Next to me, Choi Yujun leans back against the cushions and eyes me from beneath the fringe of his eyelashes. Both names are a handful in my head. I want to shorten it, make it more familiar. He specifically told me to call him Yujun, not Choi Yujun or Yujun-nim or even—what was it that Jules said was cringey? Oppa?

“You have questions in your eyes.”

“It’s the strobe lights.”

His own eyes twinkle as the corners of his mouth quirk up. He rolls his empty shot glass between his fingers a couple of times before saying, “I’m very good at listening. My eomma says it’s my best quality.”

“What? Not your dimples?” I jest.

He grins and I pretend I’m unaffected.

“Those are a very close second,” he says, putting his thumb and forefinger millimeters apart. “But I scored high on my listening skills in aptitude tests. Try me out. See if what I’m saying is true.”

He did ask, I suppose. “Age is important here.”

He nods.

“So I’m going to ask even though it feels unnatural. How old are you?”

“Ah. We actually ask what year you were born. I was born in ninety-two and so was Sangki-ah, so he is my same-age friend. A chingu. And you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“That would make you a ninety-five-liner, which would make me your oppa since I’m older.” He says the word a little cheekily, as if he’s inviting me to call him something that’s slightly inappropriate.

I eye him suspiciously. “Do I want to know what oppa means?”

“Older brother,” he supplies readily.

I can see how calling a man who is not related an older brother is cringey. I’m glad that Jules warned me. Of course, this means that all his warmth that I took for flirtation is actually a gesture of friendship, which is disappointing, but I’ll live. I mean, maybe I’ll cry into my pillow tonight and erase all the mental scribbling where I put our names inside a heart, but I will live. “My flatmate told me I shouldn’t use it but you’re telling me I should call everyone oppa?”

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Only me.”

The twinkle is back and I don’t think it is the strobe lights causing it. It’s been a while since I’ve interacted meaningfully with the opposite sex, but now it seems like he’s flirting again. Maybe “older brother” has some other connotation here in Korea. And while Yujun is up for explaining a lot of things, I sense he’s not about to give this one away. I’ll have to ask Jules—or maybe Anna since she’s a mite less prickly—later.

“And what about Sangki—I mean, Ahn Sangki. What should I call him?”

Yujun glances over at the other man, bracketed by two of my flatmates. They’re all enjoying the show below.

“You won’t need to call him. You have my number, remember? Yujun from Seoul.” He taps the back of my phone. And there it is again, that hint of flirting.