It’s a cool night, breezy and pleasant. The afternoon was spent rambling about in Soho and then in Chelsea.
It’s your first time out on the High Line and it’s beautiful. But really, it’s the company that makes the day and you bask in the waning sunlight as he recounts the day’s events.
He’s cute, a bit on the thin side for your preference but kind and warm. And he pulls off the black aviator sunglasses like nobody’s business.
Pretty soon, you’ve reached the warehouse where the rare craft event is being held. He hands you a cup of water-you need before tasting the whiskey-and you take a seat by the entrance.
He goes to get you a dram of whiskey and one by one members of your party starts to arrive.
You greet everyone cheerily, it’s amazing how close you feel to them even though it’s only your second time meeting them.
The even opens and the majority of your group heads into the main waiting area but you remain outside waiting for one more of your party to arrive.
You see him first. Dressed in a burgundy shirt with these adorable suede elbow patches-incidentally they are the same hue as the famed whiskey, the star of the evening-and a holding a large plastic pink bag filled with god only knows.
He’s exactly as you remember him, if not a hair shorter than your memory, and with fine lines around the corners of his eyes. Laugh lines. He’s aged a bit.
Again, like the fine whiskey. There’s nothing stale or boring about him.
You’re immediately taken and your pulse quickens. What was it about this Korean boy?
You’re taken back to all those years ago when you first met him, visiting, from LA with some of the Korean Bethelites.
It was at a popular Korean fast food restaurant with your family also in tow and it had been brief but somehow you couldn’t help but talk about him. All the time.
But as is the case with most things, he’d ended up fading from the forefront of your mind. Another year, two would pass before you saw him again, in LA with your father while he was out in California for a business trip.
And you’d been shocked by how quickly you fell in love all over again-after all it’d been years and for only an hour tops that you’d met the guy. You see him for all of 30 minutes this time around and he’s not even sitting with you.
He’s helping customers while his mother, beautiful like a doll, entertains you. He gives you a cup of barley tea in passing and your fingers briefly touch. But that’s the extent.
And so you go on with your life (after driving the sisters crazy with your incessant talk about him when you return home to the East Coast after a few days).
He fades again. Even when your sister talks about meeting him (she’s in the business and now accompanying the dad in his business trips), you smile and nod.
After all, it’s been a while. You can vaguely remember his face but not really.
You find him in mutual friends’ instagram posts. It makes you smile but doesn’t set your heart aflutter.
So why is it that in the first few minutes of seeing him again, your face is flushed and your pulse quick?
Surely, it’s not the whiskey-after all you’ve only taken the smallest of sips.
His face is kind, his smile is endearing and the timber of his laugh gives you shivers.
But during the event, it’s hard to make conversation with him so you flit around, meet new people. You see an old friend-well actually he’s the husband of an old friend- and you reintroduce yourself.
It’s fun and his friends are nice-they’re all in the ASL congregation in Jersey City-and one in particular catches your eye. He looks like an old flame and he’s beautiful but his ring catches your eye and understanding floods through.
You make your way back to your own group and make your way out of the building through a loft elevator-it’s rustic and reminiscent of an old world New York and the ride down is magical.
You catch glimpses of the lights and buildings and of him and you have to take a few deep breaths to steel yourself.
Once you’re out on the street, he offers to take your bag and then suddenly does so despite your protests and the gesture melts your soul like molten honey.
He ends up walking ahead with another friend but somehow, you end up side by side and the conversation is easy. He tells you that he used to be a mortgage banker and while it sounds quite dreary to you (you’ve never like numbers quite so) you smile and say it must mean he’s smart.
He says he admires that you haven’t gone into the family business. You tell him about your job, nursing in general, commuting to Bethel-why can’t everything be this easy?
You’re completely taken with how easily he laughs and his slight accent-it’s hard to place but it sounds almost Korean and LA. Either way, it’s incredibly charming and the negative feelings towards Korean men is rapidly ebbing.
Please say he’s not dating. Please say he’s not dating. Please say he’s not dating.
(You’ve got a strange penchant for inadvertently crushing on taken men. Please say he’s not dating!)
Dinner is fun and it’s almost too much to be sitting diagonally from him-the lights are too bright, his eyes twinkle and his skin is perfect without a single blemish.
Again-that smile! He kills you with that smile-it’s shy and brazen all at once and you you keep craving it like some drug.
And that laugh? It’s golden, it rings across every other sound in the loud cacophony of sounds that is NYC at night.
For round three, they take you to this divey bar with lights strung up. Old school kpop tunes flood loudly and wordly Korean men with their flamboyant styles drunkenly stare unabashedly.
It reminds you briefly why you had such a negative perception of Korean men.
But no matter. The company you’re in is incredible and they don’t hold a candle to him anyways.
That golden laugh again when you take a sip of the soju and declare it sweet.
It’s true that you haven’t had soju much-your family is much more into whiskeys and wines.
He’s playful and suggests a game of knocking off the wiring off the soju bottle’s cap.
Loser drinks a soju/beer bomb.
But afterwards, conversation shifts to ideal types and would you rathers. He’s amazed by your declaration of having crushed on one of his friends for a long time-actually everyone is-but he seems to pay more attention.
Is it just in your head but does he seem to look your way quite frequently?
It’s probably your friend sitting next to you.
Nope-your eyes meet and you wish the confidence you normally have to just brazenly stare into people’s eyes didn’t have to shrink away every time you caught sight of his.
The evening goes by way too quickly and soon it’s already 11:30 and you have to get going.
He picks up the tab.
Is it possible to be even more infatuated with him at that moment?
And his hands-the briefests of touches here and there-so soft, so warm.
He’s like a friend, a child, a man all in one.
When you text with him later on back in the safety of your home, you can hear his voice, a soft tenor full of warmth, through his words.
You add him to your list of friends.
And go to bed thinking of his smile.
