Angel

Ian put down his chopsticks, reached over, wrapped his own hands around Paul’s, and manipulated the chopsticks for him. “Like this,” he said. “Only the top one moves. You hold the bottom one still. See? Try it.”

Paul made a few practice grasps at his shrimp. He managed to get one in his mouth, although without much finesse. The second shrimp ended up in his lap.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Paul asked, clicking the chopsticks together.

“When I lived in China.”

“Really?”

Ian tilted his head and gave the “duh!” expression. “You’re cute,” he said, then shrugged. “Someone taught me.”

“Someone?”

“Yeah.”

“A guy?”

“I think he was male.”

“Was he your…?”

“Why do you ask me those things if you don’t want to know?” Ian grabbed one of the two egg rolls from Paul’s plate with his chopsticks. “Ah ha!”

“Stop that! Eat your dead fish.”

Ian grasped a miniature octopus in his chopsticks and pointed it toward Paul. “Try one. They taste kind of like shrimp.”

He wrinkled his nose. “No, thank you.”

Ian tossed it into his mouth.

“How can you eat that? I hope you don’t expect me to kiss you after that.”

“I absolutely do,” he said as he picked up another octopus. He put this one on the center of his tongue, which he stuck out at Paul.

“You really like that? Or are you just torturing me?”

“Does it have to be one or the other? I like it. Torturing you is a fringe benefit. Have you ever even tried sushi?”

“No.”

“How do you know you don’t like it?”

“I just do.” Paul was now stabbing at a shrimp with one end of a single chopstick.

“There are a lot of things you’d never tried when you met me. You seem to like those a lot now.”

“True. True. But I don’t think sushi is going to be one of those things.”

“Just try one. They’re not all raw. Try this one, it’s mild.” He picked up a piece of white sushi and held it out toward Paul’s mouth.

“What is it?”

“Try it first.”

“What is it?”

“It’s eel.”