"When I dream, you're always in front of me. Like a fool, I'm only thinking of you right now."

~M.X.

༺═──────────────═༻

"Wait, how did you know that?" you ask.

I blink.

Fuck.

"I mean, you mentioned having classes, so I thought you went to UT or something. I'm sorry for assuming," I say, an easy grin adorning my lips as my heart hammers in my chest.

Buyitbuyitbuyit.

Your eyes light up with recognition.

"Oh! No, no, don't be sorry. It's actually super sweet that you remembered..." you reply as you twirl your hair with a shy smile. I try not to let out a breath of relief as I motion to my motorcycle.

"So, you ready?" I ask, leaning on the handlebars. Your eyes widen until I'm worried they're going to pop.

"Oh, my god. Is that yours?" you ask in a hushed whisper. 

"Nope. I pointed out a cool looking motorcycle just to look at." You roll your eyes at my sarcastic remark and study the leather seats and the steel that glints in the sunlight. Really, I'm happy to stay as long as you like, especially when you're bent over the front wheel like that. The pantsuit curves around your tight ass.

Maybe that's something to add to my collection of late-night thoughts.

"You, sir, just got ten times cooler," you state, turning around with your arms crossed and satisfied. "You actually know how to operate this thing?"

I pat the bike. "Wanna find out?"

"I'd love to." I offer you my hand as you get on, and, after making sure you're situated comfortably, I get on myself. I rev up the engine, making you jolt in your seat.

"Make sure to hold on to me!" I yell over the sound, and you do as you're told, slipping your arms around my waist and laying your head on my back.

Good girl.

In a matter of seconds, South Congress flies past us, the roar of the engine overshadowed by your gasps and squeals. Your hands tighten around me as we go faster, and I smile, wanting to capture this moment in time forever.

I can count the times I've been happy on one hand, and now—stealing glances at you through the side-view mirrors while your eyes sparkle in worship of me—I might just have to add it to the list.

Even as the boiling sun beats down on us, I can still feel your hot breath on the nape of my neck, and when you press your chest up against my back, I begin to think you're doing this on purpose. Teasing me, seeing how far you can go before I let my instincts take control.

I swear, Naomi, you'll be the death of me one day.

The bike rumbles to a stop in front of the restaurant, and I check to see how you're doing in the backseat. I can't help but laugh at the sight I see; your hair is a periwinkle lion's mane, and the expression on your face is of someone who went through a warzone and back. You see the look on my face and grimace.

"So, on a scale of one to ten, how good do I look?" you ask, smoothing down your hair.

"Is there an option for an eleven?" You roll your eyes.

"Keep sucking up to me like that and I might just fall in love with you," you say in a teasing tone as you saunter into the pink and yellow restaurant. I'm too shocked to move.

I might just fall in love with you.

Well, it's too late for me, darling. I've already fallen in deeper than you can possibly imagine. There's no crawling out now.

In a few moments, we are led from the front of the restaurant to a table where one side has a swinging, canary-yellow chair attached by two ropes to the ceiling. Murals of monsters and robots attacking Hiroshima and Tokyo alike spring alive on the walls, graphite buildings collapsing around them. Japanese cherry blossoms bloom alongside lanterns and paper cranes.

"The aesthetics really are good," I mumble, loud enough for you to hear. You spin around excitedly.

"I know, right?" you say, then sit down to admire your surroundings some more after the waiter takes our drink orders. He comes back in a few minutes, two glasses of water in hand and a notepad tucked underneath his arm.

"You guy ready?" he asks with a practiced smile, aimed mostly at you, and I notice you giving him a once-over.

Are you fucking kidding me? He's a 7 on a good day, and that's if I'm being generous. His shoulders hunch into his body like he's hiding something, and his Adam's apple bobs too much when he talks. If you like it so much, I can cut it out so you can stare at it longer.

Mm. Too much trouble.

"I'll get the robot tuna, please," I say to the waiter.

"And for you, miss?"

"Mm..." You bite your lip. What I wouldn't give to bite it for you. "Can I have the umi miso ramen?"

"Sure. Anything else?"

"I think we're good. Thank you."

"No problem. I'll get those right out for you guys." When the waiter is out of earshot, I turn toward you.

"So," I ask, "what made you call me so suddenly?"

I know why you called; I just want to hear you say it. The texts between you and him from this morning (or rather, lack thereof) tells me all I need. You sent him some pretty pathetic question marks and even one let me know on the way to the Rose Petal, but I was too busy worrying about his life to even pay attention to you, my sweet.

God, can the woman talk! I mean, it's on and on. I can see why he cheats on her so much, honestly. (5 other students, Naomi! 5, and some of them aren't even from the psychology department! If there's one thing I can commend him on, it's that he has game.)

She's one of those texters that, when she has a lot to say, sends 20 texts instead of sending one long, convenient paragraph. I thought about sending a picture of the professor in his current situation just to shut the bitch up, but that wouldn't get me anywhere. Instead, I took a mundane shot of a book and told her, everything's fine on my end, love. Jet lag's killing me, so I think I'm going to head to bed early. Tell Minseok I love him.

I'll have to figure out a plan for the professor soon, though I'm not too worried; something will come to me eventually.

It always does.

You retort, "Can't a girl call a friend when she's bored?"

Friend. How I loathe that word. I won't be your friend once I tie you up and fuck your brains out.

"Mm, point taken."

You drum your fingers on the table, then sigh.

"I'm sorry if this seems stalkerish of me to ask, but I've been so curious. Do you go to college? Like, is working at the tea shop a part-time job, or...?"

"Well, good thing I stalk you, too," I say with a wink, and you giggle as you push your hair back. "But, uh, no, I don't go to college. Things just didn't work out for me like that. But, I mean, hey, I have my own place, which is more than what most people can say, at least."

"So, no roommates or anything?"

"Other than my dog, nope."

"Wait, where do you live?" you ask incredulously. No one in your age range other than Hoseok has their own place, do they? You like the fact that I'm self-sufficient, that I could take care of you.

"Right here on South Congress."

Your eyes widen. "Holy shit, dude. Property there is so fucking expensive! Shit. Sorry for swearing so much. I do that when I get excited."

"No, no, I get it. A lot of people have more or less the same reaction when I tell them."

"I mean, how do you afford a place like that, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, well, don't think I'm super loaded or something. It's not anything like that."

"And here I thought I was getting a free meal out of this!" you joke, pressing your lips together in an attempt to hold back laughter. I flex my jaw.

"You can get more than a free meal from me," I say, and already, I see your ears starting to redden.

"M-more...?"

Just then, the waiter interrupts our conversation (thanks, douchebag) with our food.

"Robot tuna and umi miso ramen?"

You nod hurriedly as you say, "That's us."

"Alrighty. Hope you enjoy!"

The waiter leaves without delay, and I look at the food before me with ravenous delight. I don't remember the last time I've eaten. However, right as I'm about to take my first bite, you lean on your elbows, closer to me. "Want me to teach you how to eat that properly?" I pause, then set my chopsticks down.

"There's a proper way to eat sushi?"

"Of course there is, and you'd be learning from the master herself."

"Well then, teach me, Sensei," I say with a playful bow. You smile, resting your chin on your hands.

"Okay. Well, first, make sure to leave the wasabi and soy sauce separate. It ruins the taste of both if you mix it together. Now," you say, taking one of my rolls, "when you dip your sushi in the soy sauce, you wanna make sure you only dip the fish, not the rice."

"Why can't you dip the rice?" I ask. I suddenly feel like I'm back in the classroom again, scribbling notes as fast as the teacher can speak.

You wag a disapproving finger at me. "The art of making sushi rice shouldn't be taken for granted. It takes 5 years for an itamae* to learn how to make it properly, and another 5 to master sushi as a whole. Learning to prep it, learning to cut it, learning to present it so that it's fit to eat, all so you can devour it in 5 seconds flat. If they can spend that much time on you, you can spend an extra second to respect their work and eat it properly, you know?"

I sit back, mouth half-open in awe. You make it sound so beautiful.

I can imagine Japanese fishermen reeling in teeming nets of salmon, the salty scent of an island so claimed by their own majesty that it doesn't think twice about defiling others with it. An experienced knife slicing into flesh with so much care, even the most seasoned artist is reverent in its presence. I realize it's more than just food; it is a canvas to display one's masterpiece.

"Damn. You know your sushi, huh?" I manage to get out.

"Well, my dad was an itamae for years before he retired, so he taught me a thing or two. I mean, I'm not as good as a real itamae obviously, but I know more than the average person."

"Is that so? You'll have to teach me some more about it, then."

"Maybe I will," you say. "I mean, for educational purposes only, of course."

Teach me. I wonder what your panties will look like in your mouth. What you'll look like squirming underneath my body as you gag, all the while silently begging me for mercy with your eyes. Slowly replacing the images of her with a new set of memories, a new backdrop.

Educational purposes, indeed.

"Oh, well, that goes without saying."

With a flourish, you hold out the sushi in your chopsticks for me to eat as you declare, "And now, for the best sushi you've ever had! Make sure to eat it in one bite. It's better that way."

I oblige, letting you place it in my mouth with that expectant smile of yours.

"It's..."

"A come-to-Jesus moment? So fantastic it brings tears to your eyes?"

Perfect. Like you.

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

As you pause to say something else, your phone buzzes. You frown, then peek down at it. Your eyes widen, then an expression which I can only describe as weird crosses your face. Flustered yet relieved at the same time.

Who's making you like this?

"Shit."

"What's wrong?" I ask. I have a feeling Cloud 9 isn't going to last much longer.

"I gotta go," you groan, fishing out a 20 dollar bill from your wallet. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, uh, okay," I mumble, and I watch as you gather your things. 

I can't help but be a little angry, Naomi. After all, you always seem to find little excuses to get away from me. First, it was the professor, but I got rid of him for you, didn't I? Everything I say, everything I do, the reason why I breathe is all for you. Why can't you see that?

Will you turn out like the rest of them? Prove me wrong.

Please, dear God, prove me wrong.

In your hurry to leave, you accidentally drop your purse, and I lean over to pick it up when your eyes meet mine. They're apologetic enough, but I can't help but think you did this on purpose.

On purpose, to leave just when we were getting somewhere.

I ask, "Is everything okay? Do you need a ride?" You shake your head.

"No, no, I'll just take a bus or something..."

"You don't seem too sure about that."

You stop, an abashed smile creeping up your face. Caught you.

"Actually–do you wanna come with me?"

༺═──────────────═༻

*itamae is a sushi chef in Japanese culture

안녕 여러분! I hope you enjoyed this  extra- long chapter.
How did you find it? Good? Bad? Also, let me know what you want to
see more of in this book/your theories! I'd love to know your thoughts.

QOTD: Would you rather go to the
past or the future? (you can pick
when/where)

I think I'd rather go to the future
because 1. I'm Asian and we all
know anytime before the 1980's
was terrible for people like
me lmao... also 2. I'd love to know
what we did about certain world
problems.

Comment your answer inline!

Until next time, happy reading!

Love,
Haneul