In the dream, it was blindingly bright. A totally white room. Jisung would stand in front of me, the only colour in the place seeming to shine off his skin. I would stare into his eyes — black like the deepest, unexplored space — and reach out to him with one hand.

But I'd never touch him. He was so close, but my vision would betray me, and every night I would realize he was much farther from me than I thought. My hand would pass right through him like he was a hologram, and he would continue to stare through me like I was, too. I would always leave the dream in a panic, always fall back into the real world panting and disoriented.

The month that followed the accident was... well, it sucked.

Jisung didn't talk to me — I guess that wasn't surprising. I'd tried to reach out a week or so after the van incident, to negotiate a truce. He did save my life, after all... Maybe if I got over my ego and acted like I wasn't still on a mission, he would get comfortable around me and give me an explanation. (And I did realize this was a vague plan with a vague goal. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to think about him.)

So I'd said hi, a friendly smile on my face, as we waited for Biology to start. He'd smiled back neutrally, and then buried his nose into a book.

He still wasn't talking to me. Fine. I copied his demeanour and gave him the cold shoulder — even though we sat less than a few feet apart in class every single day.

Tyler Crowley refused to leave me alone. He followed me around like a baby duck who thought I was his duck mother. I felt like leading him out into traffic and telling him to lie down.

I was caught in a Love Hexagon between Jessica, Mike, Eric, Lauren and Angela. I wasn't sure who was pining after whom, or who was strongly disinterested in whom, but I was sure I didn't want to be a part of it. So I'd decided to talk less — not that I had ever talked much before.

"Are you asking anyone to the dance?" Jessica asked on the way to Spanish.

I was trying to get my eyes to uncross when she asked this — I wasn't operating on the highest level of brain performance — and I answered without thinking.

"God, no."

She gave me a funny look. "No girls catching your eye?"

"No girls."

She harrumphed. "You can still come with us. It'll be fun."

"Um." I didn't want to go. I'd have to get all dressed up and miss a night of excessive brooding to be stuffed into a room with a bunch of sweaty, swaying teens. I said the first thing that came to mind again, but this time it worked out well enough.

"Actually, I'm going to be in Seattle that night. Sorry. It sounds fun, though." At this point, lying was like my natural habitat.

"Aw, man," she said briefly. By the way her eyes were flitting to me, I could tell she wanted me to ask her whom she was going with.

"So, who are you going with?"

She talked at length about Mike and how they'd been circling each other for years and how she thought he was going to ask her. I huffed and hummed at the right places.

When the dreams had continued for the entire the month — ripping my precious sleep from my cold, dead hands — I was practically a zombie. I was in Biology, and Jisung was there, ignoring me, as always. I ignored him, too, with a passion. I was unable to pay attention to Mr. Banner, so I let myself zone out as I stared at my notebook.

The patterns on the cover started to move. The usual polkadots shifted spaces, trading with each other, dancing, and then they were stretching out, forming a large, almond-shaped eye. I had thought my notebook was green, but no, it was straight black now, white inside, and in the very middle — the iris and pupil — was the most beautiful and familiar gold...

"Minho?" someone whispered. I almost fell out of my chair.

It took me a second to find my bearings. Class was over — I hadn't noticed. My face must have been doing something strange. I'd been falling toward the table. I picked myself up and finally looked at him.

Still devastatingly beautiful — eyes a deep butterscotch, skin a perfect brown — and staring at me with a worried expression.

I pressed my hands together in mock awe and held them to my lips. 

"Oh, my god," I said, "are you speaking to me again?"

He sighed like he was already drained of energy.

I straightened out my jacket. "Really, are you talking to me again?"

His eyes were more serious than I was. "No, not really."

My shoulders slumped, but I hauled them back up. "Then what do you want?"

"You looked like you were having a crisis, so I was gonna ask if you were okay." He shut his eyes for a second. "But I also wanted to apologize."

I propped my chin up on my hands. "Okay. Get to it."

He almost smiled. "I'm sorry, Minho. I know I'm being a jerk, but it's... it's better this way."

My forehead creased. "What kind of an apology was that?"

"We can't be friends. It's a weird thing to say, I know, but it's for the best."

He stood up and packed the rest of his books into his bag.

I scoffed, lifting my backpack from the floor and stuffing my books into it. My Demon Notebook slid over the other side of the table, and I grabbed for it, but Jisung was already standing next to me with my book in hand.

I snatched my book, crammed it into my backpack and stalked away. 

"We're not friends," he reminded me.

I stopped, turned around, walked right up to him, and met his eyes...

I took his bag from his hands and put it on the floor. Damnit. I didn't know what else to do.

I stomped away, and didn't look back.

~ * ~

Gym was brutal. We'd moved on from volleyball to basket ball, and it was equally stupid and frustrating. After too many mistakes to count, I stopped trying. I stood to the side of the court with my arms at my sides. I think my teammates could tell I wasn't a sports type, so they didn't pass the ball anyway. Coach Clapp didn't catch on that quickly.

"No slacking off! Someone pass the ball to Lee!" he called.

"What?" I looked at him when I heard my name.

Someone threw the ball right into my throat. I felt my Adam's apple ping-pong into my lungs.

I was overjoyed, as always, when it ended. I ran to my truck and hurled myself inside the dry, cozy cab, breathing a long sigh of relief.

And then I was off, driving home with much more to think about than I had this morning. Why were we not friends? And if we weren't friends, why did he have to tell me that instead of just ignoring me? There seemed to be a snag in his plan, an ulterior motive...

I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a bit of a process, so I would be too busy to theorize. As I dumped the chillies and onions onto the pan to simmer, the phone rang.

It was Jessica, and she was elated. Mike had caught her after school and asked her to go to the dance. I congratulated her, let her scream about Mike's eyes for a few minutes, and then made up a fake kitchen fire to get her off the phone.

Charlie came home, and I'd already set everything up for dinner. In all honesty, I was amazing at being a cook and I was tremendously proud of myself. Charlie seemed to like the enchiladas, and we ate in silence.

"Dad?" I said after a while.

"Yeah, Minho?"

"Just a heads-up — I'm gonna drive to Seattle for the day. A week from Saturday, I think." I felt like I was jinxing myself with overconfidence, so I tacked on, "If that's okay?"

Charlie pursed his lips. "Why?" He said it like he was unable to imagine that Forks couldn't meet my every wish.

"Uh, book store, thrift shop, sightseeing. Just a fun day."

"Are you going all by yourself?"

"Yup."

"Seattle is a big city — you could get lost."

"Maps exist, Dad."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, that's okay," I said — too quickly. "I'll probably be staring at book shelves all day."

That put him off. "Ah, okay. Whatever you want, son."

"Thanks," I said, smiling.

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

"No, I'm not going."

He looked confused, but he didn't ask further.

~ * ~

The next morning, when I pulled into the school parking lot, the first thing I looked for was the silver Volvo. Of course. They weren't there. I was sort of relieved and sort of disappointed.

I wasn't quite sure where I stood with him, but I knew I wasn't done — we weren't done. I wanted to know more about him. We weren't friends, though, so I guessed I'd have to wait... or be sneaky about it. I didn't expect him to be speaking to me any time soon.

I got out of the truck, into the rain, and slammed the door shut. My hands were cold and wet and my car keys slipped out of my grasp.

Jisung Han was in front of me — holding my keys out to me between his index finger and thumb — before a second had gone by.

My eyebrows shot down. "The hell?"

He popped an umbrella above me. "Good morning, Minho," he said in his usual voice — low, soft around the edges.

"How did you do that?" I asked as he dropped the keys into my palm.

His smile was small and beautiful. "Do what?" he said, and I could tell I wouldn't get anything out of him.

Instead of questioning further, I dropped my keys purposely, and he was handing them to me again in a heartbeat. The umbrella didn't waver.

Now I was smiling. I looked into his eyes, one of my eyebrows pulling up, and then spun around and threw my keys as far as I could.

I turned, and he was back, shoving my keys in my face. He was obviously annoyed, but his lips were twitching up. 

"Stop it," he said.

"You're really bad at this," I replied, taking my keys and pocketing them finally.

He tilted his head, offended. "Bad at what?"

"Well, keeping your superhero alter ego a secret. And not being my friend. If you didn't want to be involved with me, why aren't you ignoring me right now?"

His eyes were narrowed. "Do you want me to ignore you?"

I didn't want to answer that. "So what's up?" I hedged.

He grinned and didn't try to hide it. He leaned against my truck's tailgate, staring into the distance. There was something exaggerated about the movement — I think he was messing with me. I waited.

"I wanted to ask you something," he said. "If that's okay?"

I was freezing, soaked from the rain, exhausted, but it was obviously okay.

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine."

"One week from Saturday — the day of the spring dance — I wanted to know if you—"

For a second, I thought he was asking me to the dance, and I gasped loud enough that he heard.

"What?" he asked, alarmed.

"Sorry, I thought I saw a bug on you." Best I could come up with. "Carry on."

He could see right through me, and it looked like he was enjoying it. He continued slowly. 

"I heard you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."

I blacked out.

He bit his lip, suspicious. "Did you think I was asking you to the dance just now?"

"Un-goddamn-likely," I scoffed quickly.

"So do you want a ride or what?" he huffed.

I made the mistake of looking into his eyes for more than three seconds. I got lost. It was like lava, except gold, and better, if that made sense. When I stared into his iris for long enough, everything but his face blurred and faded and became unimportant... I might have been falling forward.

"Minho."

"Huh."

"Minho."

"What?"

He waved his hand in front of my eyes. I shook my head, dizzy. My brain was like wet cement.

"A ride with you?" I mumbled.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I was planning to go to Seattle anyway. Two birds with one stone and all that."

"What about birds?"

"It's an expression."

I scoffed again. "I know..."

He laughed, and the sound mesmerized me.

"Seriously, though, I don't know what you're going for here," I said. "I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"It would be better if we were not friends. But I don't... not... want to be your friend."

"Well put."

He tried to scowl — it didn't take. He looked down, and when he looked up again, his eyes were serious.

"I was avoiding you. But I... I can't anymore."

I blinked.

"Do you want to go to Seattle together?"

My words got stuck at the back of my throat. I nodded instead.

He smiled. "See you later." 

He closed the umbrella, spun around and walked away.