CHAPTER THREE
JASE
“ Z ombies?” I guess, trying not to wheeze at the truly awful—and hilarious—impression that Nikko was just doing to help me figure out the word he was trying to remember.
“Yes! That!” he exclaims, appearing legitimately relieved that I finally understood him.
I can’t hold it in anymore, and I nearly choke on the sip of coffee I take as I attempt to hide my laughter. Maybe the “ grrr ” and “ argh ” sounds should have given it away sooner, but whatever that expression was on Nikko’s face had been comical in a way I was not prepared for this early in the morning. I cough and sputter a little, setting the mug back down before anything goes sloshing onto my keyboard.
Nikko is both amused and kind of remorseful. It’s cute. I feel like I’m starting to understand his personality and sense of humor more now that we’ve gotten into a little bit of a routine and he knows more of what to expect of me and our sessions. The four chats we’ve had over the last two weeks have all gone well and ended on a positive note. I can see him getting more comfortable each time, with none of that initial awkwardness.
Today, he’d literally been dropping down onto his chair as the call connected, like he’d rushed to get there on time. He’d taken a deep breath and swept his hair—damp with sweat—back off his forehead before greeting me with a, “Hello Jase,” that was the most casual I’d heard him yet. It felt like progress. It made me curious about what he’d been doing prior, but also extremely aware of the flush on his cheeks and the way it seemed to make him kind of... glow. Which was obviously not a thing I needed to focus on.
“Okay, so one of your brothers is a zombie enthusiast. Did not see that coming,” I tell him, even though I know barely enough about him or his brothers to really have any sort of impression about them. I’m still not even entirely sure how many brothers he has. He mentions them in some capacity nearly every session, but never a definitive number. He’s always vague when the conversation veers into things that could be considered personal, and I never push. I’m just here to talk, not interrogate. “What are the others into?” I ask, to see where he’ll take this line of inquiry.
Nikko looks away from the screen as he often does when he contemplates his answers. I can’t tell if it’s to gather his thoughts and find the words, or if he’s deciding how much he’s willing to share with me. “Painting. But not with brushes,” he says after a moment, and makes another more recognizable motion with his right hand.
“Spray painting?” I smile when he nods. “Like making art on canvas, or out on the streets and buildings, like graffiti?”
“Everywhere?” He laughs a little, as though there’s more to the story. “Outside. If he can.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your brother is a graffiti artist.”
Nikko shrugs. “Yes? He is good. I like what he makes.”
Adding this to my mental file of Facts About Nikko, I mention, “I’ve always thought graffiti was cool. But I don’t have any kind of artistic talent, so basically anything like that is amazing to me.”
“I am sure you are other talented,” Nikko says quickly. He has started to do that whenever I make a comment about myself that he perceives as some type of criticism. Even the things that are completely innocuous to me—like acknowledging there’s not a creative bone in my body—he seems to want to balance it out with a very endearing, if not entirely grammatically correct, sentiment.
I chuckle. “I appreciate your confidence.” A yawn sneaks up on me before I can cover my mouth completely. “Sorry about that.”
“You are tired,” Nikko states, rather than questioning. His brows furrow a little, looking concerned. “Did you not sleep enough? Are you eating well?”
He reminds me of one of the older women I’d worked with at the school in Seoul who was always checking in on how much I had slept and whether or not I’d been eating. The truthful answer then had been ‘ not really, ’ much like it still is now, but I had assured her I was fine, and I’ll do the same for him. “I’m okay. I’ll get some more rest over the weekend. And I’ll have breakfast in a little while.”
“Breakfast later?” Nikko tilts his head, considering the logistics of this. His hair falls over his eyes, and he slips a hand through it again to push it back. “How long are you awake?”
“How long have I been up? About 10 minutes longer than we’ve been talking,” I say. “I’ll get something to eat on my way to work.”
I can practically see him putting the pieces together of what this all means as he frowns at me.
“It is very early for you.” He’s very serious, scowling in a way that probably shouldn’t be considered sweet, but really is.
I nod. “Yes, but that’s how time zones work when we’re on opposite sides of the world.”
“I am sorry.” His voice is soft, the volume lower when he apologizes, which is something I’ve noticed over the course of our conversations. It doesn’t matter if it’s something that he can’t control, he still seems to feel the need to apologize for anything that may be an inconvenience. It makes me want to hug him, and I realize that’s probably not the right response.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I mumble around another yawn, which likely makes what I’m saying much less impactful. “Our schedules are complicated. We work things out how we have to.”
Nikko starts to respond, but as has happened almost every time we’ve spoken, he’s called away by someone off screen. One of his brothers I assume. This time, though, is the first time I’ve actually heard them, yelling for “Ko” to come back.
“I have to go.”
“Yep, I heard. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Yes. Of course.” He reaches up, his hand almost ready to tap the button to end the call when he stops. Looking directly into the screen and making some shockingly intense eye contact, he says, “Please take care. Sleep. Get some good food. Okay?”
I have no idea what else I can do but agree. “Yeah. I will.”
Nikko smiles, bright and wider than I’ve ever seen and disconnects as I blink at the screen, wondering if that’s what it’s like to look directly at an eclipse.
I don’t think I can blame my now-cold coffee for the way my heart is suddenly racing.
???
“I like Japan and Thailand. Indonesia has good food,” Nikko tells me, his expression a little dreamy when he mentions the cuisine.
I sigh, too. Even though it’s ass o’clock in the morning, I will always get nostalgic about all the dishes I tried that I will never find suitable comparisons for. “Have you traveled outside of Asia?”
“Yes,” he says, then does what I have come to think of as The Pause again. That moment where he clearly checks out to mentally debate about something before he comes back to the conversation. I’m increasingly sure he’s not just looking for words, but I’m not going to ask him about it. At least, not yet. We’re getting there; each time we talk it feels a little easier, a little friendlier. But we’re not there yet .
Nikko adjusts the red headband holding his damp hair off his face. I’m not sure if he’d showered recently or had been at the gym or what, but as usual, he seems to have done some sort of physical activity prior to our session. It’s more distracting than I would like it to be, the idea of him working out or playing basketball or whatever he might be up to. I find myself thinking about things like that more often during the day than I would admit to anyone who asked.
“Paris is pretty. I would like to visit London again.” He fidgets in his chair as he speaks, like he’s restless. “I like the history,” he adds.
“That was my favorite part of London, too,” I agree. “You’ve traveled quite a bit, yeah?”
He looks down as he replies, “Yes. My family. We travel often.”
“That’s great.” I’m always jealous of anyone who has the opportunity to explore the world on a regular basis. “Where else would you like to go?”
“I want to visit America again.” He brings his gaze to meet mine on the screen. His eyes are dark, but kind of sparkly, like there are literal stars in them. It’s a lot to take in. I’m honestly glad he doesn’t hold eye contact for long periods of time, because I’m not sure I could handle it. “But to stay longer. I have been to New York and Los Angeles, but for not many days.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you had been to the States!” Which, obviously, because he hadn’t told me, so why would I know that? I’ve noticed I say a lot more stupid things during our sessions than I do with any of my other students. I blame the fact that I have to concentrate harder with the younger kids to figure out what they mean as they fumble their way through pronunciation and grammar. While it’s not entirely untrue, it’s also definitely not the whole story. “Were those trips recent? Or were you younger?”
“Not so long ago? It was last year. Not the same time, though. Different visits.” He starts to play with one of his earrings, drawing my attention to the dangling silver.
I’ve started to notice that his jewelry is different almost every time we talk, and he seems to be wearing accessories no matter what kind of clothes he’s got on—casual or athletic. It makes me wonder what he’d look like all dressed up. I try to focus again. “Last year; that’s pretty recent. Family trips?”
Nikko nods. “Yes. I was with them. That made me decide to practice English more.”
“Oh, being here with your family? Are you the only one learning English?”
“No. One of my brothers is very good at it. The best of us. He does a lot of talking when...” He seems to stop himself, mid-thought. “When we travel. I wanted to be able to help him.”
I smile, charmed by his thoughtfulness. It’s a common theme any time he talks about his family. “That’s very kind of you.”
His cheeks are instantly light pink. I love it, the way he always seems a little embarrassed by any kind of compliment. He covers his cheeks and blurts out, “American food is .... very different.”
“I miss Korean food every day.” My words come out poutier than I intended but Nikko appears to be delighted by this.
“What do you miss most?” he asks, leaning toward the screen as though he doesn’t want to miss what I’m about to say.
The extreme close-up makes me unconsciously sit back in my chair, because my brain is at least cognizant enough to know I need space if I’m going to answer coherently. I have to fight not to lick my lips, thinking about all of my favorite dishes. “Galbi. Samgyeopsal. Tteokbokki. Hotteok.” I may groan a little.
Nikko watches me carefully, the corners of his mouth twitching. He stops fighting it and lets himself smirk at me. “I think that’s what I will have for dinner tonight.”
My jaw drops. Not only is that incredibly mean, it’s also the first time he’s teased me. It took about six weeks, but it’s a great sign he’s comfortable with me now. I’m about to protest when my alarm goes off, signaling that I have got to get a move on before it’s too late to get ready for work.
He’s laughing as he throws up a peace sign and says, “Goodbye, Jase!”
?
It’s too fucking early for this. Turns out, poetry was the worst idea I’ve had recently. Maybe ever. I can’t be sure about anything right now.
“It is like a love song. But no music. The words are everything,“ Nikko says, quietly. He looks back at his phone and re-reads the last few lines of the poem again. Like the first time he did it wasn’t bad enough.
It’s not bad, though. It’s the opposite of bad. But it’s the middle of the night or the wee hours of morning, depending on how I look at it, and he’s just... reading poetry to me.
In this gorgeous, soft voice with better inflection than he has any right to have in a second language.
He didn’t stumble over any of the words or pronunciation, which makes me wonder if he practiced it. If he read it in front of the mirror or to one of his brothers. I want to know how and why he picked it. If he just found it or went looking for something specific, settling on this combination of lines that would make me feel things that are far too complicated to process on this little sleep and so much caffeine.
I’d yawned through the first 20 minutes of our conversation, with Nikko becoming increasingly concerned. So I’d excused myself to make another cup of coffee and put in some eye drops, attempting to wake up some. I hadn’t asked why our session time had to change after nearly two months of meeting up consistently, but he’d requested it and let me know it might happen again in the future.
When I returned to the computer, hoping to appear more functional, he’d asked if we could read poetry again. I had been expecting more silly rhymes like the ones I’d shared with him about a week ago that had made us both laugh. But instead, he whipped out his phone and started reading this poem that I’d never heard before but will probably haunt my dreams until I shuffle off this mortal coil.
I try to stay calm and be chill as I agree with him. “Yes, definitely. I have always thought song lyrics are poetry. I’m that guy who looks up the words to any song I hear, because I want to know for sure what they’re saying. So I can really understand them.” I yawn again, and Nikko’s Look of Concern returns. His face is entirely too pretty for the way his brow wrinkles, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive.
“This is not good for you,” he states, like it’s just a fact. He’s not wrong, exactly, but that seems irrelevant.
“It’s fine,” I protest, as I actively try to stifle another yawn. “Just an adjustment period. We’ll figure it out.”
Nikko frowns. “You do not have to do this for me. I will find a way. Or time somewhere else.”
There’s an instant sort of panic that comes over me, at the idea of him working with someone else. It’s only been a little more than a couple of months, but these chats are the highlight of my days (weeks) now. I’m past the point of trying to convince myself I’m not attracted to him, and I’m approaching being able to admit that I like him. It’s probably wildly unprofessional, which is why I’m doing my best to keep it all under wraps.
“Do you not want to do this anymore?” I ask, hesitantly. “Would you rather find someone else?”
“What? I did not say that.” He scowls, offended. “I do not want you to be sleepy all the time because of me. I am not sure of the hours difference, but I know it is a lot. You are always meeting me, but I have not done well with meeting you.”
How am I supposed to respond to that? In a few sentences my student has shown himself to be more considerate than any of the guys I’ve dated.
Nikko peers directly into the camera for a moment, his eyes dark and serious. “I do not want to find another person to talk to.” He leans back, looks down and bites his lip as he thinks. “I will make it better.”
I want to put my head in my hands as I wonder if this whole session has been some sort of dream that my subconscious conjured up to send me a message about taking those off-brand melatonin pills I bought online. I’m probably reading too much into everything because I’m tired, and the lack of proper sleep is catching up with me and making me mildly delusional. “Nikko, it’s okay. I just have to get used to it.”
“Will you go back to sleep now?” He’s staring right at me again, waiting for my answer.
“Yeah, I’ll go to bed for a couple hours before I go to work,” I tell him. “We have a pep assembly today and those are always fun, so it will be easy to stay awake.”
Nikko raises an eyebrow, clearly unfamiliar with the concept. “Pep assembly?”
Chuckling, I try to come up with the best way to describe the madness. “Think of any American movie that you’ve seen that’s set in a high school. You know how there’s always some big game or something coming up, and they have a scene where everyone is crowded in the gym or in the bleachers by a football field, and the band is playing, and the cheerleaders are flipping in the air, and everyone is yelling?”
“Oh! Yes! That is what you will do today?” He seems much more excited now, knowing I have something like this coming up.
“Well, I will not be doing any flipping or playing any instruments, but I will definitely be yelling, and I have been known to shake some pom-poms from time to time,” I admit.
Nikko’s whole face lights up as he requests, “Please have someone take a picture.”
“Absolutely not!” I laugh, imagining asking Tyler or another teacher to snap a photo of me with a handful of blue-and-gold plastic strands to show Nikko later.
“That is disappointing.” He makes an exaggerated sad expression and even though I know it’s fake, it’s almost enough to make me reconsider.
“Maybe next time.”
He perks up immediately. “Yes, please.” His phone buzzes with some sort of notification, and he grabs it to check. “I must go. Get some sleep, okay?”
“That’s the plan.” I cover my mouth as another yawn creeps up on me. I make a mental note to change out of my pajamas next time. Maybe that will help some.
“Please take care of yourself, Jase,” he says. “I like talking to you.”
It almost sounds like an afterthought—a whisper—but there’s something else that kind of sounds like a confession. I’m not sure how that makes me feel. Before I can say anything, he’s smiling at me again—the one I only see as we’re about to say goodbye; the one that turns some part of my brain inside out and upside down.
I don’t even get a chance to respond before the call clicks off, the image of his face somehow lingering on my screen for just a second before disappearing completely.
I’m still thinking about it when I crawl back into bed and close my eyes.