Cross Mirage

Acceptance (1)

Haruka

We take our seats at a fancy American-style 40's diner, one with an actual, authentic jukebox. Fortunately, there are few people in the diner, so it's easier for us to share what looks to be a serious conversation. As we wait for our food to arrive, Ji-Hong begins to recount his time in the military. From the resentment and bitterness of the people within his camp, to the importance of basketball for each one of them, to his friend's predicament, how he got his scar, and finally, his friend's final decision to end everything.

So he did tell me about his past after all. Why do I suddenly feel so ashamed of myself?

More importantly, I can feel Ji-Hong's sorrow seeping into me. He tries not to show it, but I can feel it from his words. The ghosts of his past are still tormenting him, in spite of what he said about Audrey and his acceptance of his past and newfound passion for basketball. The man could never forgive himself for failing to protect his friend, even though there was little he could do in a situation like that in the first place.

"You're being too hard on yourself," I whisper softly.

"Maybe to you," he mutters. "To me, I lost him."

The waiter returns with our orders: a plate of cheeseburger and fries for Ji-Hong and a plate of Bolognese spaghetti for me. The food is steaming hot, and the scent is delectable, but neither of us seem to be in the mood to touch them just yet.

"Hey," I begin. "Remember on the first day we became friends, when I asked for your number, I said that I wanted to help you. Remember that?"

Ji-Hong remains unresponsive, but I'm determined to get through to him. It hurts me to see him bottle his own anguish like this. How long has he been letting those dark emotions fester in him without anyone to offer him a moment of solace? He's a nice person thorough and thorough, that goes without question. He's even saved me before without asking for anything in return, and all this time, he's willingly agreed to keep my cross-dressing hobby a secret. He's done so much for me. I want to do something for him as well; anything to help him, even if by a little.

"I meant what I said. I mean, I don't exactly know what I can do to make you feel better, but if there's anything you think I can do, or if you feel you need someone to talk to, just know that you've got me, okay?"

The pain tainting his features begins to fade, but much of it still lingers in his eyes. Every time, it's his eyes that gives his emotions away like an open book. Ironic that for such an inexpressive person, to me, he's the most expressive one of all people I've met so far.

"Thank you," he says, those eyes of his calm and steady, locking onto mine.

"It's fine, it's fine." I wave my hand back and forth, trying my best lighten the mood. I should probably try to change the subject. "Hurry up and eat already! The food is gonna go cold!"

"Yeah." He nods in agreement, taking a stick of fry and popping it in his mouth.

As I begin to sprinkle Parmesan cheese over my spaghetti, I notice that Ji-Hong is eyeing at my dish with curiosity. He can be so easy to read at times.

"What?" I prompt. "Want some of this?"

"Those noodles look good," he says, craning his neck forward to get a whiff of it. "American spaghetti?"

"I'm pretty sure spaghetti is Italian."

"We are in an American-style restaurant though. So is the spaghetti American, or Italian?"

A moment of awkward silence ensues between us. My brow twitches at his warped sense of logic that's admittedly, beginning to confuse me as well.

"Ahhh! Just shut up and eat already!" I bluster, irritated by his unsolvable remark.

As Ji-Hong's fork begins to move over to my dish, an idea sparks in my mind, and I quickly shield my food away from him.

"Huh?" He tilts his head, confused.

This is my chance. I think to myself mischievously. I can tease him, and even though we're both boys, this is only something I can do without looking too awkward in front of the other diners. Oh boy, this is gonna be fun.

"Hey, Ji-Hong," I say as an impish smile spreads across my lips, stretching to my cheeks. "Let me ask you this: I look like a girl right now, don't I?"

I have my usual hairstyle up today, tied and bunned at the nape of my neck. Not much can be said about my outfit, admittedly; it's just a black, long sleeved shirt with jeans.

"Yes, you do. Actually, you always look like a girl," he answers in a matter-of-fact tone.

"In that case..." Using my fork, I twirl the spaghetti, coiling it around the utensil before lifting it up. It's an anime cliché; feeding your romantic partner food in an overly-endearing fashion.

As I suspected, Ji-Hong's cheeks visibly flush to the gesture. I narrow my eyes, feeling my smugness intensity at his uncharacteristic change in expression.

"What are you doing?" He frowns.

"What does it look like?" I inch the fork of spaghetti closer to him, the thick, meaty sauce dripping onto his plate of fries. "Didn't you see you want to try my spaghetti?"

"That doesn't mean―"

"People are looking. Don't leave your 'date' hanging," I remind him. "Say 'ahh'..."

Considering his meek nature, it's virtually impossible for him to reject me now.

Ji-Hong growls, a real, animalistic growl resembling a tiger's, crackling with evident frustration and embarrassment. He lowers his head to the fork, gently engulfing the fork and stripping it of the pasta.

He's not the only one that's blushing at the moment; I have to pay the price for my little prank as well. Even through the amusement, the blood rushes to my face at the thought of what the other people in the diner must be thinking about our relationship.

I sneak a glance at the only other table with people around it; the woman and her child are staring, while the father has his back turned from us.

It was worth it, totally! I coax myself, albeit a little forcefully.

A clatter of heels against marble tiles sound from the side. I turn to see one of the waitresses advancing towards us. Her colleagues have their eyes on us, all the while bickering amongst themselves. Suddenly, that little prank doesn't seem like such a good idea after all.

"Excuse me," the waitress says with a smile... which for some reason looks a little suspicious to me. Is she teasing us? "I'm sorry, sir, ma'am, but none of my crew was aware that you're both a couple. As such, we didn't inform you of our special promotion for couples just this month. If you spend more than thirty dollars, we'll give you a complementary glass of milkshake to share."

Milkshake? One glass? Two straws? All right, this has gotten too far!

"W-wait, hold on―"

"We'll take it," Ji-Hong says. I don't know how he does it, but that is the cheekiest stoic face I've ever seen in my life, almost like he's in cahoots with the teasing waitress. "My... girlfriend likes sweets."

"H-huh?"

The stony Korean vengefully narrows his eyes at me, and I can practically hear him say "this is payback" as if we're connected telepathically.

"Great! I'll inform the staff," the waitress chirps, giving us a playful wink. "Enjoy your date!"

"D-date?" I whimper.

I shoot a glare back at my friend, who seems to be returning one without nearly as much of the shame that I have radiating from my features. His usage of the word 'girlfriend' before the waitress was the deciding blow. It's clear that which one of us has just received the short end of the exchange of pranks.

You win this round, Ji-Hong. Urgh! Who'd have thought that he'd be so good at something like this too!