I'm headed south for the weekend.

It’s a three-and-a-half hour bus ride out of the city. I make it just in time to catch my seat in the very back, where someone’s watching YouTube with their volume all the way up. It’s eight in the morning. Please shut the fuck up.

My fifteen minute intermission is a smoke break on the curb. Stretch my legs, take a piss, check my phone: Three missed calls from back home. My thumb pauses before hitting send on a text. It can wait. I’ll call you instead.

When I finally step off I’m rewarded with your warm embrace. Let’s get drunk off the late spring air. Let’s inhale wet grass, the purring of slow cars and the songs of young insects. We’ll ride rented bikes along the river quay until our legs give out. We can get eaten alive by mosquitos and still have enough of each other to share. 

Another film joins the list of things half-finished, I’d rather watch you. Go play your favorite song, so the neighbors can’t hear us.

May I have this dance? Your hand in mine, we waltz around the burdens of work, around wounded pride, around old fights. We’re out of practice and it takes a moment to get back into rhythm, but my steps drag, my thoughts are clumsy, and I trip over my eagerness. 

You asked me, What do I look like when I get mad? I’ll tell you right now, you look like you’re going to kill me.

Now a peace offering: cigarettes and a beer outside the convenience store. I’m listening to the drone of fluorescent lights, waiting out the silence.

In the end you’re just a man, you finally say. When people keep making the same mistakes, I let go of my expectations. I won’t be mad, I’ll be disappointed. 

To be honest, I’d rather you be mad. 

Back in our room you draw us a bath. You’re submerged, only your eyes above the surface. I sit on the edge because the heat is sweltering. My fingers are pruned beyond saving, sweat drips down my eyes and drops into the water below. Look at us, the reboot of Naked and Afraid.

First it’s the apologies, then the forgiveness. Then comes the catching up, the what-did-you-dos and the I-thought-of-yous. 

Oh, me? Work as usual. Only died of exhaustion twice this week. Did some writing on the side, I’ll read it to you later. How about you? By the way, I masturbated to you yesterday. 

Tell me about your dream. I want to know what makes you tick.

You want to be a curator? I think you’d be really good at it. You have a better taste for other people’s work than I do. I don’t like anyone’s art, especially mine. I don’t think you should give up fashion, though. Don’t stop making art, either. There’s nothing more I hate than seeing an artist die.

There’s something else I want to ask, too.

What do you like about me?

It gets quiet. Immediately I regret asking. I couldn’t help it, I needed to know. The timing wasn’t right, but then again, is it ever? Before I can take back my question, you answer.

I sink into the water next to you. There's nowhere else I'd rather be.

The next morning you wake me early. You’re in a lot of pain. 

Oh shit.

I’m awake now, scrambling to pack our bags, getting ready, calling a taxi. The receptionist is too curt for my liking, and the guard chastises us for getting in one last cigarette outside. It’s an awkward wait at the ER while all the seated elders silently size us up with sideways glances. Whatever, I don’t care. Fuck them.

Anything to ease your pain. An iced latte and small breakfast to go. A gentle hug in the bay. A mean joke to make you laugh. I ask if I can take you outside for another cigarette, they say no. When the nurse botches your IV drip, his gaze meets mine before flickering away. I consider cussing him out.

After hours of tests and X-rays and CT scans, the doctor says it’s nothing too serious. I almost don’t believe him, do you see how much pain she’s in right now? But a few hours and several strong analgesics later, you’re back on your feet. I’m ready to call it a day and get you some rest, but you insist we don’t drop our plans.

Let’s go to Busan. I’m okay, I really want to go with you. 

Seriously?

Yeah. Wanna call a cab?

Let’s go to the beach. Write our names in the sand. Take a photo to make it last forever.