I scowl at my crotch. “Get your act together,” I scold and start to dry off.

There are times I regret not allowing people to get closer, times when I wished I’d spent more time with Kelly instead of at home with my television so I would have someone to whom I could pour out my untimely lusts. I pause mid-toweling off, recalling some of the dumb things that came out of Jeff’s mouth, like asking if Boyoung and I were sisters and coming to me every time he had a question about Asia. No, I don’t think I could’ve spent more time with Kelly because that would’ve meant enduring Jeff. The irony is that the person I should text is Jules. That acerbic, slightly mean girl helped me find Wansu, and maybe if I had my phone, I would’ve shared this debacle with her, but I already know what her response would be. Girl, how dumb are you? There are dildos here in Korea, too.

I squeeze the water out of my hair and finger comb it. The nice thing about having Asian hair is its relatively low maintenance, although I’ve noticed a lot of hair products in the beauty shops. I’m probably missing out on some key ingredient for keeping my black hair shiny like Boyoung’s. I need a whole lesson in Korean stuff, from food to makeup to hair care. It’s something I should’ve gotten from my mother. Wansu’s face appears next to mine in the mirror. I run my finger along my eyebrow and down the slope of my nose that looks just like hers. A chill runs up my spine as I remember the cold way she looked at me. My stomach tightens and my hand trembles. I clasp my fingers tight against each other and order myself to breathe. Vaguely, as if I’m deep in the back of a cave, I hear the door open. Footsteps brush against the wooden floor and then louder on the tile as Yujun approaches. I feel his solid mass displace the empty air beside me, and warmth spreads from his palm, which he presses against my back. “You okay?”

Wansu had been so cold, so hurtful, and here is Yujun from Seoul with his broad shoulders and his warm touch. I needed you and I wondered if you needed me. I’m that moth in the night seeking out the slightest bit of light, not caring that the fancy golden god has killed so many of my companions. All I know in this moment is that no one here in Seoul wants me more than Yujun, which is why when my mouth opens, the words “kiss me” fall out.

Yujun has never been slow. He was probably born premature, eager to get out into the world and show everyone how great he is. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t allow me to take another breath, think another thought. His mouth seals itself across mine. His hands come up to cup my face. Something falls to the ground. My scruples, definitely my inhibitions. Maybe the bag of things from the gift shop. He kisses with the same surety that he does everything in life—full of confidence and knowing. It’s sexy as hell. I pluck at the buttons of his shirtfront. He parts the lapels of my robe. The chill of the room pebbles the surface of my skin but I’m only exposed for a moment. He lifts me in his arms, drawing my legs around his waist and carrying me effortlessly out of the bathroom to the giant bed with its snowy down comforter. The bed cradles me in its softness while Yujun’s steel frame pins me down. His hands are everywhere, stroking down my arms, the sides of my torso, the expanse of my legs. We push his shirt off, unzip his pants. I cup his hard length and swallow the groan that comes from deep in his chest. His mouth moves away from mine to map its way down my throat, along my collarbone, making a long, thorough stop at my breasts before he moves even lower.