Being young had its perks, relative to the obvious stuff.

It's that if Adele resets her memory, she doesn't lose much. What's seventeen years compared to thirty? What's a childhood that never really got its way? She stopped reaching for the switch by the side of the door, or turning the tap when she goes to check her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

She learns that they hold grudges, not any more than her generation does but it's noteworthy somehow just because it's not coming from her. Like when she asks Olivia's father, Hanbin, about the bathhouse. He does have an English name like Olivia, but he's not very fond of it.

There's a difference between a Korean bathhouse and a Japanese one. He might not know the exact differences, but he insists they're absolutely not the same.

It's the kind with history attached beyond her birth and she supposes she too has reasons to keep people unforgivable.

She runs her fingers through the kinks in her hair. "Does it smell good?"

"I don't know, oil and flowers?" Olivia gives a look that probably meant, "What else is it supposed to smell like?"

Adele holds out her hand, a silent beckon for Olivia to sit on the bed next to her. She takes the bottle, carefully dabs some on her palm then rubs it on Olivia's back. They've long shed their sweaty t-shirts and tossed them on the floor next to the drawer, along with their jeans and leggings. Their sneakers against the foot of the bed, Olivia's socks folded into a ball and Adele's in each respective shoe.

Olivia sits sideways, it's admittedly not the most efficient position but here she can watch her work. Adele leans in to reach the furthest parts and she swears there's a magnetic wave in the air between them because Olivia feels closer than she should be.

It's her hands running over her shoulder blades, underneath the straps of her bra and all the way to her shoulders. Kneading on the skin with her thumb, repeats on the other side. Wanders upwards to her neck, the base of her skull and it startles her a little bit when Olivia throws her head back.

It takes one more dose until she's done and Olivia rolls her bones back.

"Here, I'll do it for you."

Olivia's better at it than she is. And forces her to face away so she could properly massage the slow ache of slouching on handlebars.

"That was nice of you," Olivia starts abruptly, adds a drop more of oil. "With Tia."

"Of course," she sings, a grinning arrogance, "I'm a saint."

"Shut up, I'm trying to compliment you."

"And I'm taking it graciously!- ah, ack-" She cringes, curls her spine as Olivia presses her thumbs into all the wrong spots, the slab underneath her shoulders, the ticklish space at her sides. "Okay, okay!"

She could feel Olivia rolling her eyes behind her, switching over to her palms now. Feels less of a threat but Adele is still on edge, just in case.

"This place has more," She searches for the word, "Community, than Lake Jade."

"Should we do that?" Adele tries glancing back at her but only gets a fraction of her expression. "Back home?"

There's a pause, Olivia's frowning. "Yeah, I can't imagine some of them trying to like the rest of us."

Adele laughs. This town is terribly lucky in that regard, that people liked each other enough to stay and eat dinners with laughs but manners. She remembers coming from a world where people didn't like her, nor Olivia for that matter. Must've been lucky they found each other.

The sun long gone, long abandoned, there's barely any lights so most people resign into their slumber. Olivia blows out the flame in her lantern and climbs into bed. Moonlight pours through the gaps in the blinds, casts shadows against Olivia's silhouette. They're facing each other.

Adele buries her arm underneath her pillow. "Hey."

"Hey."

"What are you doing?" she asks, because she can.

Olivia mulls it over before, slightly amused, answers, "I don't know." She shrugs while lying sideways and it comes out more like a squirm. The blanket fluxes and she ends up closer than she was before. "Talking."

She has freckles here, sparse but still, blotched really close to the underlining of her eyes. Olivia's mother insists she puts on what's left of the makeup they could find and she couldn't be bothered to go hunting for scraps. Apparently it's uncommon for them genetically, Olivia doesn't even go out into the sun much.

Not in her youth, not now either.

"You know," Adele starts, clears her throat. "I think we'll run out of things to talk about."

"You can't give up now," she teases, but she keeps her face straight. "Or you'll grow up to be a really, boring, adult." Olivia has no qualms about this dullness herself, either she has come to terms with it or, has considered herself a bore in the first place.

"My mom used to talk about the new overpass they're building."

"And we talked about Finley's new transformer," she rebuts immediately, nods to prove a point. She's turning into them. The thought doesn't scare her more than it annoys.

Adele has much experience with opposing devil's advocate, gives her a petulant look. "See I was talking about an important rebuilding progress of our local community and my mom," she pauses for a description of her choice of topical chats. "Well, she's chatting about traffic."

Olivia pressed her lips into a taut line, seems unimpressed. "Sure."

"Okay, how about you contribute to stuff we can talk about?" She raises her eyebrows, more than a little bit playfully sour.

"I do," she says defensively. "Sometimes."

"Sometimes," Adele echoes.

"Fine."

"Good."

"So," she says, and the next part, her question comes out completely offhand. "When are you the most happiest?"

"What's this?" Adele asks perplexed but smiling, tilts her head but it ends up sinking into the pillow. She doesn't think you're supposed to be direct when entering nightly conversations.

"You wanted me to contribute, there you go." Translated: just answer it.

She didn't really mean then and there. Regardless Adele closes her eyes, ponders this for a moment, thinks about sleeping. It's 10 something or whatever the time is supposed to be. Time mustn't be real if she can't feel it, she argues. Before she could get a word in edgewise, Olivia interrupts her thoughts.

"You're happiest when you're with me right?" She hears her ego in her smile. They have that in common, at least to each other.

"Shut up." Her voice is stuck in her throat. Caught in reluctance she knows too well and wishes she doesn't. She turns and faces the other way to save face, but it only heightens the tease.

"Aw, it's okay Adele," Olivia coos, rubs the back of her neck. "I know you love me."

"You just wanted to say that," she says accusingly, which gets her to stop but she reaches for Olivia's hand behind her neck and holds it there. "We should sleep."

Her hand slips off from the crevice, and Adele feels the cold air on her bare skin.

"You're right," she says. There's a bounce on the bed as Olivia too, faces away from the center and their backs now against each other. They've known how awkward it is to feel each other's breath so close, and thankfully they decided not to stare at the other who falls asleep first out of courtesy.

Adele thinks she's the one who ends up being the creepy starer because Olivia consistently goes out first.

"Night, Adele."

"Night, Olivia."

Adele wants to add, I love you. But she doesn't think she could mean it anymore, not the way she usually says it so, the air falls silent. Steady breaths of Olivia asleep, she counts them until her heart beats quieter.

And as she drifts into unconsciousness, she remembers the smell of rose petals and irises. Doesn't know for sure if flowers really do smell like perfumes.