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Martin and James were just sixteen when they met.
"The new neighbor"—that was how James’s mother referred to the tall, blond boy who had moved into the house next door. At that moment, he was returning from the local market, carrying a few bags with ease. They had seen the activity of moving trucks, cardboard boxes, and new faces—a couple and two teenagers (the blond boy and a girl who, given their resemblance, were likely siblings). James was helping the woman clean the house at the time, dusting the living room shelves. She called him over to the window to look at the boy. "And your likely new classmate."
She was right.
When he first saw him—both during the move and later at school, as the boy shyly introduced himself to the class—James didn't think much of it. His name was Martin; Martin Edwards Park. A nice name, he thought. Martin was certainly handsome, much taller, with a lovely voice, but James wasn't particularly captivated. He wasn't looking for friendship, let alone enmity; he just wanted a normal, harmonious coexistence, like the one he had with the rest of his classmates.
But James’s parents, especially his mother, were keen on forging a friendly bond with the newcomers. It wasn't surprising; they, too, were foreigners, having come from Canada. His parents wanted the family to feel welcome, knowing all too well the strange sensation of not belonging in a new place.
It didn't take long for Mrs. Zhao and Mrs. Park to strike up conversations whenever they ran into each other on their way to work or while doing household chores. They discussed the usual topics mothers talk about: the neighborhood, work, their marriages, their children, and school grades. They were practically friends; they visited each other’s homes, sharing tea and cake while chatting endlessly—conversations that only ended when they remembered they had something specific to do. James could hear them from his room, laughing and chatting about the possibility of their sons becoming friends.
One Saturday, Mrs. Park was at the supermarket doing her monthly shopping, and Mrs. Zhao happened to be there too. When he saw them approaching each other, smiling at the chance encounter, James wanted to die. He knew that whenever his mother ran into an acquaintance in a store, the two hours meant for shopping would inevitably turn into four, as she would insist on talking to the person until she got tired. But she never got tired, and she always had plenty to say. He massaged his temples, already dreading the time it would take to finally leave.
As he went to greet her, he noticed Martin was with her, wearing his usual shy expression and looking just as uncomfortable as James about his mother finding someone to gossip with. James greeted him too, trying his best not to show his boredom. But when his gaze dropped to the T-shirt Martin was wearing, a spark lit up his eyes and a subtle smile played on his lips.
— Do you like Deftones? — he asked, taking his earbuds out.
— I do—a lot, actually.
— And what’s your favorite song?
— Hmm, that’s a tough question. But if I had to pick just one, I’d say RX Queen. It’s beautiful and really sad at the same time. What about yours?
— Can I pick every song on White Pony? If not, I’d choose Knife Prty. That ending with the female vocals gives me chills.
And right there, in the middle of the supermarket, they struck up a long conversation about music. James opened his music app to show his favorites and was charmed by Martin’s musical knowledge and the variety of genres he enjoyed. They were a lot alike. In the end, the very boys who had been frustrated by the prospect of standing around while their mothers finished chatting found themselves frustrated when the time came for them to leave.
In the days that followed, they began sitting near each other in class. They studied together, ate together, talked about their interests, and sometimes went out downtown to do something—like play a cool game. Their parents were happy about the friendship they had cultivated.
School was over; they were still the same guys who talked about bands, games, and anime, but now they were working and attending college. Consequently, they had a little less time for those things. Some things hadn't changed, like the fact that James was shorter than Martin and still had blond hair, or that they were neighbors, since—coincidence or not—they had bought apartments in the same city, just a ten- or fifteen-minute walk apart.
When James bought his new apartment, the first person he invited over was Martin. He gave him two photos: one taken at a mall a few months after their first conversation, and another from their high school graduation, showing them in their caps and gowns, looking at the camera with their tongues sticking out.
— It was great back when we’d spend the time after school studying, and the evenings on video calls talking about new anime and listening to our moms telling us to turn off our phones and go to sleep — James said, smiling at the photos and eliciting a soft laugh from Martin.
James was Martin’s best friend; he considered him the best person he had ever met. He felt comfortable talking to him at any time and trusted him more than he trusted himself.
But what James began to feel for Martin after a few years was very strange. The last time he’d experienced a feeling like that was at fifteen, when he realized he was gay—a realization sparked by a friend who now lived in another country and probably didn't even remember he existed. The only thing that had happened with that friend was a kiss during a game of Truth or Dare; nothing more.
It hadn't started recently, he knew; it must have begun sometime during his senior year of high school. Martin was growing more handsome by the day; the more they saw each other, the more attractive he became. James chose to ignore it; he didn't want to ruin the friendship they shared. He figured that if he ignored it, the feeling would eventually fade, and they could go on as normal.
But it wasn't that simple. Martin wasn't just a handsome guy; he was understanding, had good taste, and was polite, intelligent, and responsible. And that shiver he felt when their hands accidentally brushed, that intense desire to have Martin by his side all the time, his appearances in James's dreams... it was love. Unfortunately.
James occasionally considered confessing his feelings, but he had never been good at that sort of thing. The constant fear of rejection and of how it might change their relationship haunted him. It wasn't worth it, was it?
Just forget it. That was all.
But Martin enjoyed his company; he liked opening up to James and visiting him. And James liked it, too. The closeness they shared was so pleasant, so good. Sometimes, James fantasized that during one of those visits, he would confess his love and kiss him.
But exactly the opposite happened.
One Friday, after work, James invited Martin over for a guys' night. Drinking beer, watching bad movies, talking, and listening to music. It was a routine thing they’d been doing for a few years to forget that they were now responsible adults.
After an hour of watching episodes of a thriller series they’d stumbled upon on a streaming service and chatting about their favorite movies, the conversation turned to a touchy subject for James: dating.
It was a topic he always preferred to dodge; he’d never officially dated anyone in his life and was only into guys—though Martin didn't know that. He’d always say he wasn't one for going out much, or that the people interested in him weren't looking for anything serious. It wasn't that he didn't trust Martin; he just wasn't ready to tell him. Martin stumbled over his words before explaining why he’d brought it up. His cheeks were flushed and he looked a bit bashful; it was cute, and it made James chuckle inwardly.
— That girl who works as a waitress at the coffee shop, you know? I don't know if you remember, but she went to school with us. — It took James a moment to place the girl from their school days, but then he remembered. — Well, she asked for my social media. She always chats with me when I go in, and we’ve been talking a lot lately... hum... I don't know. Maybe I’m starting to have feelings for her, and maybe she feels the same way about me.
James’s heart shattered into pieces. The beer bottle in his hand was sweating from the cold, and he felt like he was about to break into a sweat, too. He gripped the green glass bottle so hard his knuckles turned white—so hard he could have easily shattered the glass.
— I wanted to ask for your suggestion on a place to take her out. I’m thinking of asking her to do something.
James summoned all his strength to hide his unhappiness and sadness. He wanted to say he didn't know, that he didn't care and didn't want to hear about it, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
— An amusement park.
His words were curt and quick, even though that hadn't really been his intention. He worried he might have come across as rude. He took a sip of his beer and forced a smile as he watched Martin mull it over and conclude that it was a good idea. Damn, giving dating advice to the guy you were in love with wasn't exactly pleasant.
And unfortunately for him, that wasn't the only time. After their first date, Martin recounted every detail with unprecedented happiness, and James had to pretend he was genuinely happy for him. There were dozens of times they met up and Martin would tell James everything.
On one occasion, Martin mentioned that he felt her parents, the owners of the coffee shop, already suspected their daughter was seeing someone. He also said he thought they didn't like him, or at least didn't like the idea of her dating Martin specifically.
James thought, almost immediately:
"Dump her and be with me; my parents like you."
He couldn't stand those stories about that girl anymore, even though he appreciated the fact that Martin trusted him enough to share his problems and triumphs. He didn't want him talking about the girl, about his romance with her and his doubts about a relationship that hadn't even been made official. He wanted him to look at him differently, to kiss his mouth and touch his body; he wanted him to say he loved him.
Fortunately, that happened.
Martin knocked on his door one cold night, his eyes welling up with tears, saying the girl had rejected him; she had called it off, saying she saw no future in the relationship and preferred to distance herself from him.
He cursed himself, saying his intuition had told him not to pursue her and that he shouldn't have let himself get his hopes up. James hugged him, feeling a mix of sadness and triumph in his heart. Sad because the guy he liked was standing there, dejected over his pseudo-romance with that young woman. Triumphant because Martin had realized there was no point in persisting with that fling.
He offered him a glass of water and invited him to sit on the bed. After setting the glass on the nightstand, James cupped Martin's cheeks and looked into his eyes, which were glistening with tears.
— Martin... you're an amazing guy, and you'll definitely find someone who truly loves you. Maybe you've already found that person, only you haven't realized it yet...
The Canadian's pupils dilated; it was as if he were intoxicated or high. Yet, he was more sober than ever. Was he the person who truly loved him? Who else could it be? They had known each other for nearly a decade and cared deeply for one another. He looked at James's smiling lips—pink, full, and kissable. They were friends, right? A little kiss wouldn't hurt...
He slowly leaned in toward the Taiwanese man's lips and kissed them. It wasn't just a little kiss. It was a passionate, wet, sensual kiss, heavy with desire. Edwards was kissing Zhao with a voracity never seen before, gripping his waist possessively, as if afraid he might run away.
The kiss startled James, of course, but he reciprocated. He drew closer, making sure to close the tiny gap between them. He broke the kiss, sat on Martin's lap, looked him in the eye, and kissed him again—just as hungry as before. He would never deny Martin affection or comfort. Nor would he ever deny him a touch, or a night together. Martin needed love and affection—his love and affection, and no one else's.
That night—good heavens—was absolutely wonderful. Warm skin heating up even more from their contact, passionate kisses, subtle touches. James was certain he had reached paradise without ever leaving Earth.
In the early hours, still lying in bed, Martin stroked James's dark hair. He gazed at him as one looks at something rare and incredibly precious. James wasn't asleep, but he kept his eyes closed, smiling as he felt the young man's large hand in his hair. Martin leaned close to his ear, noticing the shiver that ran across the Taiwanese man's skin as he felt that breath so close.
— James, I love you…
His eyes struggled to open against the brightness filling the room. His head felt heavy as lead yet strangely empty—hollow—as if he didn't know where he was. Gradually, he came back to himself, recognizing his bedroom and recalling the memories of the night before.
He had decided to go to a bar alone right after work, having stayed late for overtime. His mind was too crowded, and all he wanted was a way to unwind. He wanted a few drinks and a chat with the bartender to help cool his temper. He also remembered how one drink turned into two, two into four, four into eight, and then into a whole bottle. He had gotten drunk. He recalled Martin—who happened to be at the same bar—driving him home and taking the utmost care of him: laying him on his side and tucking him in with a blanket.
It all seemed so bizarre, but the facts were confirmed when he saw a note on the side table; the yellowed corner of the paper was caught under the digital alarm clock, which read 8:00 AM.
"Jamie, I think you drank a bit too much yesterday and got wasted. You were nearly unconscious when I brought you home. Anyway, I looked after you a bit and slept over; since I knew you’d wake up with a headache after 7:00, I made breakfast. Hope you like it and feel better soon.
Martin ;)"
There had been no girlfriend dumping him, no needy Martin seeking comfort from James, and no night spent together. It had all been a dream.
At first, he felt frustrated, then guilty. Martin had gone out of his way to make sure he was okay after a night of heavy drinking, while he had lain there dreaming that his almost-girlfriend had left him.
When he went down to the dining room and saw the breakfast spread, he felt a shiver and smiled. He pictured Martin—broad-shouldered—working at the stove, showing off his culinary skills while he watched, smiling. He shook the thoughts from his head; he shouldn't be thinking things like that.
There was an angel and a devil on his shoulders, telling him it was okay to have dreamed about things like that—after all, it was only natural, given that he was in love. The other said he was a horrible person for imagining such things and wishing ill upon their relationship. But he didn't know which words belonged to the demon, let alone the angel.
As he took a bite of the pancake, savoring its sweetness, James wondered if Martin could actually fall in love with him. In another universe, perhaps.
He imagined himself as a girl. A very beautiful girl, with dark hair cascading down to her shoulders. Soft, wispy bangs would frame her forehead. Her lips would be full and glossy. She would wear natural-toned makeup, though sometimes she’d opt for a bold red lip or a more elaborate look. She would be 5'7 feet tall, with a beautifully curved body and a slender waist. Her style wouldn't be limited to just one look; sometimes she’d go for something soft, cute, and coquette, while at other times she’d wear streetwear or form-fitting clothes.
Her name would be Jane. If she were at a club, drinking alone and glancing sideways at Martin, would he come over to her? Would he look at her and find her attractive? Other guys might comment on her curvy figure, but not Martin; he would see beauty in her beyond just her physical appearance.
He would approach her, have a drink with her, and they would talk; he would stroke that beautiful hair. Would he kiss her? If so, Jane might have to stand on her tiptoes. She was tall, but Martin was much taller.
And would it stop at just that kiss, or would they take things further?
James imagined what it would be like if she came home from work tired; Martin would have arrived earlier and be making dinner. They would eat, and the food would be delicious. Jane would finish her shower and paint her nails in bed; Martin would pick the polish color, and they would chat about all sorts of trivial things. He would kiss her on the head and tell her he loved her more than anything, that he already pictured her walking down the aisle in a wedding dress, that he wanted to have her forever.
— I kissed her.
That was what Martin said when they went out to eat one day, a few weeks after that dream James had. Suddenly, his stomach churned; his hunger vanished, and he wanted to leave.
— That's cool. Was it a good kiss?
— Good? It was incredible! She hugged me after that and said she loved me. It was so good—seriously, I love that girl.
James’s food sat there, almost untouched. He was trying his hardest to make his fake smile look at least a little genuine. He wanted to be happy for him, but he also wanted to tell him to shut up. Still, it was sweet to see him so happy to finally be in love with someone—and to have that person love him back just the same.
Forget. That was all.
It was such a simple thing, wasn't it? It was like being trapped but holding the key to the door in your hand. It was so easy to just let go and accept that some things wouldn't turn out the way he wanted. James wasn't a child anymore; he ought to understand that.
Venturing out to new spots—nightclubs and coffee shops—he discovered two very handsome guys who were interested in him. Why not give it a shot? The answer was obvious: neither of them was Martin. They didn't have the same face, the same mannerisms, the same voice, the same scent, or the same warmth. He felt frustrated the moment he kissed one of them and realized that.
No one would ever be like Martin.
There was no point in blaming the girl or badmouthing her. He couldn't bring himself to do it, anyway; he’d seen her a few times and realized she was truly worthy of his love. Beautiful, well-dressed, sweet, and intelligent. An angel. Anyone would be drawn to her.
Whether Martin was with her or not, he couldn't feel attracted to James. It wasn't about his personality or his looks; Martin was straight. James was a man in love with him.
He wanted to be Martin's girl.