fakediary

We eventually made our way back to the hotel, but not before stopping at a drugstore for a few essentials.

David wanted his favorite Monster energy drink, and I had spotted something I hadn’t had in ages.

Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.

Naturally, I grabbed a bag.

Back in our room, David set up his laptop on the bed while I made myself comfortable beside him. We had decided to watch a movie, although choosing one took considerably longer than it should have.

Once we finally settled on something, I tore open my bag of Cheetos and popped one into my mouth.

“Mmm!”

I closed my eyes, savoring the familiar heat and crunch.

“Oh, I’ve missed this so much!”

David looked over at me, amused.

“It’s been forever since I’ve had these. You know, the Japanese really don’t make their spicy snacks spicy enough.”

I reached for another handful.

“And I’m Korean. I need my heat.”

He chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just like the face you make.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you eat something you really like.”

I stared at him.

“What face is that?”

He laughed.

“That one.”

“That’s not helpful.”

He only smiled and turned his attention back to the laptop.

I tried to imagine what expression he was talking about. I had never been particularly conscious of making faces while eating, although apparently I had a whole repertoire of them.

It was a funny thought.

David had only just met me in person, and already he was noticing things about me that I didn’t even know myself.

I knew what my face looked like in a mirror, of course. I knew the expressions I deliberately made for photographs and the ones I occasionally caught in passing reflections.

But I had no idea what I looked like when I was genuinely enjoying something.

He did.

I wondered what other little things he would notice over the next few days.

The movie continued playing.

David leaned against the headboard, and I settled beside him with my bag of Cheetos. Every so often, he would reach for my hand or lean over to kiss my cheek.

At first, I tried to follow the plot.

Then he kissed my forehead.

A few minutes later, my cheek again.

Then the back of my hand.

I glanced at him.

“Are you even watching?”

“Of course.”

“What’s happening?”

He looked at the screen.

There was a brief pause.

I burst out laughing.

“That’s what I thought.”

He grinned and pulled me closer.

To be fair, I wasn’t doing much better. By that point, I had only a vague understanding of who the characters were, let alone what they were trying to accomplish.

But I didn’t particularly care.

We had tried watching movies together before, back when we were still separated by thousands of miles.

Once, we had agreed to start the same movie at exactly the same time, counting down over a call so that we could pretend we were watching it together.

It had been a surprisingly complicated operation.

One of us would pause to get something to drink, the other would forget to pause, and then we’d spend several minutes trying to synchronize the playback again.

Still, we had enjoyed it.

Or rather, we had enjoyed the idea of it.

Now, sitting beside David with my legs tucked under the duvet and a bag of Cheetos balanced between us, I realized how much nicer the real thing was.

We didn’t have to coordinate anything.

We could laugh at the same scene without wondering whether the other person had reached it yet. I could lean against him when I felt like it, and he could interrupt the movie with as many kisses as he pleased.

Which, apparently, was quite a few.

At some point, David took my hand again.

I assumed he was going to kiss it, as he had been doing all evening.

Instead, he noticed the bright red seasoning coating my fingertips.

He looked at my hand, then at me.

Before I could reach for a tissue, he brought my fingers to his lips and playfully cleaned away some of the seasoning.

I stared at him.

“David!”

He laughed at my expression.

“You’re ridiculous,” I told him.

He seemed entirely unoffended.

Then he leaned over and kissed me.

When he pulled back, he briefly licked his lips.

“Spicy.”

I laughed.

“See? I told you.”

But he wasn’t looking at the Cheetos anymore.

Something in his expression had changed.

The playful amusement was still there, but his attention had settled entirely on me.

He leaned in again.

“Wait, wait—”

I barely managed to put the bag aside before he drew me closer, one arm slipping around my waist.

I laughed against his shoulder.

“You’re going to spill everything.”

He glanced at the bag, safely out of reach, then back at me.

“Problem solved.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smiled.

Then he kissed me again, and whatever argument I had been preparing promptly disappeared from my mind.

Somewhere behind us, the movie continued playing.

I had no idea what was happening on the screen.

Judging by David’s complete lack of interest in it, neither did he.

But who cared what the movie was about?

Here we were, two people who had spent months imagining what it would be like to be together, now tangled up in each other’s arms in a hotel room overlooking New York City. There was laughter, stolen kisses, a half-eaten bag of Cheetos, and a movie neither of us would remember.

We had our own little story unfolding, one we couldn’t have scripted even if we’d tried.

And for once, I wasn’t watching it happen from the sidelines.

I was living it.

This moment was the movie.