Press Play by silvercastles

SUMMER WAS FINE.

Actually, Mavis loves the season. It feels refreshing, liberating. There's no need for her to wear her coat and jacket or put on a beanie and ear muffs. And there's also the fact that she likes to take long walks around the park  and feed her senses with the scintillating lights and the warm summer breeze kissing her shoulders.

But ever since she and Weston decided to have another try at whatever they used to have — things changed. Summer means flying to different parts of the world where they know they can go out without being recognized. It means sneaking around the watchful eyes of his fans. And with Clandestine's growing popularity, it isn't easy. Not at all.

But summer also means being with the boy who holds her heart and handles it with care, and somehow, that makes everything okay.

Valerie pushes the door wide open, and Mavis welcomed by the warm and cozy hotel room. "They have time off until tomorrow afternoon when they'll have to leave for Paris," says Valerie as she starts to pace inside the room, her maroon heels silenced by the lush carpet. "Have you gone around the city?"

"Unfortunately, no. I'll try sometime later."

The older girl places Mavis' suitcase beside the closet and reaches for her phone. "Well, I'm sure we can have your transportation arranged. Would you rather ride the train or have someone to drive you around?"

Mavis purses her lips and shifts her weight on both feet. It feels different — all of this feels strangely surreal. To be a part of Weston's life again is different from what she imagined. "I think I'll be resting for a while," she says, returning Valerie's warm smile. "I'm a bit exhausted, so I'll catch on some sleep first."

For a moment, Valerie purses her lips and understanding flashes across her eyes. Mavis feels guilty because she knows that Weston and Valerie — even the other members of Clandestine — are doing their best to make her feel as comfortable as possible. Before she can say anything, Valerie is already hugging her and excusing herself, saying that she needs to talk to Cad Adams before he wrecks havoc upon the furniture.

And at the back of her mind, she wonders what Weston is like when she isn't there. Still, she fastens on an assuring smile and patiently waits until Valerie is out the door. Once she is all alone, Mavis flops down on the bed and rests her head against the pillow.

Breathe, Mavis.

At the back of her mind, she can't help but wonder how much Weston has changed. She barely knows him now. And she's not that stupid to fool herself into thinking that the Weston who left is still the same Weston she barely sees. She knows he tries his best.

But she also knows that he has his dreams to chase after, and she'll never be able to blame him if she is only secondary to that.

Her thoughts are consuming her, that much she knows, so she opens her Spotify account and plays the first thing that comes to her mind — where the sun doesn't shine  —  and it takes her a while to realize that it's by Clandestine and probably the first song she's grown to love.

Breathe.

Before her thoughts can become any more toxic than they already are, she closes her eyes and lets sleep drift her away as Weston's voice sweetly lulls her to rest.

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MAVIS IS YANKED back to reality by the sound of someone cursing and the door of her bathroom slamming against the wall. Ordinarily, she'll be angered by the rude awakening. But she recognizes Weston's voice — pinpoints the smooth baritone against the harsh lighting of the afternoon sun — and her headache dwindles.

Still, she finds herself exerting a lot of effort in sitting up from her sleeping position. Through her glazed vision she makes out the Weston's tan skin turned against her and his sandy-blond hair.

It takes her a second to realize that he's shirtless.

Half-naked.

And it takes her a few moments to realize that he's speaking to her. "Sorry, Mavis," she can hear the apology behind his voice, "I just wanted to make some coffee while you sleep. But I ended up spilling the coffee on me and  I'm sorry, Mavis. I know you're exhausted."

"Don't worry," she tells him, her cheeks flushing when I see the taut outline of his back. Before he can catch me looking at him, I turn around and face the window. "I wanted to go around the city anyway."

"Yeah?"

Even though he can't see her, Mavis nods. She grabs her phone and closes the Spotify application.

"It flatters me, you know," Weston continues to say, and she can hear the teasing in his voice as he thaws away the ice encasing her heart, "that you're so willing to wait for me. Do you really love me that much?"

She flushes. "Keep telling yourself that, Hartman," she mutters, and she is surprised that her voice does not crack. "That's awesome."

Weston doesn't immediately retaliate. But he laughs and his laugh sounds like music and everything else she can spend her whole life listening to.

Mavis is silent because she knows she's about to slip anytime soon, and she's about to say yes. Which is stupid — really stupid. Because she isn't sure if she loves him now or if just really likes him.

Love is an overstatement. Or is it?

"I'm happy you're here," he tells her.

Even with her back turned against his shirtless figure, she doesn't miss the sincerity in his voice. With as much as dignity as she could muster, Mavis tries to flush out all — absolutely all— crazy thoughts running inside her mind, most especially one that involves a shirtless Weston inside her room.

Shirtless Westo—

Just friends, Mavis, she thinks to herself, wincing when the words hit her like the hail storm earlier that morning, pitter-pattering until her tiny little heart, which she had laid at the palm of his hands, is reduced to ice and dust.

Just friends, she reminds herself yet again, and it sounds like the song of death.

Her mind is at war with her heart — then again, when is it not? —but she says anyway:

"I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon, Hartman."

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THEY END UP going around the city.

Berlin is beautiful in a way that New York is sleepless and Philadelphia is her heart, but she can barely fix her attention on the buildings and wonderful architecture — she should be ashamed because she's an architect-in-the-making — because the boy beside her is the sun.

And he is the sun, and he is raining down on her and as he navigates their way around the city, he brings her home.

Halfway through their tour, they duck inside a dainty ice cream shop for dessert. The cashier doesn't take them seriously, not that Mavis blames her. She also won't be trusting a couple of young adults who are running around wearing coats and hats in the middle of summer.

Weston turns to her and gives her a wide smile, his blue eyes twinkling as if he knows some secret she doesn't. It reminds her of the clear blue skies and the soft sprinkle of wind kissing her cheeks.

She misses this — him, mostly — so much, and the longing in her heart does not easily subside. And she can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, a part of him longs for her too.

Mavis blinks. She can't get carried away —  not this time. "I can't believe you were able to convince me to wear this," she starts instead, before gesturing to her outfit, "disguise. I swear I'll never be able to get used to this — well, whatever this is that we have."

When Weston turns and solemnly looks at her, she knows her heart is about to jump off her chest. "We both know that what we have is something special, Bishop," he teases.

And it's true that Mavis wants to say something — anything —  but his dazzling smile robs her of words, and a young teenager is already approaching them, her eyes apprehensive and hopeful. Beside her, Weston shifts and quiets down.

But the teenager is insistent and is already holding out her iPhone. "Weston Hartman?" she asks, disbelief etched on every inch of her face. "Is that really you?"

Weston stiffens, and it is Mavis who snaps into action first.

She turns to the young girl and smiles. "If I take your picture with Weston, do you promise not to tell anyone?" When the girl's excited expression dulls down, Mavis retracts, "At least not until tomorrow morning, please."

"Okay," the girl half-whispers. "I'm Alexandria, by the way."

Mavis nods and gets the phone from Alexandria's outstretched hand, moving aside to let the girl stand next to Weston. His blue eyes snap out of the shock, and much to Alexandria's obvious happiness, his lean arms wrap around her shoulders.

Taking the picture is easy, and much to Mavis' surprise, the aftermath is even easier to deal with.

"Hey, Alexandria?" Weston says, just as the girl is about to leave. Mavis who went to get their ice cream looks at him, surprised. In one fluid motion, Weston gets his own cone and walks over to the dumbstruck girl before handing his ice cream to her. "Here's a gift," he says, and then he lowers his voice to say something that Mavis can't hear.

There are so many things that Mavis wants to say; there are so many words that she want to tell him. But being around Weston is like having someone who can read through you, so her mouth remains shut even as they walk around the city until they find a quiet park right around the outskirts.

Weston doesn't speak. And Mavis wonders if he's enjoying the silence and her company as much as she is treasuring his. It takes her a lot of self-control to keep herself from reaching out and touching his arm, just to check if he is there — just to know if he isn't a figment of her imagination.

At the back of her mind, the feeling of his lips on hers burns.

She keeps her vision planted on the crystalline blue lake and the feeling of the breeze whispering secrets, instead of the boy who somehow knows how to handle her heart with care — at least this time around.

You don't know him that well yet, her rational self murmurs to her. Be careful.

Unable to stand the lingering silence, she turns to look at him. "You know that — "

She freezes. She expects him to be staring off at the distance and watching the clouds float by or closing his eyes and enjoying the good weather. But Weston is staring at her, and he looks at her as if this is the first time he is seeing her —

And she can't breathe. In a good way. In that way that makes her think that she's alive.

A teasing smile curves from his lips, and she thinks of the sun. "You were saying?" he prompts.

Mavis swallows down the nervousness and struggles to hold his gaze. "I just thought that what you did for that girl was nice and sweet of you."

Weston chuckles and his hand reaches forward, so that it almost covers hers. "Considering what I asked of her, the ice cream really isn't much, you know."

"What did you ask her, anyway?"

His eyes search her face, as if trying to read whatever it is that goes unsaid, but her heart is running wild. "I asked if she can keep our date a secret," he murmurs, and his calloused fingers reaches to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I figured it's the least I can do for the girl I love."

Our date a secret.

Our date.

Date —

The girl I love.

Love.

"Oh."

Weston's cheeks color and before she can say anything, he chuckles and grins at her, and she thinks he really is the sun. "I just told you that I like you. Now that I think about it," his hand rests on her cheeks and scorches her skin on fire, "I should be ashamed for sounding stupid, but then again, it's you."

Mavis swallows and she can't think.

What is he even saying?

"When I came to your room, you were listening to the first song I wrote," Weston continues, as he holds her gaze as if he is trying to tell her a thousand things he can't find the words to. "Where the sun doesn't shine — the title is fitting then, I know that now."

Somehow, despite everything, Mavis finds the courage to speak. "Why?" she murmurs.

Weston doesn't hesitate, and her heart tells her he's not lying. "Because it's the song I wrote and sang whenever I thought of you."

The girl I love.

Mavis swallows.

"You don't have to say that you love me or that you like me, Mavis," says Weston as his fingers slide down the bench to tenderly hold her hand. Mavis stares numbly at their intertwined fingers and feels her heart leap out of her chest.

This must be a dream.

"But at the very least, let me love you."

Even before, Mavis isn't much of a person who relies on words. It's Weston who knows the right things to say at the perfect time. She swallows and forces herself to meet his stare, and when she does, she is met by nothing but earnest honesty — a promise that imprints on her heart and marks his way into her life.

Permanently, she hopes.

Mavis isn't much of a word-person, so she averts her attention to her hands and tears her intertwined fingers from his. And slowly, ever so slowly, because she is throwing reason out of the window this time, she rests her hands on his face.

His eyes darken, and it sends shivers running down her toes.

"Mavis," he murmurs.

And it's really true that Mavis isn't much of a word-person and there are so many things that she wants to tell him but can't. Instead, she'll show him. She holds onto her memory of him as she leans and presses her lips on his.

His lips are smooth and soft, and it comes with sparks running along the length of her spine. And kissing Weston is everything she has ever imagined and more. Kissing Weston is like experiencing the seasons all at once.

Kissing Weston is everything and nothing loving someone should be like.

There are so many uncertainties, what ifs, and buts; still, there is something that both of them are sure of:

There was nothing to be afraid of. Even if people pass by, all they will see is a girl and a boy, in love.

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and here is where I'll spend my days thinking of you,  
where the sun doesn't shine is where I'll love you

***