Eunseok chose the place, so naturally it was sleaziness embodied: the twinkling plastic chandeliers, champagne flutes with residual specks of glitter, bargain-bucket prices for the newbies. Rookie hosts got a bad rap for being awkward and belligerent, unable to sell themselves, but made up for it in occasional bursts of enthusiasm and ingenue-like fits of laughter. They didn’t make themselves puke after each customer and so got, as expected, exceedingly drunk within a matter of clients. The vinyl surface of the booths was peeling and the glasses had soapy residue from where they’d been haphazardly scrubbed.

At least Eunseok didn’t take him to a maid café. Sungchan felt Eunseok, who was really just as skinny as the hosts surrounding them and probably blessed with a better face, pinch his arm.

“You need to relax,” Eunseok said, not looking particularly relaxed himself. “So what? Wonbin knows what stag parties are all about. He’s not dumb.”

Sungchan swallowed. “I mean, sure. You don’t actually hook up with hosts.”

“And nobody can take pictures of you, so don’t think you’re going to wake up on the front cover of Dispatch.”

“Yeah, mm-hm.”

“Nobody cares about you in Japan if you don’t make the Oricon.”

“I did —”

“Yeah, but you’re not Tohoshinki, are you?”

Sungchan pinched him back. “You should apply for a job here,” he said. A girl with thin arms seated them and presented them with a drinks menu. Eunseok whispered something to her. “No, Eunseokkie, I’m serious. You’d be a perfect fit. You can get your fill of Japanese bisexuals.”

“I don’t like bisexuals. I told you that,” Eunseok said, slumping down next to him, “I’m half straight, half gay. You should know that. Anyway, seriously, stop thinking about Wonbin. You think he’s not getting his kicks in with Shotaro right now? He’s having a great time getting his throat tickled and you’re scared to look at some hosts. Jesus.”

“Shut up,” Sungchan laughed.

“I got you the crossdresser,” Eunseok said.

A stormy-looking guy, black-haired and faintly resembling Wonbin in a way that set off a chain reaction of defensiveness and attachment in Sungchan’s gut, sat down across from them and set his face in his hands. His makeup was non-existent. His pantyhose were torn from where he bumped into a table corner.

“Firstly,” he said, soft-spoken, “if you had told me you were coming with…Um…” He glanced at Sungchan. “...You would be in VIP. So think on that.”

“VIP’s no fun,” Eunseok said, waving him off. “Let’s get champagne.”

“What’s your name?” Sungchan asked.

“Anton,” he said, lilting and American, “but — look, Eunseok-hyung thinks he’s funny and he’s not. This is embarrassing for me.” He hid his face. “I used to have a huge crush on you in high school…”

“And now you’re…?”

“I don’t walk around Shibuya looking like this,” he tried.

Over champagne, which Eunseok was gracious enough to make Sungchan buy, Anton’s face grew more and more red. When he brushed his hair out of his eyes, he didn’t look like Wonbin at all. He was more impish, cheeky. His mouth pouted like Wonbin’s but the rest of the differences were superfluous. He slid his stockinged foot over Sungchan’s knee but it was clumsy, inconsidered. For a second it was innocent, Sungchan supposed, but then Anton — who professed to be business-first — was scrambling for his shoes and his lighter to take a breather outside. In company, of course.

His skirt was flimsy, but Sungchan kind of liked how rough around the edges he was. Indelicate, easy, cute. He pinched Anton’s cheek and was brushed off half-heartedly. Anton lit his cigarette like a good host and Eunseok smoked. Anton found himself adjusted between the two of them, Eunseok blowing smoke away from his face.

“I’ll probably go back to America,” Anton said. “I was tired of it, so I moved. But now I think I’m tired of this too.”

Sungchan stroked his hair. “Come to Korea.”

“Aren’t you getting married?” Anton asked simply.

Eunseok laughed so hard he had to remove the cigarette between his lips.

“I’m not going to be the other woman,” he said.

“No, you’re the other other woman. I’m the other woman,” Eunseok said. “Get in line, squirt.”

Sungchan kissed Anton’s forehead. “No, I’ll take care of you,” he said. “I’ll put you in an apartment wherever you like — very cute, chic, a nice area — and you can come and go whenever you please, get dinner with me now and again, live well…Wonbin wouldn’t know.”

Eunseok kissed Anton’s cheek. “He’s drunk,” he laughed. “His fiancé would find you out anyway. Nose of a bloodhound. But you can be my —”