Fifteen

I wake up to nothing on my desk. No paper star or roses for me. I haven't seen Haru in a couple of days. I thought he would have shown up by now. We're supposed to see a movie in the park together. But he hasn't been there when I get out of work. I hope he isn't mad at me for leaving the other day. I remind myself to make it up to him when he's back.

I'm a little anxious this morning, checking my phone every few minutes. It's been three days since my date with Christian. But I haven't heard from him since then. His last text was at 11:14 that night, asking if I made it home safely. The jacket he let me borrow hangs on the back of my chair. I still have to return it to him. I texted him the morning after, letting him know I had a great time. But he hasn't responded yet. I'm sure he's just really busy at the moment. Maybe I'll text him again tomorrow.

I couldn't help looking him up online. He has a lot of photos on Instagram, lounging around on the beach. Most of them in different countries. When I googled his name, a few articles from his school came up. He was on the varsity swim team at his private school before going on to Yale. He double majored in political science and theater, graduating with high honors. There's a few pictures of him with some other guy from his swim team at Yale. Maybe that's the type he's into. Someone who went to an Ivy League and spends summers at their country house in the Poconos.

I sit at my desk and turn on my laptop. It's been a minute since I looked at college applications. The portal to University of Illinois is already opened. I'm still planning on applying there again. But I decide to add more schools to the list. Particularly ones I think would impress someone like Christian. Places like Northwestern or the University of Chicago are viewed as Ivy Leagues around here. Though my chances of getting in either are a long shot. My grades aren't too bad, but I don't have a resume like Christian's.

Winning the film scholarship would make me stand out. But it's due in a few weeks and I still haven't started on it. All I have are some random shots of the city. I still can't believe I lied to Jasmine about making it to the next round. At least it's motivating me to pick up my camera again. I spend the rest of the morning thinking of ideas before work.

I arrive at the theater around noon. Alex is sitting at the counter, eating a celery stick from a vegetable platter beside a plate of sandwiches. I set my things down, picking up a radish that fell on the floor. "Where did this food come from?"

"It was here when we walked in," Alex says.

I raise a brow at her.

"Simon found it in the dressing room."

"But we're not allowed in there."

Alex tosses her hair and says, "There's so many rules around here. How are we possibly supposed to remember them all?" She dips the celery stick in hummus and takes a bite.

I pick up the bottle of wine beside her. "Maybe we should ease up on the free stuff. I think they're starting to catch on."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because they know about the cake."

Alex gasps. " No. "

"And some other things, too…"

"Stop it!"

Simon walks in through the door, holding his latte. He tosses his keys on the counter and says, "What are you ladies gossiping about?"

Alex turns to him. "They know, " she says tensely.

Simon blinks at her in confusion. Then his eyes widen with what looks like fear. "What? That's not possible. Nobody else was there that night. And we burned all the evidence!"

" Not that! " Alex throws her celery stick at him. "They know we've been taking stuff around here."

"Oh, that?" Simon waves his hand, fanning away her concerns. "Nobody here suspects us for a second. You know I run this place like the navy."

"Eric says they know about the cake."

Simon gives me a look. "And how would you know that?"

"Christian told me," I say.

Alex blinks at me. "Christian Chan? Did you see him again?"

I've been debating whether or not to tell them. "Yeah… He asked me to hang out the other night."

" And you didn't say anything? " Simon scolds me. "Who said you could keep secrets from us?"

"It happened a few days ago," I say. "I wasn't sure what you guys would think. I mean, given the rumor about him. You know, the one you haven't told me."

Simon rolls his eyes. "I told you, it's probably not true. Especially knowing he asked you on a date."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shakes his head. "I said, forget it!"

Alex leans forward. "Tell us about your date."

"I don't know if it was a date ," I say, shrugging. "But it was a lot of fun. He took me to dinner at this restaurant near his place. Then we went on his friend's boat around the river, which was pretty cool."

Alex smiles. "A boat ride on the river? How romantic. Will you see him again?"

"I hope so," I say.

"Have you texted him?" she asks.

"Yeah, but he hasn't responded yet."

Alex presses her lips together. "It's only been a few days. I'm sure you'll hear from him soon."

"Unless he ghosted you," Simon adds.

Alex grabs a carrot from the tray, throwing it at his arm. "No one needs your pessimism."

"I'm just being realistic," Simon says defensively. "And stop wasting the food!"

Someone approaches the box office. It's a delivery guy, holding a slender white box. He reads his scanner and says, "Excuse me, is there a—"

" I'll take that off your hands, " Simon says, grabbing the box from him. He scribbles his name and turns back around.

Alex and I give him a look.

Simon sighs. "Okay, fine, I have a problem. I'm not afraid to admit it." He holds the box to his ear, shaking it slightly. "Feels like nothing's in there."

"Let's open it," Alex says, grabbing it from him.

" Alex, " I say.

"Sorry, I'm weak."

They set the box on the counter, ripping it open. Inside is a single red rose. Simon rolls his eyes. "It's just a stupid rose. Probably for someone in the cast."

"What's the name?" Alex asks.

Simon unfolds the card. Then his eyes go wide again. " Eric Ly? " He turns to me. "Did you order yourself a rose?"

I blink in confusion. " What? No. "

Alex snatches the card. "Someone must have sent it to him," she says, turning it in her hand. "But it doesn't say from who… unless…" She pauses to think. Then she looks at me. "You should check your phone."

"Uh, okay."

I pull out my phone. There's a notification on the screen. "Christian just texted me." I gasp.

Hope you liked my gift

Let me know if you're free tonight

" What did he say? " Simon moves my arm, glancing at the screen. "The rose is from him? He wants to see you tonight? This is getting serious."

"What are you gonna say back?" Alex asks.

I stare at the box on the counter. No one's ever gifted me flowers before. "I don't know… But I definitely want to hang out again."

"You totally manifested this," she says, clasping her hands together.

For the next few minutes, Simon and Alex help draft a response. "Keep the message simple, but a little playful, and no exclamation points," Simon says. "You don't want to seem desperate." Alex advises me to wait half an hour before sending it.

The rose is beautiful, it was very sweet of you.

Would love to see you again tonight

We get back to work at one point, waiting for his response. Christian texts me an hour later, along with an invitation link. One of his friends is hosting an art gallery opening. Simon and Alex insist I leave early to go to the department store and pull together another outfit.

"Send us photos of options," Alex says.

"You better tell us everything tomorrow," Simon says.

I take the rose with me on my way out. It takes longer than I expected, but I pick out a blue button-down that Alex approves of. Then I hop on the next train toward Hyde Park, transferring lines halfway through. Christian is waiting for me outside the hotel. He's dressed in all white this evening, the button of his collar undone, hair flowing in the breeze. He's as perfect as the sculptures in his penthouse apartment.

"Don't you look sharp this evening," he says, putting his arm around me.

I smile. "Same to you."

Christian glances at the rose in my hand. "You brought it with you."

"Yeah, I came straight from work."

He holds out a hand. "Give it here."

I hand Christian the rose. He snaps off the stem, which startles me a little. Then he takes out his wallet, removing what looks like a pin. "Do you mind?" he asks. I shake my head, letting him attach the flower to the pocket of my shirt. "A boutonniere. It's not perfect, but—"

"No, I love it," I say. "Thank you."

Christian smiles at me. Then he gestures toward the hotel entrance.

"Shall we?"

There's a fireplace in the lobby. Christian walks us to the elevator, taking us to the third floor. The doors open to a ballroom where the art gallery opening is taking place. The walls are full of paintings, but Christian walks right past them as if he's seen them already. We grab drinks from the bar and find his friends. A blond guy in a small circle of suits waves us over. He squeezes Christian's shoulder, then turns to me and says, "You must be Eric. I've heard all about you."

"This is my friend Nick," Christian says, placing his arm around him. "We know each other from Yale. He showed me around Chicago when I first moved here."

" Charity work, " Nick whispers to me. "You do them one favor and you can never get rid of them."

"Be nice," Christian says.

"I'm always nice." Nick sips his drink, amused with himself. Then he turns to me again and says, "I heard you went on a boat ride the other day."

"Yeah, with Christian."

"How was it?"

"Really cool. I've never been on a yacht before."

"Well, isn't that endearing. "

I give him a look, wondering what he means by that. Nick spins back to the group. "Let's get another drink." He looks around. "Where on earth is that server?"

"They've been terribly slow," says one of the others.

Nick shakes his head. "You'd think they were making the food themselves. Ah, there he is—" He snaps his fingers. A young server from the other side of the room turns his head and hurries over.

"Sorry, can I get you something?" the server asks. He looks around my age, maybe a year or two older.

"Some service would be nice," Nick whispers to us, as if the guy can't hear him. "We'll take two Negronis and a dirty martini, my boy." He slips a bill in the server's pocket. "And quickly, alright?"

"Thank you, sir." The server turns and leaves.

"Was that a fifty?" another friend asks.

"Let's hope it speeds him up," Nick says, waving it off. "Probably what he makes for the entire night."

Everyone laughs at this, including Christian. I wonder what they would say if I mentioned I worked as a server, too. That was a little over a month ago. I keep that to myself as their conversation continues. Most of them work in finance, the rest in some kind of art collecting. It doesn't take long to realize how different we are. I listen actively, trying my best to contribute a word here and there. "Oh, interesting." "Wow." But once they get into real estate investments, I feel myself fading into the background. I keep nodding along, smiling occasionally. It's like they're speaking a different language, making it feel like I'm not really here.

As the server appears with the drinks, a bell goes off from somewhere in the room. But no one else seems to have heard it. I glance around, noticing the sound of a distant piano. There's something familiar about the song. I close my eyes for a second, trying to remember where I heard it before. When I think no one is paying attention, I step away from the conversation, wandering toward the music.

There's a piano on the other side of the gallery. Then I notice the person sitting behind it.

" Haru? "

I wasn't expecting to see him here. He's wearing a white button-up that fits him beautifully as he plays the piano. If other people weren't around, I'd throw my arms around him, hugging him tight. Instead I walk over casually, taking a seat on the bench beside him. Haru doesn't turn his head. His eyes are focused on the piano. But I can sense he knows it's me. For a moment, nobody else is in the room but us.

"I didn't know you could play," I say.

He doesn't say anything.

"What are you doing at an art gallery?"

Haru keeps his eyes on the keys as he keeps playing. "I'm also interested in art. I saw you with your friends earlier, but I didn't want to interrupt."

"They're Christian's friends," I tell him. "I just met them today."

"They don't seem very friendly."

"You don't even know them."

He looks at me for the first time. "So, I'm wrong then?"

I don't answer this.

"Nice flower, by the way."

I glance at the rose on my shirt. "Christian gave it to me earlier."

"He must really like you." Haru turns back to the piano, continuing his song.

I listen to him play for a moment. "He's been really nice to me. It's just his friends I'm not the biggest fan of. But they're not the worst people in the world."

"Is that why you're sitting here with me?"

I don't say anything.

"You know you don't have to stay."

"What do you mean?"

Haru pauses the song and says, "We could leave right now. The two of us. I bet we could still catch that movie in the park."

"I can't just leave," I tell him. "Christian will think I ditched him."

"You had no problem doing that to me."

We look at each other.

"Is that what this is about? Why you've been gone these past few days?" Someone passes behind me, making me lower my voice. "We could have watched that movie yesterday. You knew I was waiting for you. But you're choosing right now ? When I'm with someone?"

"So I'm an inconvenience."

"That's not what I said."

Then my phone vibrates. It's a text from Christian.

Where did you go?

I let out a breath. "Christian's looking for me."

"Then you should go find him," Haru says, turning back to the piano.

I don't get up immediately because I hate to leave things this way. And maybe a part of me wants to go with Haru. I imagine us leaving through the back door, running down the stairwell together. But I couldn't possibly do that to Christian.

"I can't blame you, though," Haru says, somewhat out of the blue. "He can give you a real rose while I can only give you a paper one."

"Haru…" I start to say something. But my phone goes off again. It's another text from Christian, asking if I'm alright. "I have to go. But hopefully I'll see you again soon."

"Enjoy your evening," he says.

He resumes his song on the piano. I feel a sting of guilt as I'm walking away from him. It doesn't take long to find Christian. He's on the other side of the gallery, staring at a sculpture. "There you are," he says, smiling at me. "Thought I lost you for a second."

"Sorry, I was in the bathroom."

"What do you think of this piece?"

Christian turns to show me. It's a sculpture of a woman bathing herself. I think it's made of stone.

"For your apartment?" I ask.

"Possibly."

I rub my chin. "It's interesting. But I don't know if it's you ."

Christian looks at me. "What makes you say so?"

"It isn't gold."

"You're mocking me."

"Only a little bit." We both smile. I look around the gallery. "Where did all your friends go?"

"They weren't as impressed with the art," Christian says. "So they relocated to a bar on another floor. We can always join them, if you'd like."

"I mean, only if you want to."

"I'm not exactly up for a crowd tonight," he says.

"Same, honestly," I admit. "I only came to see you."

Christian smiles at this. "Then what do you say we head out of here? Somewhere less crowded."

"Where do you want to go?"

"We can go back to my place and decide from there."

I had a feeling he would suggest this. Especially since he asked the last time we were together. I can't possibly say no again. I really want him to like me. "Okay, sure."

"Perfect."

Christian takes the last sip of his drink and sets it on the table. Then he walks us to the elevator. When we go outside, a car is already waiting for us. It drops us off at the entrance of his building. A doorman tips his hat as we pass him. "Good evening, Mr. Chan."

"Good evening, Richard."

The elevator doors open on their own. It feels strange to be back here, especially since I snuck in last time. The hallway is longer than I remember. Christian waves a key over the knob and opens the door. The lights come on automatically as we step inside. I look around the apartment. Somehow, the place seems bigger with only the two of us here. Like a museum after closing hours. Our footsteps echo on the marble floors.

Christian steps behind his bar. "Can I make you a drink?"

"Yeah, that would be great."

"What would you like?"

"Uh, whatever you're having."

I take a seat on the curved white sofa. The fabric curls like the wool of a sheep. I keep running my hand over it.

"It's boucl é ," Christian says. "The sofa."

"I could fall asleep on this."

Christian smiles from behind the bar. "Don't tell me you're tired," he says. A moment later, he comes into the living room with two drinks. A square block of ice sits in amber liquid. I take the smallest sip, burning my throat.

"What is this?" I cough.

"Bourbon," Christian says. "It tastes better with time. Just let the ice melt a little." He takes out his phone. A second later, music fills the apartment. Something classical.

I hold my breath as I take another sip.

"Did you want some water?"

"I'm fine," I say, clearing my throat. Then I glance around the apartment. "Your place is really big for one person. Do you really need this much space?"

Christian chuckles. "It is on the bigger side," he agrees. "Especially compared to my place in the city. I guess I just fell in love with the view."

"Yeah, it's incredible," I say, glancing at the terrace. "You can see the whole city. I remember from the last time I was here."

"Have you seen the bedroom yet?"

"No, I haven't."

"Would you like to?"

Before I can even answer, Christian rises from the sofa any way. I take another sip, burning my throat again. Christian smiles as he holds out a hand, helping me to my feet. He leads me up the stairs, taking us to the door at the end of the hallway. He doesn't bother with the lights when we come in. But he doesn't really need them. The glow from the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminates the room, showcasing the city like an art piece.

I wander toward the window for a better view. The drink is cold in my hand. Maybe it's the bourbon talking, but I say, "I can't believe you get to see this every day."

"The view is even better from the bed."

I go completely still. Then I turn around slowly.

Christian is sitting at the side of his bed. His sleeves are rolled up, showing his arms. He runs a hand over the covers, as if to say, come here . I take another sip, hoping it does something for my nerves. Then I walk over and sit down next to him. Christian studies me for a moment. Slowly, he runs a finger over my cheek, circling down to my jaw. His hand feels nice against my skin. "You're really beautiful, Eric."

I quiver a little as he leans in closer. His voice is smooth as he whispers, "Can I kiss you?"

I swallow my breath. "Yeah."

The next thing I know, our lips are pressed together. His mouth is sharp with the taste of bourbon. He takes the drink from my hand, moving it to the nightstand. I'm a little numb from the alcohol. I almost don't feel his hands as they grip me. The linen of his shirt scratches my skin; his chest presses against mine. I run my hands through his hair as he kisses my neck. Then he moves to my ear and whispers, "You know, I don't usually bring back guys like you…"

"What does that mean?"

"You know," he says vaguely.

He continues to kiss me, his lips warm against my neck and shoulders. Even though this feels nice, I'm still focused on what he said. "I really don't," I say.

Christian looks at me. "I guess you can say I have a preference. Someone more like Nick, if that makes it more clear."

I think back to the gallery. He was the blond friend who kept making jokes about the waiters. "Blond?"

"Not necessary blond," he says.

"Works in finance?"

Christian sighs. "You really need me to say it?"

"I'm just curious."

He takes a moment to answer. "I'm not into Asian guys. You're actually the first."

This catches me off guard. I don't know what to say. "But you're Asian," I remind him.

He laughs a little. "Let's not complicate things," he says. "Just consider yourself the exception." A smiles curves on his lips. As if he just offered a compliment.

Christian starts kissing me again. But it doesn't feel the same as it did a moment ago. I run my hands along his shoulders as he slowly unbuttons my shirt. That's when I notice his is unbuttoned, too. Eventually I close my eyes, pretending I never asked the question. Pretending he's the same person I thought he was before it ruined the moment.