He walks into my family's gaming cafe with a smile, four friends, and a brightness that would put any shooting star to shame.
"For how many?" my mother asks. She observes them from behind the counter, reserving her usual warm demeanor. I guess she's trying to decide whether they'll cause trouble in our precious business.
There's five of them, obviously. But it's not in my cards to speak today.
Four of them mutter amongst themselves, and I step closer around a computer booth to make out the words. Korean. But the bright one answers my mother in perfect English. "Five. We're having a League of Legends tournament. Things could get bloody."
"Where are you boys from?"
Another question with an obvious answer. Somedays, I wish it could be me who manned the counter. But that's not in my cards either. I head toward the back and begin one of my cafe duties—wiping tables. Underneath the dimmed lights that glow somewhere between purple and blue, I make sure every surface is clear from the snacks my father proudly prepares—homemade chips, sweet potato fries, and crispy chicken tenders. Why must he choose all the crumbly foods?
After I finish wiping tables, I grab the dustpan and broom from the back closet, sighing at the mess of litter on the floor. Why are LA gamers so messy?
Before I get started on my second task, I count the heads in the cafe. It's a mediocre night—around half the booths are full. Mom will probably convince me to design new flyers for the cafe. Starlit Games in yellow, bubbly font instead of the precise pink one from last time. I can hear her word-vomiting every innovative idea that comes to mind. It's one of her favorite activities to daydream about a more luxurious and successful business.
As I sweep frontward, one of the boys begins to panic. I don't understand anything he says, but the way his legs are shaking, his body wiggling in discomfort, tells me enough. He shoots up from his chair and darts toward the bathroom. Fortunately, it's unoccupied.
The bright boy turns around, eyes frantic. All of him is beautiful. His jaw is sharp, skin clearer than a polished monitor. He has curved lips and a nose that arches in the same handsome angle as his eyebrows. His most eye-catching quality—unironically, is his eyes. I can't tell if they're double or triple lidded, or somewhere in between. In the bluish-purple light of Starlit Games, I make out black sweatpants and a white hoodie. Everything else blurs into a mess of light and shadow when he meets my gaze.
"You!" He manages to be intense yet welcoming at the same time. "Can you play? Please cover for our friend. This is a really important match."
I'm in no position to resist. Nodding once, I take the seat that was almost soiled two seconds ago. Growing up in this cafe, I know all the popular games well. So in the minute it takes for the friend to come back, I secure two kills and destroy one turret. In other words, this group of boys is now a few steps closer to winning this match.
"Wow." The boy gives me his widest smile, and my heart squeezes. "You're amazing. Promise me you'll play with us again."
His friend returns, and I manage a curt nod while shrinking back to my duties. But sweeping seems like an impossible chore now. I can't take my eyes off the gamer who invited me to sit. All five of them are handsome, but the one who spoke to me attacked me with more than one arrow to the heart.
You're being ridiculous.
And I am. It's one thing to be a hopeless romantic, but hiding all these feelings can't be good. I'm a gourd filling quickly, soon to explode on contact. Even in the dimness, I shake my head and lift my head to the air conditioning. I can't let my parents see me blush, no matter how lovestruck.
"Nova?"
I flinch at my name. I spin to face my mother. Her top bun is seamless, her makeup done lightly to frame the intense yet delicate wings of her eyes. She doesn't look a day above thirty, but her arsenal of wit speaks otherwise. Once she opens her mouth, she's already won every argument. No customer has ever been able to dissuade her whenever she's been provoked. My mother's tone of voice is scratchy, which can only mean she's ready to cuss out a customer... or....
"What do you think you're doing?" She shakes her head, adjusting the collar of her black dress. "You're never supposed to play games with customers. It's forbidden for all employees of Starlit Games."
Mom, I'm your only employee.
Sometimes, I think she forgets I can't respond here.
"You are given simple tasks. Sweep the floors, clean the tables, etcetera. I can't have you fraternizing with customers no matter how boring you think your duties are. The next time you slack off, I'm cutting an hour of your pay."
Mom!
She juts her chin. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she's preparing to cuss me out like customers who waltz in drunk and rant about our prices. I glue my feet to the floor and await my impending doom. And why do we have to stand so close to the guys? My mom knows that people scare me, and she knows that guys my age are the most frightening of all.
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
His voice is becoming dangerously familiar. I don't even need to turn to realize that the boys' game has finished. I keep my eyes on my mother, born in the year of the dragon and matching the zodiac with perfect precision. I await fire. I clench my teeth and force deep breaths. My face scrunches up without my control.
Cute boy, I pray for your fate with all my might.
"I hope you enjoyed my son playing with you." My mom acknowledges him with a single glance. "But this isn't a conversation between you and me. Please mind your own desktop before I kick you and your friends to the curb."
"It really wasn't his fault," says the boy. "I forced him to play. He was helping us out on a tournament match. We even won a hundred dollars! I was going to offer to split some with—"
"Do you think we're a bunch of cheapos who can be bribed?" My mom arches her brow and places a closed fist against her hip—a sign she's ready to punch someone in the gut. "Keep your money and go back to your game. Or would you like me to own you in a one versus one match?"
I would laugh if the fury wasn't so palpable. My mother, a once avid gamer and winner of dozens of tournaments, could obliterate everybody in this room with all the games installed on our PCs. Compared to her, I'm a no one when it comes to gaming skills.
"Um, no ma'am." He shifts on his heels, some of the easy confidence crumbling under the ferocity of my mother. "I just don't want your son to get in trouble. He didn't do anything wrong."
"He didn't do anything wrong?"
A heavy pause lingers in the cool air. The boys' friends look like they might wet their pants—even the one who just used the bathroom. The original boy regains his cool. He reminds me of a penguin, huggable yet protective of his own. "Yes. He only played for a minute." Then he does something so shocking I almost let out an audible squeak. He hooks his arm around my elbow, and for a moment we become one. The warmth of his body rests against mine. I halt into a state of pure shock. "Please have grace and forgive us." He proceeds to bow his head as if my mom has turned into the queen of this realm.
My eyes widen, and it feels like every breath in this room is held for a stray moment—while my mother ruminates and I await for her foot to come down hard.
"Don't let it happen again," she says, marching off to the counter to help an incoming customer.
I wish she would've stayed a bit longer. That way, the boy would still be hooking my arm like we're kids partnered in elementary school for a field trip. Instead, we're split apart and I'm left wondering whether I imagined the whole thing.
"Man, your mom is the scariest person ever."
Man. I want to say it back. I wonder how the word will roll off my tongue, whether it'll be awkward or not. I want to tell him he's the first person ever to convince my mother to lay down her arms in this building. Here, she's a dragon. And you came in like the most impressive warrior I've ever seen.
He waits with a smile so natural it seems like breathing to him. It falters a bit when I don't answer, and I wish I could punch myself in the face.
"You seem pretty shy, yeah?"
I nod. It's the easier answer, the one I always fall back on. His perception is like a warm hug, and I let myself rest for now. It usually takes a customer much longer to realize I'm more than just shy.
"I'm shy most times too. But, um, you were seriously great. I think we won because of you. Do you always play mid lane?"
I try for a smile, but I know it comes out the opposite of his—forced and stiff. I nod to his question.
"Have you been working here long?"
I nod again.
"How long have you played League?"
I hold out three fingers.
"Three years?"
I nod.
"Hey! Same as me. Do you know the company BigHit? It's an entertainment company in Korea."
I shake my head.
"We're... oh nevermind. I'm just glad to have met you. We'll be coming here often during this summer, so one day we'll play again when you're off shift!"
I'm never off shift. But I nod anyway, maybe because I wish it'll become true. He turns around quickly and addresses his teammates in his mother tongue. It isn't until I sweep a few more rows until I realize he probably ended the conversation because he sensed my discomfort. I really need to get better at hiding my squeamishness.
I also facepalm and almost drop my broom, until I catch it with my opposite hand. I forgot to get his name. Out of all the times I wish I were normal, it's now. A guy willing to talk to me finally shows up, and I can't even ask for his name? I brainstorm for any sort of innovative way to find out. Otherwise, there will be nothing to match the face that will haunt my dreams in the coming nights.
"Nova, right?"
I drop my broom, this time for real. Thankfully, it doesn't make much noise above the pop dubstep playing from the surround-sound speakers. I turn around and try to mask my embarrassment.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to say thank you again. I'm Huening Kai, by the way." He shifts closer when another customer passes behind him, and I'm afraid he might hook my arm again, electrifying it. "My friends will introduce themselves another time. They're all a little shy. Plus it's only their first week here in the States."
I nod. I want to say his name right now, but that will have to wait. Until doors are locked and my parents are the only ones who can listen.
His four friends smile meekly before following Huening Kai to the front of the cafe. All five bow slightly and call out their thanks to my parents, who are busy counting the drawer. I watch them leave. I feel a strange sensation in my chest, as if a fishing pole wants to pull me out the exit too. The last customer leaves, a regular who always orders fried chicken and Sprite. He burps on his way out, so I decide to put away my cleaning tools before heading over to lock the door.
Huening Kai reenters when I'm just a pace or two away. He lowers his head in an apology, with a sheepish smile to match. "So sorry, I forgot my phone. Ah! I see it near the computer."
I sense my mother's eyes burning over my shoulders as tonight's star jogs over to retrieve his phone. I stand my ground and mentally will this boy to exit the premises quickly before things turn messy.
But he pauses beside me. He looks at me like there's something on the tip of his tongue, something else he's forgotten.
"Nova, do you dance?"
I look down at my arms, then my legs—all various forms of spaghetti. I shake my head.
Huening Kai grins, and his teeth reflect the cool-toned light. I can't imagine ever being the cause of that smile. If this boy is the radiant sun, I'm the crusty land somewhere on the edge of a desert. I don't even know why he's bothering with me, especially since I didn't answer him the first time.
"No? I just thought you looked like a dancer."
He says his goodbyes and shoots another arrow into my chest. I lock the door after him. I'm breathing quicker than usual, but I move into my usual routine of helping my dad wash dishes in the back. A minute passes before I feel safe. I can't explain the sensation of the thickness of the air melting around me, my vision of a forcefield encapsulating the space of just me and my parents. Even though I can speak now, I don't. I listen to my father rave about the new recipe he's dying to try—spicy calamari. Compared to my mom, the calmness of him is like a cool ocean. I swim while trying to make sense of what happened when sunlight entered our store. A dancer? I've never heard a more ridiculous statement, yet it sounded pretty from his lips.
A/N: Thank you for reading! Votes and comments are very appreciated.