Mia's P.O.V

"Urm, sorry for the mess." He says as we enter a spotless room.

"It's fine," I mutter, observing the way he stumbles on his words as he pulls out a suitcase from the closet. Maybe he's shy because he thinks I'll make fun of his British accent - I see people do that sometimes to the extent of looking dumb themselves.

"Um, there are...some-some shirts... " He unzips the suitcase to reveal neatly folded dresses, shirts and jeans - clothes for girls. I raise a mustard yellow cropped tee, and he clears his throat. This is when I realise his eye is on a black Nirvana shirt and scoff inwardly.

OK, Sir.

He lets me change in the washroom, which feels just as uninhabited if not more than the room. Switching shirts quickly to avoid keeping him waiting, I come out in a minute to find him reading a book.

"Thanks again." I try to tone down my grin. If he notices my struggle, he does not show it. His gaze darts to the suitcase. As he busies himself hurling it to the top of the closet, I stand awkwardly wondering if I should just leave or...-

"- Cool skateboard."

"Pardon me?"

"Your skateboard." I point at it as he whirls around. The skateboard under his study desk - with a bloodshot-eyed Pennywise graffitied on it - stares back at us. He must be a horror movie fan.

A bearly audible sound rumbles out of him. That's it. No response.

"So, you skateboard?" I grin to ease the awkward silence. He nods.

"Cool."

"...Do you?" he hesitates to ask.

I shake my head, thinking of something cool I can do. When it comes to mind, I chirp. "But, I play the guitar and sing."

"That's...nice." A smile spreads on his epicene face. My heart skips a beat.

Oh my goodness, this is not fair - WHO MADE THIS BOY'S SMILE LIKE THE FREAKING SIRIUS?

*

Charlie's P.O.V

"That's nice." I smile, nervous.

Her jaw drops.

Perhaps, I have grown two heads suddenly. I touch my hair for certainty, but that makes her gasp.

"Dude, what the f-" Her palm ceases her mouth past mid-sentence, then she drops it and clears her throat, to my perplexion.

What is she trying to say?

"-Urm, I-I will return the shirt...in school. Which year are you?"

"Sophomore."

"No way!" Her scarlet hair bounces a little too quickly. " Do you take Literature?"

When I nod, she says, "Even better. I might see you in class then."

That being said, I let her go with Sil's shirt. As she closes the door, I hear her muttering, "Even better? Geez, Mia."

So, her name must be Mia. In that case, I'm glad Mia is alright. She's nice. My only ick about her is that she thought Silver's skateboard was cool.

This ugly thing, I think, retrieving it from under the desk. I hug it. Although Sil has a lot of her stuff here, - we both do - if there is an item she can never do without, it's this skateboard, and yet, it has apparently been here since last year.

This ugly thing. How is it even here?

*

"Charlie?"

"Mm?"

"Charlie!"

"What is it?" I look under the bed. "What is it, Sil?"

"Shush." She places her index finger on her lips. When I frown, confused, she rolls her eyes. "Just lay still, or else he'll come."

"Who will -" I am cut off by a robust and humongous hand snatching my neck from behind. It shoves my face into the pillow, squashing my airways. Panic strums a loud cry from my caving lungs. Where is Sil? I try to hit it with my limbs, but they are unresponsive, useless. Where is Sil? Everything is black and dizzying. I hear the sound of bone breaking, and I am sure it is mine. Where is Sil? I can't breathe. I can't see. The entity's hand roams around my body, and there's more shoving and now moaning and-

"-Charlie! Wake up!" Someone lifts my head. I gasp, immediately gulping as much air as possible. Hot tears spring in my eyes, and I feel like I am burning when he shouldn't touch me, or else he will burn, but then he does anyway. He wraps me in his arms and cradles my head, saying through tears.

"Hey, hey, now it is ok..."

*

When I startle again, I am in Harry's room. He looks at me with concern, but I engross myself in rubbing slumber from one eye while the other searches for a watch.

"W-what's the...time?" I say between a yawn.

Harry stops tuning the guitar in his lap.
" I don't know, noon?"

"Noon!" I sit up immediately. He rolls his eyes as I gasp, "Mass," and grab his hand to check the exact time on his watch.

"1:27! No, no -"

"- Dude, chill," he interjects. I glare, causing his chuckle to dissolve into a sigh. "Ok, ok." Then his face bursts into a grin like he is having an epiphany.

"How about we have our own mass?"

How will that work? I am about to ask when he pulls his acoustic guitar to his chest and clears his throat.

He starts strumming the opening note to All People That On Earth Do Dwell.

"We shall begin by opening our hymn books to hymn number cos into bracket a +b equals cos a, cos b minus sin a, sin b. "

"Mate, be serious."

He still starts. "All people that on earth do dwell. Sing, la la la la cheerful voice." He hesitates before continuing. "La, la la la his praise...-"

"- Ok, if not for your angelic voice, I would say go relearn the lyrics before you attempt this," I cut him off, smiling lazily.

He squints as if there's something cryptic on my face. Then, there's a spark of profound gratitude in his eyes before he smirks.

"The choir must be wrecked without me, huh?"

I nod and prop myself against the headboard to create space for him where my legs would have been. He is sitting at the bottom edge of the bed, which must be uncomfortable.

"Well, I don't miss them," he says, climbing onto the other side instead. I frown, and he rolls his eyes again.

"So, what do you miss about St. Johns?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I don't know...you, I guess."

Obviously, that is the best answer he can possibly give, but I don't want him to realise that, so I say,

"Really? I didn't miss you."

"Huh?" Harry feigns disappointment, grabbing my hand. He twists it, causing me to emit a pained laugh as I push him off the bed before he lunges for the other hand. He tumbles with a thud that instantly makes me regret it.

"AW!-"

"Oh, SORRY-" I have already relocated to his side. "Are you alright?"

"Ya, ya," he says, cupping the back of his head, taking my hand to pull himself up. The midday sun's glow traces over the red protrusion above his brows as he whimpers for me to check if there's blood. I gasp.

How did I even forget? How am I now noticing the bluish bruise on his left cheek?

"Is my head burst or what?" He scoffs.

"Harry, what happened to your face?" I am dead serious.

"You just happened," he says. Perhaps, he has not seen his face because if he has, he won't claim that his forehead's resculpturing is the handiwork of a twenty-four-inch-fall.

I wait for the truth I already know. I wait for him, but he just dishevels his mid-cheek-length hair until he's confident he's not bleeding anywhere.

"I'll make us omelettes today," he says without an explanation still. I give him a tight-lipped smile.

So far as I'm aware, my friend doesn't know what cooking oil looks like. I make him wait for me to go about my morning routine before we head for the kitchen. Descending the stairs, I am stunned to meet everywhere, looking spotless, as if a party had never occurred.

"I called in cleaning services," Harry remarks.

"Of course." I take the eggs and vegetables from the refrigerator, no longer astonished. He is fumbling with a lighter and the stove regulator by the time I turn back to him with whisked eggs and chopped vegetables.

"You know," he says, wiping sweat off his eyebrow," let's do fried rice instead."

"Sure, if you can try not to burn your house."

"Ya, -what's that?" He points at something behind me. I look back, and sure enough, it's the paint splash on the wall. He slaps the lighter on the counter.

"Who did that?!"

Same question I asked!

"What the fu-" he cuts himself off when he turns to me,"- I mean, this is...bad."

This is when I assure him. "Halima won't notice. I'll make sure of that."

"How?-" he is interrupted, this time by a vrooming noise outside. We both make a beeline for the windows in the hall.

"It's your sister," I say. A navy blue four-wheel Toyota purrs to a halt in front of the house, and, as I predicted, Halima climbs out. Harry gulps. As she opens the boot, I have to jab his bicep before he realises that we should help her out.

We run out of the house, catching her off guard when he squeals,

"Khadi!! Oh, my sweet sweetheart!"

"Khadi is here?!" Suddenly, I am also exhilarated to see Harry's five-year-old niece sleeping at the back.

As he lifts her tiny body giddily, Halima sneers, "Don't wake her up, " then beams at me. " Charlie! Long time no see!"

We exchange more pleasantries, during which I help her unload her equipment while Harry gives a sleepy Khadijah a piggyback ride. I am proud of myself for carrying four large, heavy boxes.

"Oh, thank you so much, Charlie." Halima pants out. "Thank you, really. Urm, one last favour; can you babysit and make sure my brother does not drop her-"

"- I won't drop her!" Harry yells from the hallway and comes out to say, "I'm actually responsible, you know.

"Mhmm." His sister's exasperated smirk is identical.

"Ya, if only mum would allow me the freedom to express myself like you, but, no - " he says," I have to wait to be eighteen first."

"You mean twenty-five and married," Halima says.

"And nurturing the prettiest child on the planet," I add.

Harry scowls at us. At this point, it's a miracle that Khadi has not woken yet. Her little fingers start tugging at her flare butterfly dress as Harry waddles up with her, forgetting about our mess in the kitchen. Halima yells after him, so I finish the omelettes and drag the microwave to obscure the paint stain as much as possible. When I return to his room, Khadi is wide awake, babbling at top speed.

".....Uncle Harry, listen, listEN! The-the swiper...he bad..and he stell-he sto-wl Dora's map, and the ca-casser-atle lost the MAGiC. And OH No..."

"What have you done?" I laugh.

He groans, tickling her. "Uncle Harry has done nothing, right? Tell Uncle Charlie I did nothing!"

"Uncle Charlie, stop hi- aAH!" The little girl squeaks amid giggles. I join them on the bed and yank her from his grasp, to which she happily wraps her small, soft palm around my pinky. Then, she brings it to her open mouth.

"Yo Khadi!" Harry pulls her away, to which she flaps her arms in protest and lets out sounds akin to throwing a tantrum. It takes me feeding her our breakfast while he plays Dora the Explorer on his laptop to calm her down.

"Uncle Charlie, say, SWIPER NO SWIPING?"

"SWIPER, NO SWIPING!" I mimic her, putting both hands on my head. She guffaws at my feigned horror and kicks Harry, who was done with Dora two episodes ago. He grumbles, "Let's play Nintendo."

"Can you handle her crying?" I retort.

"No, let's help Dora!" Khadi huffs.

"Dora doesn't need our help. She needs glasses." Harry rubs his temples, only stopping when it dawns on him to say, "I know what we all will like!"

"What?" I ask, but he's already getting up to leave. When he returns, he's holding a kit. He reveals its content, saying, "This is a Dyson Airwrap Styler...hairspray, hair cream, hairdryer -"

"Harry, did you steal these from your sister?"

"Oh, relax." He rolls his eyes. " I'll return it when her team arrives. Right now, she's not using it."

That does not alleviate my concern, but he pouts and drags me to sit behind the mirror anyway. Khadi bounces to my side and becomes his apprentice all of a sudden, grabbing anything he points at with questions like "What's this one?", "why is it so heavy?!!" and, "Uncle Harry, when will it be my turn?!"

After what feels like hours of letting him touch my hair, he sprays it and smiles.

"All done."

"Khadi, please tell me he hasn't chomped off my head," I beseech the cutie. She shakes her head and screeches at Harry. "You've made him look like a girl!"

"Ok, one more word from you, and I won't do your hair," her biological uncle wheezes back. Chuckling, I don't bother checking myself in the mirror. I carry her unto my lap and hug her, to which she scrunches her nose. Harry snorts and does his magic.

He gives her a shiny upright bun with seven colourful hairclips dispersed over her head. Afterwards, we still watch Dora until they eventually go into oblivion as it's starting to get dark outside. I am listening to an online sermon through his headset when I realise the hair cream is still on the mirror table. I take it to Halima's door and knock. A bald, rotund man in shades pokes his head out, frightening me.

"Good, there's the houseboy." He sighs. "Can you go wash these plates?"

When I nod stiffly, he hands them to me and shuts the door, clearly unaware that I shouldn't go downstairs. Her team has turned the hall into a photo studio; it would be rude of me to just pass by with dirty plates and her stolen hair cream.

Hence, I duck and take calculated sprints to the kitchen, sparing not a single glance at anything or anyone, not even the person who suddenly snarls,

"Hey, you!"

"You with the plates!"

Oh no. I halt.

Two pairs of eyes stare at me - a model in a primrose chiffon dress Halima made and a seemingly Hispanic manager-esque gentleman in a mauve jumper.

His eyes widen at me, and he says, "Why are you not dressed yet? Why are you holding the dirty dishes?"

I frown. Pardon me?

Fortunately, this is also the time Halima strides in. She instantly resolves the confusion on both our faces, breezing, "Oh, that's my brother's friend."

"Oh." The man grins in embarrassment. "I thought he was one of the models."

Halima sends him a knowing look before telling me to leave both the plates and the cream on the cotton cloud of a settee I was just hiding behind.

I am more than glad to be back in Harry's room. He and his niece are still sleeping, so I quietly crawl into bed and press play on his laptop again.

A sermon on love later, he is startled by Halima's knock. She thanks us as she carries the cutie and fits her hijab back on.

"Finally, you are done." Harry yawns.

Her people evacuate, carrying most of the equipment this time while I sweep the hall, and Harry tries to kidnap Khadi despite the swats his sister gives him. Before she leaves, she beckons me over to say, "Urm, so you remember the guy who saw you earlier?"

I nod.

"Well, " she utters, " he kind of likes to scout for talents, you know, like models and whatnot, and ur,..." There's a pause for her to ponder on something. "He, um, thinks you have the face and physique for it. Now, I don't know if you're interested, but if you are, he said I should give you his business card." She plucks it from her jeans pocket and chimes in, "Oh, or you may bring me some quality photos of yourself if you won't feel comfortable talking to him ...you know?"

"Thank you," I reply, already preferring the second option. She reciprocates my smile.

Watching her rev out through the gates, I reckon it's time to go home too. Harry tries protesting this, but it's night already. I don't want us on the road in the daunting dark. I strap on my backpack, and then, remembering the skateboard, I retrieve it as he searches for his keys. Finding them, he skips towards me only to stop as his gaze dramatically shoots at it.

"Sil's skateboard."

"Ya," I say," I guess she left it last year, though that sounds impossible."

"She was in a hurry." He lets out a sigh that brings my focus to his face. He looks all but present as if the sight of it made him time travel.

" Why?" I ask.

He sighs again. "Because we kissed."