Your phone buzzes. It makes you jump and you pull it out quickly, hoping it's You Know with information on who you are and possibly who they are.

You freeze when you realize that it's exactly who you were expecting.

"What's wrong?" Chris asks, stopping as his movements fill with concern for you.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. "This phone only has texts from me and this guy for whatever reason."

"Spooky," Chris says, peering over your shoulder. "I wonder if you deleted everything before you lost your memory. Or... maybe this was a backup phone? Or maybe... I don't know," he laughs, scratching the back of his neck. You heart flutters at how close he is. "Maybe you... uh, didn't have anyone else that you talked to?" He winces. "No offense."

"None taken," you reply, steadying your breathing. You aren't here to fall for a cute guy. You're here because... Because you lost your memory and found a note that led you to this weirdness.

Another one comes in.

"Whoa," Chris breathes and you jump at his voice. He backs up, startled, guilt clouding his irises. "Sorry—I didn't mean to read—um..." He bounces on the balls of his feet uncomfortably.

"That's okay," you tell him, clutching your phone. If You Know is in danger...

Your mind flashes back to the room you woke up in, the two male voices outside the door.

Your thumbs linger over the virtual keyboard, trembling. You want to both ask them what is going on yet you feel something inside telling you not to reply, just as You Know asked.

Chris touches your shoulder, making your heart jump inside your chest and your breathing shallow out. His hazel eyes are filled with concern for you, which warms your insides with happiness. A complete stranger is caring for you, even in the minimalist way.

"Hey. It's going to be okay. Whatever it is that happened before you lost your memory, it'll return to you and you can help whoever that person is if he needs it. I can see you're worried about them, even if you don't know who they are. I'm sure they can feel your concern and that's why they texted. Don't worry. Everything will work itself out eventually."

You nod, not completely sold on the idea, and lock the screen, exhaling. Whoever it is that is texting you, it seems like they can take pretty good care of themselves. It also means that person didn't die for you, you realize as you think about the blood stains and what Karika had said to you. Nodding slowly, you wrap your arms around your midsection and breathe, pinpricks of fear pushing up through your flesh. You admit to yourself you feel helpless, terrified. Without your memory... All you can do is sit and wait for it to return.

"Hey," Chris says, lifting your chin with his knuckle. You hadn't realized he was so close and it sends adrenaline rushing through your limbs, your skin tingling more. His hand is so warm, so soft... "It's okay. If there's something happening that'll put you in danger, I'll protect you. The whole group will, so don't worry. Karika got her memory back after a few days. Maybe it'll be the same for you."

You take a shaky breath in, your face hot and a knot in your throat. "I hope so."

Chris smiles gently to help make you feel better. Then, you see his pupils light up with a sudden bolt of excitement.

"Do you like bowling?"

"Bowling?" You ask as he lets go of your chin, the warmth resonating and making you all-too-aware of the cold. You fight a shiver. "I don't know."

He grins and grabs your hand. Your poor heart kicks into that heavy beating once more.

"Well, I think it's time to find out."

He begins to jog, pulling you along behind him. His happy, fearless personality is contagious, and you find yourself smiling as you jog behind him. The burn of the cold air in your throat makes you thirsty, but the exercise you're giving your muscles makes your body heat up, dislodging the cold air as a threat to your homeostasis.

You laugh out loud as the two of you stop before a worn-out building with neon-striped bowling pins above the door. He releases your hand with a reddened, grinning face, and opens the door for you, ushering you inside.

"After you, princess," he laughs, energy running high between the two of you. Grinning, you step through the threshold and into the building. He walks you to the counter and pays, asking for shoes.

"I don't know my size," you tell him quietly, looking down at your bare feet.

Chris's brows furrow for a minute. "I didn't even realize you didn't have shoes on." He changes his face and grins. "Well. You're about my sister's height, so I'll just get her size."

When the teenager at the counter hands the shoes to the two of you, he gives you an extra pair of socks with a glare. "Don't make me clean them because you want foot fungus," he grumbles before Chris leads you away to your lane. He helps you find a ball you can comfortably use, one that glows neon orange in the lighting. You go first, sinking the ball into the gutter. You almost forget about You Know. Almost.

You check your phone as it charges, plugged into a socket on the wall. Still, nothing. No more texts from You Know, or anyone else for that matter. Didn't you have family? Wouldn't they be worried for you if you went missing? Did you go missing? Do you live with your family, or do you live on your own? Do you stay in this area...?

You're startled from your thoughts as Chris gets a strike, pumping one fist in the air with triumph. His victory shout bounces off the walls, the entire place nearly empty.

I guess no one really bowls anymore.

You laugh, matching his energy easily. "Wow. Was that a lucky strike or are you hustling me?"

Chris's grin turns mischievous as he sits down next to you, sighing exasperatedly.

"Both."

He laughs with you and you look up at the screen that marked your gutter and that one bowling pin you knocked down out of pure luck. So you aren't good at bowling. You could live with that fact.

"Want me to... help you?" Chris asks, averting his eyes.

"I don't know how you could," you say, shrugging as you stand to get your ball. "I might be un-helpable."

"Here," he says, lifting from the seat and walking over to you. "Face the lane and stay still."

You obey after a moment's hesitation, your heart jackhammering in your chest already. The different neon-colored bowling pins at the end of the lane seem to mock you, but you ignore them. Chris's presence sends a chill down your spine and you swallow the saliva building in your mouth. His chest is suddenly against your back and you can feel him breathing by your ear as his hand wraps around your wrist gently, his other hand resting on your shoulder.

You heart is about to burst from your chest.

"So bring your arm back in a straight line. The little arrows in front of you tell you where the ball needs to be to hit the pins. You want to keep the ball in the middle, if you can, and then you can start working on your shot from there." He pauses, clearing his throat. A warmth rushes through you as he takes a step, putting you two closer than you thought you could be. "When I tell you to, take a step forward. Let go of the ball the next second."

You nod, unable to say anything. You can barely breathe.

Slowly, he brings your arm back. When he begins to swing it forward again, he tells you to step, and once you do, like he said, you release the ball. It lands with a clunk on the lane and you hear Chris chuckle.

"You let go a little late, but that's fine."

The ball twists to the right, and you smile as it knocks down the furthest three pins.

"I hit some!" You grin, nerves tingling all over your body as Chris stays still. You turn to look at him, your breath hitching as you notice how close he is. Closer... closer than earlier. You can feel your pulse in your throat.

Suddenly, Chris pulls away, letting you go and shaking his head, his face hot with red flush. You notice yours is doing the same and you take deep breaths.

"Um... So that's how you do it," he says, seeming flustered. He laughs it off nervously. "Just don't put a hole through the floor." He hesitates, scratching at the back of his neck, his eyes flicking to yours curiously. Immediately, he turns back around and glances over toward the concessions. "I'll be right back. I'm going to get us some waters."

You nod, willing your face to cool down. You don't even know who you are... How could you possibly like someone you just met if you only just met yourself, too?

You shake your head as he walks away and your ball returns to you via the machine thing. You don't like him. You're attracted to him, sure, but... like him? Not a chance... right? You just met him. And there are bigger fish to fry than feelings toward a boy. Man.

You let out a groan and scold yourself to focus, although you can't help but admit you liked when he held you like that, helping you bowl. A part of you wishes he wouldn't have let go, that he would have leaned in...

You shake your head again.

"Nope," you sigh to yourself as you pick your ball back up and turn to the lane. Taking a deep breath, you swing your ball back and take a step forward—

"Agh!"

You hit the ground, the ball skidding into the gutter.

"You okay?" Chris blurts, rushing over to you.

"Agh..." You rub your butt, face redder than ever. "That hurt."

An embarrassed chuckle slips from your lips, and Chris can't fight his own grin as he sits on the ground next to you, eyes filled with amusement.

"Do you need me to carry you to the hospital, princess?" He jokes. You let out another laugh and shake your head at him.

"Are you supposed to be my knight in shining armor?" you ask, laying down on the floor, defeated. You cover your eyes with your arm, sighing, stomach twisting. You'd stepped on the slick part of the lane and slipped. Wonderful. Good thing there aren't many people here who saw that...

He nods, face growing comically serious for a moment. "Every princess needs one."

You peek out from under your arm with a playful grin. "You think so?"

Chris shrugs. "Who knows? I could be your prince in disguise, if you wanted me to be."

His eyes are swimming with emotions you can't fully read, nor fully understand, but you do see the happiness there, the wonder, the curiosity. He watches you and then you realize you're staring and turn away, your face growing hot all over again. I'm blushing too much, you tell yourself, stifling a groan and sitting up.

The world around you brightens in the head-rush from change in elevation and you wait it out.

"Are you sure you're okay, though?" Chris asks again, leaning toward you. "My back was turned so I didn't see if you hit your head or anything."

You finally open your eyes to see him and nod. "I'm fine. Just sat up too quickly."

He grins and nods. "If you say so."

Chris stands to his feet and offers his hand out to you. You take his generous help and stand yourself, his free hand reaching out to catch you if you fall again. You're suddenly aware of everywhere he'd touched only a minute before, helping you with bowling. Your heart pulls you toward him, getting lost in the gaze you two share until you realize that, once again, you're staring, and look away. You shake your head and swallow the nervous knot in your throat, letting go of his hand.

"Um... I think it's your turn."

He smiles and nods, taking a step back toward the balls. He nearly trips over it, catching himself on the machinery part and laughing nervously.

"This is weird," he admits, making you hyper sensitive to everything about yourself and about what you've said. Did you say something wrong to make him feel weird? Is it a bad weird? Is it you that's weird? Oh, you don't like this guessing game... "I hardly ever get so flustered," he says quietly as he rights himself and grabs his ball. "Careful—I don't want you falling again," he grins through his nerves, and you step out of the way, darting around him to sit down in the uncomfortable seats, watching him and trying to reign in your emotions.

You two finish your time slot with high energy, the awkward moments you shared not brought up or mentioned at all, thank goodness. It spared you some embarrassment. You felt weird just thinking about it, the possibility that you might have feelings toward this stranger... What a strange concept, to like someone you just met that day. But then again, didn't that happen to Romeo and Juliet?

Shaking your head for the umpteenth time today, you push those thoughts away. He is not Romeo and you are not Juliet. You'd never kill yourself over a guy. Over anyone, really.

Well, there's another something about you: you're not self-destructive to a harmful degree.

You both turn in your shoes, all smiles, and the guy at the counter scoffs at you when you try to return the socks, too.

"Keep them," he grumbles, walking away. "The shoes, too. I'd rather not clean them, anyway."

You shrug with a confused look as you turn to the glass doors that lead outside, Chris as confused as you about the shoes. It's a little after one, and your stomach is beginning to rumble.

Chris looks at his watch as you step out into the slightly chilly weather. Your t-shirt does nothing to warm your arms as you rub your fingers over them, hoping to create some friction to help with heat insulation.

"Are you cold?" Chris asks, watching as you rub your arms.

"A little," you admit. "I guess I can't really handle the weather when it gets a little chilly."

His face contorts slightly as he places a hand on the back of his neck.

"Sorry I don't have a sweater or anything for you to wear," he apologizes. "I actually really like the cold, so it doesn't affect me as strongly. Unless you'd rather me... put my arms around you or something."

He looks away as you stiffen at the thought. He was so warm earlier when he had his chest to your back...

Your face is on fire as you look away, tongue-tied.

"I—I won't ask you to do that. I'll probably be fine once we start walking." With that, you take a breath and look him in the eyes, but shy away immediately, losing all confidence and cursing yourself.

"So, uh—" you clear your throat. "Where are we going now?"

Chris exhales, thinking. "Well. Karika might have calmed down by now. Maybe she'll feel up to making us lunch and you can ask her if she will let you stay with her. I'm pretty sure she'd be fine with it." He pauses. "Maybe. Hopefully."

You nod, the pounding in your chest taking up residence in your ears. "Alright."

On the way back to the little shop, Chris talks to you about his books, his plans for the future, his family. He has a little sister and he used to live with his aunt. His parents died when he and his sister were little and she took them in.

When you two reach the shop, he opens the side door for you, the kitchen filled with a scent that wafts out into the open air and to you, making your stomach grumble. As you enter, Chris shuts the door behind the both of you and you see Karika slaving over the stove, a smudge of flour on her cheek as she rolls some kind of pastry, her curly hair up in a messy bun. She doesn't even turn around, just continues muttering to herself.

"You good, Karika?" Chris asks, startling her. She jumps, pressing a hand against her chest and glaring at him.

"Stay out of my way and you might get some of this when it's finished. If you're looking for lunch, raid the fridge in the storage room. The one with the sandwich stuff in it."

"Do you need help?" you ask, and Karika looks at you, almost with a bewildered expression.

"I mean, if you want to help, that's cool too," she says with a shrug, the surprise of your offer still on her face. "Just put your hair up and put on an apron. They're in the storage room too."

"I'll help too," Chris says excitedly, already through the door into the room where you'd met the members of the strange group you'd stumbled into. Karika laughs at him, finishing her last pastry and shoving the entire sheet into the large oven, heat billowing from it as she opens the door.

"He seems more tamed than usual," she says with a side grin. "Wonder if that's your doing."

You shift from one foot to the other, slightly uncomfortable as butterflies begin to swarm in your stomach at her words.

"No, I don't think so."

Karika laughs. "He's a romantic. He's bound to be changed by a new girl in his life, especially if she isn't pushed away by his strange humor or the way he seems to make a joke out of every situation in attempts to be like Max." She looks at you with sincerity in her eyes. "He's a good guy, so don't be afraid to open up to him. You'll have to open up to all of us eventually."

The way she says those words... They seem to melt through you like ice, even though her tone was far from it. Her words sounded warm, but they somehow sent an ominous feeling through your limbs, as if it's a warning. You almost want to ask her what she means, besides the obviousness of if you're going to stay here, you'll have to become friends or play nice.

"You know what my favorite bug is?" She asks out of the blue, making your brain spin in a completely different direction. You find yourself reeling in confusion at the sudden random turn, but she continues, unphased as she begins to mix ingredients for what looks like will be a large cake. "There's this butterfly. It's called a Glasswing Butterfly. Its wings are transparent and it's absolutely stunning. It's rare, and only lives in certain parts of the world. It isn't supposed to be here in the U.S., but... I've seen it. Quite a few times, actually, but, for the past year, I haven't. I thought it died. But lately, I've been thinking about it... and I think it lived. I think that maybe it was just waiting until someone could see it again."

She looks at you with a sad smile and turns back to her bowl. Your head is still confused, unable to give your mouth words to utter.

"I know one day someone will see it again in this area, even though I won't. And I'm okay with that." She looks up at you for a moment, focusing your attention on her sad brown eyes. "I really, really hope that you never see it."

Your brow furrows at this. What?

"Found them!" Chris says, bursting through the door with two aprons, one pink and one orange, and in the other hand, he holds a sandwich made with two slices of bread and a square of cheese. "You had them really in the back. How do you expect anyone to help you if you do that?"

Karika turns to him, rolling her eyes as if she didn't just say what she did to you. "No one ever wants to help me, anyway. Everyone I hire quits after a few weeks. Stupid high school students."

You stare at her, trying to figure out what she said, but you decide to shake it off. You'll ask her about it later. If you're staying the night with her, you'll have plenty of time to talk to her, right?

As the minutes pass in a flash, the unease inside you slips away and you find yourself smiling as you make new friends. For a moment, you wonder if you even want your memories back. Everything you've seen so far has been negative or harmful to some degree: being locked up in a strange house, blood stains on the note you found and the table you woke up beside, the texts from this strange You Know... Maybe it's better that you don't remember.

But you have no control over it, do you?