Sitting across from the man who clearly had the wrong impression, it all seemed to make sense now.

K was tense as he ate the pasta the man who clearly had the wrong impression had clearly slaved over; he avoided eye contact. When K had agreed to “come over for dinner” he was expecting something masculine like pizza and beer. Perhaps they would also talk about women or something. (Perhaps K should have gotten to know him better first.) Instead, here he sat, across from the man who clearly had the wrong impression, so wrong in fact that he greeted K at the door in a mesh tank top and not much else, eating hand-crafted pasta and drinking expensive wine complements of the man who clearly had the wrong impression who implored that K not “bring anything.”

Although K was mildly concerned that the man who clearly had the wrong impression would expect something in return for all of his effort (you know how men are), he was troubled more by the fact that the man who clearly had the wrong impression got the wrong impression.

Sometimes guys are just being nice K scoffed to himself, eyes unwaveringly downcast.