How does one decide between their idol and their crush? I don’t think anyone knows. I certainly don’t. Furthermore, what if your idol and your crush...get together? What then? Do you cheer them on as an easy eternal third wheel? Or do you go down the path of an antagonist, separating the two lovebirds? Or, do you do nothing and search for a new love?

I’m not artistic or creative enough, that’s why I gave up piano in seventh grade. My teacher would always go “ez technique ez fantastique, but e az no eart...tch, tch, tch” she’d click her tongue melodramatically waving her hands.

 Now, you may be wondering why I suddenly brought that up.

It’s because for me, there was no question. I wasn’t interested in being the easy friend on the sidelines, the pitiful second male lead, and I didn’t even think of making myself a deliberate antagonist to act as a rival and become cannon fodder to progress the romance. I’m not romantic or creative, at least not in that way. To me it was like this, there was a problem and it had to be solved. So I did as any other would, I sent one of the lovebirds to Africa to find himself and I forced the other back home to his mother.

...Ha! Bet you weren’t expecting that, were you? Well, see here, if I’d have allowed the two to continue then it would have simply become the classic dog blooded plot of I love you but my family doesn’t agree, you love me but staying with me is at the expense of your dreams...yada, yada, yada. Ahem, not that I actually read such novels...okay that was back during the dark days of middle school, okay?! We don’t mention those days.

Anyway, I decided to solve the problem, simple and easy. Send my idol off to Africa where he can follow his dreams and take some amazing photography (that’s why he’s my idol ;) And send my childhood friend, who’s never experienced anything remotely difficult in life, off to deal with his exceptionally traditional and domineering mother. That way we can eliminate the giving up dreams and family trouble in one swell swoop. After the separation, which is necessary for any proper romance, bang! The happy ending arrives. And I’ll be there all along, not as the pitiful second male lead or cannon fodder antagonist, but as the mastermind behind it all...But I didn’t expect this unforeseen turn of events.

“...You like me?”

The response I receive is a chuckle. A low chuckle absolutely dripping in sex appeal like a thick layer of honey oozing out of the bottle. The chuckle reflects the person himself. Supposedly casual in a white T-shirt and jeans (both of which are branded and have prices with more zeros than I care to count), he still manages to stand out with his silver hair and picture perfect smile plastered on billboards and advertisements, to the point where even the elderly can recognize him. Someone so flashy, so well known, so (I hate to admit it) flawlessly beautiful, why would he like me?

“So Doctor, what do you think?” 

On hearing this, I lift my gaze up to that blinding face. I’ve been blessed to have what is known as a natural poker face so no matter the degree of internal conflict going on, it’s never revealed externally. This is an especially beneficial trait when eating my older sister’s cooking, but don’t tell her I said that or I’m on litter duty again. I have nothing against her cats however, I’m more often than not their unwilling litter box attendant. 

Blinking, I turn my focus back to the living fountain of sex appeal. “Apologies but this is the oncology department, neurosurgeons are on the second floor.” I kindly lift my hand and point towards the elevator. I’m greeted by a moment of silence, then immediately my ears are blessed with another waterfall of laughter. However, this time the laughter isn’t perfectly manufactured to make all those who hear it die happy, it’s natural. I sigh, turning away from the god of beauty. Tch, tch, tch, some people have it all don’t they? Even their real laughter sounds like heavenly music.

“You’re so funny!” Am I? Really? Who called me a block of wood in third grade? I don’t even bother to lift my gaze, turning instead to fiddle with some documents.

“If that’s everything, I suggest you leave and there’s no harm in stopping by neurosurgery on your way out. It’s on the second floor just to the right.” I kindly repeat my reminder. I continue shuffling my papers but I don’t hear a response. So I look up, the male god’s eyes are fixed on me. His hazel eyes are crinkled in amusement as his gaze remains fixed. I stare at him with my own, less charming, dead fish eyes. For a few moments, we’re at a stand still. 

Then, he bursts into laughter again. Is he high? What a scandal it’d be, especially since he’s spearheaded all those anti drugs campaigns. Hey, if I were to sell this information to the media how much would I make…?

“How come I didn’t know you were this funny before?”

Blinking, I look back up. “We aren’t even friends.”

“That’s right...we were never friends back then.” Hey, did you not notice the present tense? However, apparently the male god has selective hearing and he continues musing to himself.

“I guess it’s because you spent all that time around Adrian, you didn’t really talk to anyone else.”

At this, I blink. Oh? He noticed? Well then again, I guess I was rather pathetic back then, clinging to him like a dying man would to driftwood.

“You should have been like me, dashing and popular.” He flicks his hair back in an action that’s likely supposed to look cool. On anyone else it’d look like a ten year old with chunibyo but with his godly looks...tch, tch, tch, the gods wasted their blessings on the wrong person. I sigh in lament.

“What are you sighing for?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow. Ah, another grade school like action that actually looks suave with his astonishing visage. Bun soon enough that peerless visage freezes in a slightly awkward pose as I pluck a certain something from the chair between us. Ah, at last he doesn’t look like a male god.

The plucked object in question is a strand of distinctly silver hair. “Refrain from shedding in my humble office, please and thank you. I repeat, this is the oncology office, not a dermatologist's. We treat cancer, not hair loss.”

“You-” His expression remains distorted for a moment and just as I think I’ve poked the balloon one too many times, like a kid that can’t keep his hand out of the cookie jar, his entire face smoothes out and he bursts into waves of laughter. Oh? This one is rather violent. I hope he chokes. Then I have a valid reason to send him to the gastroenterologist. 

Slowly, the laughter abates but now his face is red as a ripe tomato. How can he still look good??? This is unscientific! At this rate we’ll need a neurologist and dermatologist to examine what freak of nature created this fountain of sex appeal!

“God”, ha, haha, “you’re hilarious!”

“The hospital is not a church so if you’re looking for religious services-”

“-I can show myself out the door. I know, I know.” He rudely interrupts. Then his face breaks out into a wide grin but his eyes carry a peculiar light that make me feel like a fish on the frying pan.

I pause. Ridiculous! How can I, the man who single handedly sent his crush to his mother, possibly be the fish!? If anything, I should be the stubborn goat chewing on your lab coat and refusing to yield no matter how hard you try to yank! (I should know. My boss tricked me into heading off to the countryside for a month. Something about community service and experiencing life. Instead it was goat service and experiencing flies. So I mobilized all my connections to allow myself to be transferred back in a month rather than the planned year). 

And right then, as if some higher power hears my thoughts, he steps into the room. With his slight paunch, wayward loping gait, cheek to cheek smile with his freckled face and tiny eyes, fluffy red locks and height of less than five feet, my assistant could not have been more welcome right now, especially since he’s a special hybrid between two of the most terrifying creatures known to mankind: an extrovert and...a sandwich nerd. 

However, presently this terrifying creature is a godsend. Noticing my eyes, which likely contain the look of a particularly rabid child spotting Santa Claus on Christmas - a contrast to my usual dead fish eyes, his smile stiffens on his face.

“...Doctor? Why are you…”

“Ross, I’d like you to meet my old classmate, he’s trying to decide on the best type of sandwich to buy. Do you mind walking him out and giving him some recommendations?”

Immediately my assistant’s eyes light up, as if I’ve flicked on the lightbulbs to an entire housing complex.

“Well come on then! I know just the place!” Within a second he has grabbed my unwelcome guest by the arm and dragged him out of the room in less time than it takes my cuckoo clock to finish signaling that it’s 1pm. I see them off with a benevolent smile, then turn back to my glorious cuckoo, now once again tightly shut within its abode. Speaking of time, it seems to be lunch doesn’t it? Well, I’ll let those two get their sandwiches while I have a refreshing and, for once, peaceful meal. Hmm...sushi sounds pretty good right about now…