“How was it?!” Bora shrieked. “Did he talk about his family? Is he going to introduce you to Kim Mingyu? Free tickets to next month’s concert? A tour of the YS Media building? Anything?”
Dahye groaned and pulled the phone away from her ear. “Calm down,” she said. “It didn’t work out.”
“Why not? Did you wear the dress like I told you to? Did you show a little skin, flash some boob—”
“Shut up. I’m coming over to your apartment.” Dahye looked at the screen hanging from the ceiling. Four minutes until the next train arrived. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Pick up some soju on the way!” Bora said. “And an order of chicken, if you can. And some tteokbokki. I’m starving!”
“Fine,” Dahye said. She hung up without saying goodbye.
A short while later, when she walked into Bora’s apartment, Dahye found her friend sitting on the floor, knees to chest. Bora was painting her toes an awful shade of orange. Her hands were shaky.
“Give me that,” Dahye said, snatching the little bottle from Bora’s hand. Bora obliged. They sat there in silence, Dahye carefully working on each toe, until Bora gave her an inquisitive look.
“Be realistic,” Dahye said without glancing at her. “There’s no way it would have worked out.” She shrugged, keeping her voice light. “You know people like him don’t end up with people like us.”
+
Three days passed. Five. Ten. Whatever latent hope she had been holding on to crumbled away. She pushed Hyukjoon out of her mind, thinking of it as a fond memory she would be able to talk about someday. But on day thirteen, he called her.
“Work has been crazy. I’ve been in New York for the last week and a half,” he said apologetically. “Otherwise, I would have called you sooner.”
Dahye felt like her heart would leap out of her chest. She listened hard, pressing the phone against her cheek. He was in a car. She could hear the air rushing by. A distant honk. Maybe he was heading back from the airport now.
“Would you like to see me again tonight?” he asked.
Tell me how much you like me.”
Dahye kissed Hyukjoon’s neck. It was one week after their visit to Nereids, and they were sitting in his car, the windows fogged, streaks of condensation running down the windshield.
“A lot,” Hyukjoon said.
“But how much? Tell me that you’ve been waiting your whole life to meet me,” she said. She gently nipped at his ear with her teeth.
“I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you,” Hyukjoon said automatically. His hands brushed against her ribs. She giggled.
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I mean it,” he said.
Dahye pulled away from him. “I don’t believe you,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “It doesn’t seem like you’re trying very hard to convince me.”
Hyukjoon smiled. He took a Marlboro from the pack in his jacket pocket and lit it, the flame from the lighter filling the car with a brief orange light. “Fine. Don’t believe me.”
Dahye stared at the dimple in his cheek, her heart aching. Her eyes trailed upward, and she zeroed in on the mole just below his right eye. She loved that mole. In fact, she loved all his moles and had memorized the location of every single one on his body. Sometimes she dreamed about them, her favorite constellation. Two on the right arm, just below the elbow. One on his stomach. Three on his back. A tiny one, above his knee on the left leg.
Hyukjoon glanced at her, and she returned to the smoke-filled car. “But in that case … Who will I take to Namu?”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re going to take me to Namu?” she asked in a hushed voice. Namu, the most exclusive restaurant in Seoul, was headed by a chef who had skyrocketed to stardom after winning a highly competitive, wildly popular cooking show the previous year. Dahye had heard that the waiting list to get a reservation was nine months long.
“I mean, Iwas—”
She grabbed him. Kissed him hard on the mouth as he laughed. “Someone’s changing their tune,” he said.
“I believe you now. You must really like me,” she teased.
“Maybe a little. So, what do you think? Namu with me next Wednesday?”