Imperfect Triangle

Chapter 6

Given my history of dating, which is none, 'reckless' is the only suitable word to describe me visiting a man alone. Here I am, trembling at the doorstep of where Toshio lives with a tote bag on my shoulder. I also carry a flimsy plastic bag that holds two foam food containers of fried noodles and plain congee. These are my go-to comfort food whenever I'm feeling sluggish.

From the outside, the house is not as gigantic as I have imagined. I've seen an impractically huge house on TV, one with a pool, a lawn, a garage and everything that probably unessential. Pathetically, there are still millions of people from this so-called international city living in cage-like compartments, including children. Anyhow, it's not the time to get sentimental. I briskly comb my bangs with the fingers and gather enough strength to ring the bell on the intercom.

The door flung open in a minute and I burst into laughter. Toshio looks terrible. His brown shaggy hair clumps together from sweats; his eyes are swollen and red while the rest of his face is hidden behind a medical face mask, and the sweatpants he's wearing are unflatteringly baggy. Topless? I wish. It's a black thick hoodie with a graffiti skull printed on it.

"Quit it! Be kind to a sick person," he scoffs and sniffs his nose under the mask.

He takes the bags away from me while gingerly avoids touching my hand. I appreciate how he keeps an appropriate distance from me. It's only been a phone call after we last saw each other and now we're going to be alone in a house. The last thing I want to do is leading him to misunderstand that I'm throwing myself to him. Nevertheless, my real intention must be kept as a secret. There never would be a good timing to reveal my relationship with Jin.

My eyes dart around the house as I enter, searching for a door, a stair and windows. I have no clue what does a garage look like. Is it in the basement? Or is it built next to the lawn? How can I get there without asking?

"My house is ridiculous," Toshio speaks, his voice so hoarse that I almost miss what he's said. 

Only when I move my gaze to the furniture, I get what he meant. Everything is odd. I don't even know where to start. Should I call that a living room if there isn't a sofa, a coffee table or a TV? But there's a bed. In fact, there's nothing but a bed in this enormous space. White blankets and bedsheets are disheveled on the bed. Magazines, books and financial documents are lying on the wooden floor, as if someone just throw them together and doesn't give a shit.

In the other end of the room, near the open kitchen, sits a wooden table, which is again white and covered by a pile of envelopes and bills. The bed and the table look very familiar; maybe I've seen them in IKEA before. If IKEA ever decorates a ward for the hospital perfunctorily, it would look like this, the opposite of coziness. I try to relax my shoulder but the weird setting of this room isn't helping.

"Your place is...bright." I look for a sincere way to compliment his crib. It's not easy. Probably because everything is silvery white, my eyes hurt, "Nordic! It looks nordic, and minimalist." Relieved, I've finally found the right words.

Knitting his dense, full brows, he says, "I should have at least tidied it, just a little maybe."

"It's not that bad, but why do you put your bed here? Where's your bedroom?"

"I've torn down the walls, whichever are structurally unnecessary," he explains, but not about why he prefers that way. Pillars are built to support the ceiling instead. Luckily, the city is blessed with agreeable climate; this house would not have stood a chance in extreme hazards.

To serve the food, Toshio opens the kitchen drawers and takes out the bowls, but I yank them out of his hand.

"Let me."