Page 85 of Septembers

She mugged triumphantly at Dae. “Hear that? Any time.”

He shrugged. “Did you think I would argue?”

She snorted. “Do you see what I deal with, Theo? He’s always taking away the fun of teasing him.”

Dae winked at him. “That was my evil plan all along.”

Holy shit. A pulse of electricity shot through very specific parts of Theo’s anatomy. Had Dae ever winked at him before? He wanted it again but also did not want it again.

Dae was different. Easier. Talking more, joking more, smiling more. Over the course of just a few hours, Theo had already seen his dimples twice. It was amazing, so he wasn’t sure why it made his chest ache.

“Theo, are you in?”

“Huh?”

Min took a cheese grater out of the box and pointed it at him. “Tonight.”

“Oh, um.” Clearly he’d missed something important. “Whatever Dae wants.”

“This is already starting? You two don’t have to do everything together!” He guessed that meant Dae had already said no. She sighed at his lack of response, adjusting her glasses. “Fine. Have fun in your knitted sweaters drinking tea and watching Murder She Wrote, you old farts.”

Before Theo could point out how delightful that actually sounded, a knock on the door announced the arrival of the ceremonial moving pizza.

Over dinner, he got caught up on their lives. Eomma—who insisted Theo stop calling her Mrs. Moon—had gotten into water aerobics, and Appa had invented a fake back injury to get out of it. They were both still teaching (professor-ing?) at McMaster, with no retirement plans for the foreseeable future. Theo told them about work, about Jordan’s progress, and his brief flirtation with learning to play the guitar.

He’d almost forgotten how wholesome Dae’s family was. They were so supportive and lovely, they probably wanted Dae to end up with someone as wonderful as them.

After they polished off the pizza, Dae’s family started to gather their things, and Eomma took Theo’s hand, squeezing with surprising strength. “You take care of him.”

“Of course.”

“Eomma!” He’d never heard Dae whine before. It was delightful. “I lived in a different country for three years. I don’t need someone to take care of me.”

“Is that what you think?” She smirked at him and gave Theo a wink. Probably where Dae got it. “Goodnight, Cheot Sarang.”

Once everyone was gone and the apartment was quiet, Theo glared at Dae. “Are you ever going to tell me what my Korean name means?”

He’d considered trying to look it up phonetically, but that felt like cheating. He didn’t want to figure it out, he wanted to be told.

Dae snapped his fingers as if he just remembered something. “I have a gift for you.”

“Effective deflection.”

He went into his room and reappeared holding a green bottle. “You said you wanted to try soju.”

“You brought that from Korea?”

“No, I got it at the Euro supermarket on Bloor Street, but it’s the same.” He brought fancy shot glasses to the coffee table in front of the couch, shook the bottle for some reason, then cracked the lid and poured. “I know it goes against your instincts not to shoot this, but you’re meant to sip.”

“So why give it to me in a tiny glass?”

Dae cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows pushed together. “I don’t know. It’s just how it’s done.” He held up his glass. “To Toronto.”

“To your return.”

They clinked, and Theo sipped. He thought it would taste like something—literally anything—but instead it was just pure, strong alcohol searing a path down his torso and settling into a pool of fire in his belly.

Dae laughed at Theo’s coughing fit. “Koreans take drinking seriously.”