That Summer, I Fell in with Him

Shirahige Shrine

After watching the first episode of The Boyfriend, I keep noticing how easily I fall into thinking like Shun. I assume I won’t receive a letter. I assume I won’t be chosen. I don’t fit the typical gay body standard. Even though people tell me I’m cute or handsome all the time, that praise has never translated into someone seriously wanting me.

Meeting guys, having sex, that has never been the issue. But no one has ever asked me on a date. I don’t know what it is about me that makes people look past me when it comes to romance. From middle school to now, dating has felt lackluster, almost nonexistent, always just out of reach. Also, more like Shun, thinking negatively has become a kind of survival tactic. I learned early how to manage disappointment by expecting it.

I’ve done a lot of work on myself. I’ve softened. I’ve moved from being mean and guarded to open and kind-hearted. Still, it hasn’t changed much. Maybe I’m still “a flower in the bud stage,” not ready yet, waiting for the right sunlight and water, the proper nourishment, to bloom for the right person. Oh, how beautiful it would be to end this life with someone I love, to face him fully until my last breath is spent telling him I love him, again and again, until I no longer can.

That summer, I didn’t know I’d fall in love with you. But when I first saw your face, I wanted to cry. You were so beautiful to me. I wanted to kiss you before even saying “Hello,” before “nice to meet you,” before “I’m J’Sun.” I didn’t have butterflies; my body just knew. Standing at the gate for Kotobuki, watching you walk toward me, something in me opened.

I’ve always wondered what you were thinking when you first saw me. Maybe it was the same thing. Maybe it was like the men on this show, open to every possibility, ready to find someone they could last with. I want to last with you. I want to stay with you forever. I hope I’m brave enough to tell you that I want us to be us.

As I write this, I ache. Not in my heart (it knows what it wants) but around my sternum, my lungs, as if they’re filling with the tears gathering behind my eyes. I wish there were a word for this feeling, a beautiful word that doesn’t exist yet, one I could invent just for us, and only ever use with you.

I wish you were here now. I want to kiss you. I miss kissing you. I’m typing this with my eyes closed, my head on a pillow, lying on the bed. The next episode of The Boyfriend is paused. I don’t know how much longer I can take not knowing what we are, or what we could be. Why does it feel like the reach toward you is so far, so unattainable? Where are you? Why can’t you be here—now!?

Please kiss me. I want to be the boyfriend, the partner you can’t get over. We could be flowers together, holding each other’s roots so tightly that not even God’s will could pull us apart. That summer, I didn’t know I’d fall in love with you. But I did.