your face when you do.”

     She looked at him for a second, eyebrow raised in suspicion, when the airport employee spoke again.  “Flight 29 D now boarding.”

     “Please, it’ll only take a second,” Joshua ask, lightly touching Maggy’s arm.

     She nodded and flipped to the last page, eyes skimming downward.

     ‘In that moment, the uncertainties were as numerous as the terra cotta freckles adorning her cherub cheeks, but he found solace in being certain that his love for her was just as limitless.’

      Her eyes met his again, and for the first time since they had met, she was speechless.

      “I-I don’t know when it happened; I just know that it did…I love you… Margret Beatrice Johnson,” he breathed, tone changing from one of unsure hesitance to one of pure admiration.

     She haphazardly threw her arms over his shoulders, taking him by surprise as she pulled him into a hug.  “I love you, too, Josh.”

     “Oh, thank God,” he sighed in relief.  “Otherwise the ride home would’ve really sucked,” he laughed, pulling back to kiss her again.

     “Flight 29 D now boarding.”

     She begrudgingly parted from him and gave a sad smile.  “I’ll call you as soon as we land.”

     “You better,” he smiled back, kissing her forehead.

      And with that, she grabbed her things and went off to board her flight, but not before giving him one last wave goodbye. He waved back and pulled his messenger bag back on, comforted by the fact that he knew this wasn’t the end of their love story.