Twelve Months of Kristal: 50 Loving States Maine

However, today is different. Today feels like I’ve once again stumbled upon his Christmas mess, and I find myself struggling with the status quo we both liked so much.

“Jae-Hyun,” I say. “Do you have any family?”

“No,” he answers right away. “My family is all gone. It is just me in this world now.”

He’s in the same situation I would have been if Santa hadn’t adopted me into his tribe of elves. No wonder his work resonated with me from the moment I read the first volume of his manhwa, Nobles and Samurais.

Still, I have to press. “You’re sure? There’s nobody else?”

His face tightens, and his eyes hollow in a way that makes me feel like I’ve tripped off a land mine inside of him. Cue even more anti-Brian Wilson worry.

“Yes, I am sure,” he answers before quickly picking up his Staedtler Mars mechanical pencil to return to his panel of Nobles and Samurai.

I resume sketching, too. That was more conversation than either of us are used to having during class time. I’m not sure what else to say anyway, especially with Hayato refusing to come to meet Jae-Hyun…

I lightly outline my first human for the panel. A man, tall and elegant in a suit, appears underneath my pencil, sitting at a table. You’d think he was skinny underneath his suit, and that makes you feel self-conscious about your own curves. But no…the suit hides a body covered in lean muscle.

I outline the face, then pause for a second before filling in the hair. His hair is combed back into a modern pompadour, the kind that’s always on-trend. But it’s longer than it appears underneath that expensive hair gel and precise cut, and you’ll be surprised when you see it in its natural state upon waking the next morning. Longish curls hanging over eyelashes so thick, you almost reach out to check if they’re real.

If he’s real.

If the best sex of your entire life really happened.

He is real.

If you didn’t know that morning. You definitely found out last night when he cupped your face in both hands and kissed you like you were the girl of his dreams….

The pang of that very real recollection pulls me out of my usual second-person art story daze.

I squeeze my eyes against the memory, then look up at Jae-Hyun, whose face remains tight as he sketches out his panel, much quicker than me.

I hate this. Hate that Jae-Hyun’s all alone. That I seem to be all he’s got, even though I’m only here for ten more days. I’ve got to get him some real help. But Hayato had been so adamant about not coming here. About not wanting any kind of long-term relationship…with Jae-Hyun or anyone else, including me.

Getting him more time should have been enough. But it isn’t. I’ve got to figure out how to fix this.

“Jae-Hyun,” I say, still sketching. “If I asked you to come somewhere with me, would you?”

I hear Jae-Hyun’s rapid sketching slow. “Is it somewhere outside of this shop?”

His question is soft but feels loaded.

“Yes,” I answer, nonetheless.

“Why would you ask that of me?” He still hasn’t stopped sketching, but the scrape of his pencil strokes have slowed to the point that each one is seconds apart.

“It’s hard to explain, but…” I look up from my pad again. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Someone, I think you need to meet.”

“As you know, I cannot leave this shop. Perhaps you could bring this someone here?”

I wish. “Um, no. I tried, but I can’t. He’s staying at the Tourmaline, I believe. It’s just a short distance from here. We could walk up to California Street and take a cable car. Get some sun.”

Jae-Hyun’s already shaking his head. “I’ve been feeling poorly these past few months. I do not believe going outside is a good idea.”

Yeah, I bet, I think to myself guiltily. I don’t know what’s going to kill him. But I’m guessing it’s some sort of cancer. Liver or lung. Who knows? And Santa can’t keep him alive forever. “This person I want you to meet might be able to help you with that sickly feeling.”

“Ah, I see,” he says, setting his Staedtler Mars down again. “You want me to see a doctor. You are a good daughter to worry about me. But I have read about your Western medicine. I do not like it. The poisoning. The dying anyway in a hospital when I can do the same right here in my home. Thank you, daughter, but I will not leave my shop to meet with your doctor.”

I open my mouth to tell him it’s not a doctor I want him to see, but a man who loves him enough to trigger my soon-to-be-dead portrait gift—yet claims not to have any idea who he is. However, just thinking those words makes me close my mouth again. Seriously, even my shut-in mentor isn’t crazy enough to believe that story.