Free April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions by T.B. Solangel

was it then?”
    Sangwoo stares at me, but chooses not to answer. He continues, “I already expressed my thankfulness for last night.”
    “Feels like you’re taking it back,” I retort.
    “No. I think you are misunderstanding. I’m just saying your good heart could have gotten you in trouble.”
    “So, if I were to ever help anyone again, I have to make sure it’s you?”
    “Yes. Only me.”
    I feel an instant thrill from our double negative banter.
    Sangwoo quietly observes me. I expect another barrage of comments, but he surprises me instead. “I like how straightforward you are.”
    “Really?” A tinge of fascination ruminates inside of me from his compliment.
    Sangwoo leans against the kitchen counter. His expression is on guard despite his disclosure. “I spend most of my time with men who refuse to apologize and clarify. It is always their way or no way. It’s actually refreshing to meet people like you and your mother. No questions. No qualms. You just help without wanting anything in return.” Sangwoo’s voice, the familiar calm and collected tenor, intensifies the praise.
    “That’s how my mother and I are,” I mutter with a slight fixation of pride.
    “But then again, it makes you an easy victim. People pretend to be helpless and then hurt their rescuers all the time.” Sangwoo has a special craft as a realist.
    “Is that how it works in your world?” I can’t help myself with the ridicule.
    Sangwoo’s eyes land squarely into the pockets of my gaze. “Very much so. It’s a cut throat industry.”
    “You speak of it like you’re doing a business.” I am fascinated with his style of juxtaposition.
    “It is,” Sangwoo agrees with contention. “It is a business. It has a social and hierarchical structure just like any other institution. But, what separates one person from the other is climbing technique on the food chain.”
    I can feel myself drowning under the wealth of information. I am way out of my element here. So far, this is debunking all the misconceptions and stereotypes I have about the underground world. I feel a bit foolish for judging him so quickly. So gangsters wearing baggy jeans and listening to rap music are not members of his? What kind of underground world and hierarchical structure is he talking about?
    A loud car horn breaks through the bubble Sangwoo and I have apparently created. A large part of me is not prepared for our conversation to be over so soon, but the other part knows that this encounter has to end at some point.
    At the sound of the horn, Sangwoo pushes up his left shirtsleeve to reveal an expensive silver watch. Oh, I didn’t notice that last night. This man is adorned in jewelry. Expensive jewelry.
    Sangwoo’s eyebrows come together in concern when he observes the time. I am not sure if his ride is on time or late, but it is apparent that our conversation is over. 
    “My car’s here. I have to go,” Sangwoo announces. Without waiting for a response, Sangwoo walks to the living room where his black blazer is hanging from one of the coat hooks on the wall. I don’t remember doing that for him last night.
    “Ok . . . bye,” I say faintly, not sure how this farewell should go. I am certain there isn’t a correct protocol for saying goodbye to a high-up gangster.
    Choi Sangwoo tucks his blazer underneath his arm and then faces me. “Again, thank you for what you’ve done. I don’t get ever get to that point, but last night was the only exception. I know it wasn’t easy for you to take me back here and let me stay. But I’m really glad you did. I hope that despite what we just talked about . . . we can be friends?
    Sangwoo extends a hand to me. Friendly gangster May. He’s a friendly one. My intuition folds her arms across her chest; she is letting me make the call on this one.
    I am not sure if his definition of a friend is the same as mine. But, denying anyone’s good intentions, especially if there is no opportunity gained or lost from