I swallow hard, glancing around me as if I’m being watched. “Uh, yeah. Hi. Yup. It’s me. How are you?”

“It’s Jaeyong.”

I snort, trying to disguise it as a cough behind a hand. “Of course, I know it’s you. You’re like the only person my age here who has my Korean phone number.” Oh, look at me being super honest right off the bat. Yikes. I shut up, not knowing how to proceed now that we’re talking on the phone with each other.

Maybe that quick little reunion was all we had in us, all the conversation we were ever going to have, making false promises and fake plans to see each other one day in the future that would never come to fruition.

Then why is he calling you, ya big dork?

“The only person? I doubt that. I still can’t believe you’re in Seoul.”

You and me both, buddy. “Me too.”

“And that you showed up at my fansign. Not in a million years would I expect Raleigh Montgomery to show up. And Hoseung-hyung told me you were speaking Korean? And now you’re speaking Korean to me, this is wild, totally wild. I feel like I’m hallucinating.”

Well, at least he talks the same way he used to, flitting from subject to subject, circling around and coming right back around again. Maybe he didn’t change all that much?

Oh, Jesus, who am I kidding?

My heart gives a kick at the memory of us being in eighth grade math class, doing algebra or something, I don’t know, it’s all a blur, and Lucas (then) trying to listen to me explain how to find X, but having none of it. He went off on a Dragon Ball tangent about Goku not needing to find X until the teacher had to separate us while everyone else was trying to finish the worksheet.

It was mortifying at the time, me the goody-two-shoes, and Lucas being loud, not in an obnoxious way, but in a this is unfair kinda way. We had shot glances at each other, three rows of seats apart, Lucas making it feel like we were separated by a whole land mass instead of in the same classroom.

He always made me feel like I could count on him, from projects to assignments, to weekend hang outs when our parents would let us, to going to our local bookstore and coveting the manga that we couldn’t afford yet—he always made me believe I was important.

And now he’s important to the whole fandom, too, and everyone gets to see how wonderful of a person he was—is. I’m not sure how I feel about that, having to share a friend with the rest of the world.

“So, funny story…”

It’s never a funny story.

“My parents have been up to visit me from back home, where my mom’s from, and I told them that you’re here. Well, not right here here, but in Seoul, and they lost their shit. So you’re invited to dinner at my place, but only if you have no other plans ’cause I know this is last-minute—”

“Will there be your dad’s japchae?”

“I knew it. You’re in it for the food. My poor parents.”

I snort again, making a horrible honking sound that somehow sets him off on his own peals of laughter, and it’s good to hear his voice again, to hear that laugh, the deepness of his voice that I never got to experience before puberty hit him hard. “Sure. You sure it’s okay?”

“My mom’s calling it fate, destiny. So yeah. Please come and have dinner. It’d be nice to catch up like we said we would.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Of course. I’m just by the river now,” I say, not that it is any indication since the Han River splits Seoul in two and goes on for kilometers and kilometers. “So I’ll need some time to figure out a bus.” I’m already getting up and moving, trying to spot a place, a bakery, something, where I can go in and buy something delicious to bring over.

“Just text me your location and I’ll send a car for you. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” I ask. “Will it be safe?” I whisper, not allowing myself to really think about who he is, what he is.

Jaeyong’s quiet for a second, enough to make me look down at my phone and see if we got disconnected somehow, but nope. “Don’t worry about it. Send me your location, and I’ll get a car to you.”

“I can take a taxi.”

Jaeyong sighs, grunts an affirmative sound. “Whatever makes you feel more comfortable. The food’s gonna be ready in an hour.”

Maybe he doesn’t want me to have his address. Wait, what?

“An hour? You give me an hour to work with? It’s always last-minute with you,” I groan, moving at a bit of a jog now to get to the street, dodging tourists and people who live here alike.

“’Kay, I’m going now. I’ll send you my location and that way I won’t have your address, just the driver. Bye!” I hang up, waiting for the light to tell me that yes, I can walk across the street now, and cross, opening up my Maps app to find a nearby bakery. When I get to the nearest one, I frown when there’s a line in front of the cashier, trying to peer around people to see what’s available.

Fuck it, I’m gonna wing it on the fly, trying to run through the memory data banks in my brain to recall if either Mr. or Mrs. Min have allergies, but coming up blank.

I send Jaeyong my location, along with the pertinent question in a text, then watch as an immediate text bubble appears, a little pissed off emoji in its place.

MJY: Don’t bring anything. Please. For once in your life.

Me: I have to. Deal with it. But also let me know.

MJY: No, no allergies. Bring me some chapssaltteok then. Please?

ME: You got it. See you.

The line goes quicker than expected, and I place my order after confirming it on the board over the cash register, ordering enough for four people, and then doubling it, worried about Korean portion sizes.

I take the bag, thanking the kid behind the register, and hustle outside, finding a car double-parked in front of the bakery, calling out to the driver through the turned down windows, smoke escaping his lips.

After we both confirm that the car is for me, the drive to Jaeyong’s place takes another twenty-five minutes with Seoul traffic, traffic I haven’t completely figured out yet, rush hour feeling like rush hours instead.

Hell, it feels just like home.