When I suggested he join me, Gyu-ho would refuse, like I’d offered him a soak in a sewer. Unfazed, I would fill the tub to the brim and submerge completely to the top of my head. Submerging my head brought my knees out, and made me want to buy a tub as big as a swimming pool when I made a lot of money someday.

I dumped an entire mini bottle of that Le Labo body cleanser from the amenity tray into the water jet, which immediately made mountains of foam leap up like whipped cream. I closed my eyes, wishing I could suffocate in the foam.

◊

That day, we eventually ended up at an unfamiliar guesthouse.

In Bangkok, taxis would magically stop in front of us when we so much as raised an arm, just like in television dramas, but not that day. It rained so heavily that the water came up to our ankles, and I couldn’t see any taxis on the road. We held hands and walked through the mazelike alleys of private residences, looking for a place we could sit down to rest for a bit. That’s how we came upon a sign that said: GUESTHOUSE. We entered right away.

It was about 50,000 won for a room with no bathroom and a ceiling fan instead of air-conditioning. Considering Bangkok prices and the shabby state of the building, we were clearly being ripped off, but we were in no position to haggle. We burst out laughing when we saw the room—its only piece of furniture was a single mattress that almost completely filled up the space, making it more of a coffin than a room. Gyu-ho and I took turns in the communal shower (a euphemism for what was actually just a separate space down the hall with a showerhead and drain), where we washed ourselves with lukewarm water, then spread the bath towels the front desk had given us over the mattress and lay down next to each other. The large steel ceiling fan spun overhead with a tapping sound, and I made a stupid comment—“If that thing falls on us, we’re mincemeat”—to which Gyu-ho obligingly replied, “Let’s be hamburger patties together forever,” as he stretched his arm toward me. His shorter-than-average arm wasn’t a good fit for my larger-than-average head, but we pretended to be comfortable as we lay still like that. I have no idea who started kissing whom first. Our damp bodies came together and Gyu-ho got on top of me.

—Do you have it?

The only “it” we had in Gyu-ho’s fanny pack on the floor were two packets of lube, crumpled from age. We must’ve used up the condoms.

—What do we do . . . ? Do you think it’s OK?

Looking at Gyu-ho’s worried face, I ripped open the lube packet with my teeth.