Chapter 2

As the days passed by into October, Matthew immersed himself in his biochemistry coursework, the dense pages of notes sprawled across his desk like a treasure map. Alex, meanwhile, would sit on his bed, writing code late into the night for his programming assignments—earbuds in, the faint beat of K-pop leaking into the room—as his fingers flew over the laptop.

One evening, while taking a study break, they were sprawled on their beds—a half-empty bag of tortilla chips split between them—with the window cracked open to let in the crisp night air. Alex was scrolling through his phone, chuckling at something.

“What’s so funny?” Matthew asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

Alex turned the screen toward him. It was a video of a toddler waddling after a duck, arms outstretched, while a woman laughed in the background, her voice sharp and rapid-fire in Korean. “My little cousin back in Chicago,” Alex said. “Kid’s fearless. My aunt’s losing her mind trying to keep up.”

“Your family close?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah, we are.” Alex’s tone softened. “My parents can be intense, though. Very traditional. They’ve got this whole plan for me—a good job, nice Korean wife, couple of kids to carry on the family name. You know how it goes.”

Matthew nodded—but he didn’t know, not really. His own parents never talked much about their expectations beyond “make us proud.”

“That ever feel like a lot?” he asked.

Alex shrugged, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Sometimes, I guess. But it’s tradition—what Korean parents always want for their kids.” He paused, his voice almost dropping to a whisper, “Not sure it’s what I want.”

Matthew’s eyes widened at that. He started to ask what he meant, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he grabbed a handful of chips and crunched them, the sound awkward and too loud in the quiet.

“So,” Alex said, finally breaking the silence, “How’s life on the farm?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s quiet. You can hear the wind in the corn, the cows in the distance. Here, it’s all noise.”

Alex nodded. “Sounds peaceful. My mom’s always going on about how the city’s too loud, but she’d miss all the Korean grocery stores.”

Matthew chuckled. “We’ve got a couple of places to eat in Keosauqua—Riverbend Pizza, Misty’s Malt Shop—and a gas station, too, but that’s about it. Dad says it’s all we need. Mom’s the one who keeps us fed—best cook in the county.”

“How old are your sisters again?” Alex asked.

“Jessie just turned sixteen, Grace is fourteen. They’re a handful—always pestering me, begging me to drive them into town.” He paused a beat. “But—they’re good kids.”

Alex tilted his head slightly and said, “Bet they miss you.” He hesitated briefly before continuing: “What about a girl back home? You got a sweetheart waiting for you?”

Matthew froze, a chip in his hand, halfway to his mouth. For a moment, he saw his life as Alex might imagine it—flannel shirts, sunlit porches, a girl waving from the steps. It was a picture he’d painted for himself a hundred times growing up.

But there was no girl. Never had been.

Then the words came tumbling out before he could stop them. “Yeah, her name’s Sarah. We went to high school together. She still lives in Keosauqua, works at the Circle B.”

He forced a grin, but it felt like a grimace, tight and wrong.

Alex’s expression remained impassive. “That’s cool. You two serious?”

“I guess so . . . maybe,” Matthew said weakly, layering one lie on top of another, feeling his chest tighten.

Alex nodded, turning back to his laptop. “Well, it’s good you have someone waiting back home for you.”

The conversation drifted after that, back to safe ground—midterms, the cafeteria’s questionable meatloaf—but Matthew couldn’t shake the sour taste of his own words.

*

Later that evening, he grabbed his shower caddy and headed down the hall. Alex stayed behind on the bed, staring at the wallpaper on his laptop. It was a photo of his family at a Lunar New Year gathering—his mom and dad in their home in Schaumburg, along with his brother, sister-in-law, and their son and daughter— all smiles and red envelopes.

Sarah.

Of course Matthew had a girl back home. A whole life, a world that had nothing to do with him. Why wouldn’t he?

He stood abruptly, crossed to the window and pushed it open wider. The air rushed in, cool and biting, stinging his skin, but it didn’t clear the fog in his mind. He rested his forehead against the glass, watching the scene below—students laughing, heading out in packs, seeming free in a way he didn’t.

A tear slipped down his cheek, hot and unbidden, and he swiped at it angrily. Heaving a sigh, he pulled the window shut.

Returning to his bed, he picked up the laptop, and settled back against the pillows. He tried to refocus on the latest programming assignment, but it was no use.

His mind was a thousand miles away.

*

The next day, Matthew sat at his desk, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the window. Alex was in class, so it was just him and his laptop. He decided to fire up GarageBand.

The screen glowed with empty tracks, a blank canvas he usually filled with pop-country riffs—twangy chords and melodies with lyrics about dirt roads and wide-open skies. But today, his fingers hovered listlessly over the virtual piano keyboard on the screen. He half-heartedly tried out a few notes, then stopped.

Though he tried not to dwell on it, Matthew had started to notice things he hadn’t before: how Alex’s laugh lit up his whole face, the way his fingers flew over his laptop like a pianist, the look in his eyes when he caught his gaze for a beat too long. Growing up on the farm, he’d learned to put things like this out of his mind, like sinking rocks into the soft earth after a rain.

Then he thought about their conversation last night and that stupid lie he’d told about a girlfriend back in Keosauqua. He could still hear his own voice, tight and forced: Her name’s Sarah. We went to high school together.

The memory of it made him cringe. He felt guilty now for spinning that ridiculous tale. Did Alex even buy it? He leaned back in his chair, raked a hand through his hair, and stared at the ceiling.

Something about him asking if he had a girlfriend had pushed Matthew into a corner, scrambling for a defense. He’d spent eighteen years on the farm, two more at junior college, and never once let anyone close enough to see the cracks.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way—not about a guy, and certainly not about his vaguely handsome Korean roommate. He wasn’t K-pop idol good-looking, sure, but he was real—far too real to ignore. He seemed so different from anything Matthew had known.

His world was the farm—pickup trucks and flannel, starry nights and familiar faces. Alex was Chicago city streets and Korean roots, a mix of worlds Matthew had only glimpsed in passing.

And yet, here he was, daydreaming on a lazy afternoon, wondering what it was about Alex that he couldn’t put out of his mind.

Was this what a crush felt like?

Surely not.

His hands drifted back to the laptop keyboard, dialing up a synth patch—bright, pulsating, a far cry from his usual acoustic stuff. A restless melody bubbled up as he noodled around. Perhaps all of Alex’s K-pop and techno music was seeping into his subconscious.

Then, unbidden, words came to him all at once:

You don’t know what you do to me.

When I look into your eyes, my secrets can’t be concealed.

When you—you’re standing so close to me,

Oh, it feels like we’re moving in zero gravity.”

He froze, the synth looping through the headphones. It was a bolt from the blue—words spilling out almost faster than he could catch them. He grabbed a pencil and began scribbling lyrics in the margins of his biochem notebook.

By the time the afternoon had passed, he had the bones of it—verse, chorus, a bridge. The structure was pulsing and alive, a musical confession. It felt right somehow, like a key fitting a lock in his mind.

Matthew sat in bewildered silence. Where in the world had this come from?

The doorknob rattled suddenly, breaking the stillness.

His breath caught, and he slammed the laptop shut just as Alex stepped in, backpack slung over one shoulder, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow from the trek across campus.

“Hey,” Alex said, plopping down on his bed. “What’re you up to?”

Matthew forced a shrug, trying to appear casual as he leaned back in his chair. “Nothing much. Just messing around. How was class?”

“Ugh. Brutal,” Alex groaned, tossing his backpack aside and kicking off his hiking boots. “Math’s gonna kill me.”

He paused a beat, looking intently at Matthew, before he continued: “You okay? You look . . . I dunno, weird.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Matthew said, a little too brightly. He couldn’t meet his eyes—those bright, curious eyes that seemed to see too much. “Gotta run downstairs, throw some stuff in the washer.”

He jumped up from his desk chair, grabbed his laundry basket, and bolted from the room.

*

Alex sat blinking at the doorway.

“Well, that was strange,” he thought to himself.

He looked back at the laptop on Matthew’s desk. What had Matthew been doing? He’d seen him jumpy before, but this felt different—personal.

A faint smile creased his lips.

Nah, couldn’t be—could it?

They were both twenty-year-olds, and hormones didn’t care about dorm walls. The thought of Matthew hunched over some NSFW tab sent a jolt through Alex. Heat rose to his face, and he shook his head.

“None of your business,” he muttered to himself, reaching down to peel off his socks.

Curiosity finally got the best of him, though. He tossed his socks aside, slid off the bed, and tiptoed to the desk. Gently opening the laptop, he half-expected to see a paused video.

Instead, something called GarageBand filled the display—layered tracks of sound waves. A text box was open in the foreground.

His eyes caught a couple of lines:

When you—you’re standing so close to me

Oh, it feels like we’re moving in zero gravity.

Had Matthew written that? Who was it about?

His girlfriend from Keosauqua maybe?

Somehow, that didn’t quite fit. The words conveyed a depth of feeling that Matthew hadn’t shown when he mentioned “Sarah” last night.

Before he could read any more, he was startled by the sound of a key jiggling in the door lock. He slammed the laptop shut and dove back onto his bed just as Matthew stepped in, laundry basket under one arm.

“Washer’s running,” he said, setting the basket down, his voice steadier now.

“Mm-hmm,” Alex muttered—lying prone, propped on his elbows, scrolling casually on his phone like nothing had happened.