"It's honestly just rude that you're showing me this right now when you know damn well I have no food in my house."

He flips the phone around and gives me a blank stare. "You just asked me to show you my food."

"You should know better than to give in!" I accuse. "As a friend, it's your duty to know when to tell me no for my own sake."

"You're ridiculous."

He lowers the flame and moves through his apartment, back into the living room where he first was when I called. On his way over, I manage to catch a glimpse of rain pouring outside.

"If this heat doesn't let up soon, I might say fuck it and come over there." I pout.

"You always say that," he denotes, dropping down onto his sofa. "And then you never do."

A head of red hair flashes by in the background, heading out of the front door. Pablo briefly turns his head and listens for something before imparting his goodbyes to the disappearing figure.

"Is he working late again?"

"No, he joined a book club so he's going over to meet up with them."

I raise a brow. "And you didn't join him?"

"Well, they usually meet in the morning before work. Like, at an absurdly early time." Pablo shivers. "You know me. The only things I like more than books are my cat and sleep."

"That's fair."

Turning to the side, I glance at the clock underneath the TV and a feeling of deja vu washes over me. Except I know what's going to happen. It strangely feels equally comforting and terrifying at the same time, and I have a hard time reconciling it.

"When is he coming again?"

Pablo jolts me out of my thoughts and I force myself to look normal again, though, judging by the amused smile on his face, I've already shown my hand—a blazing red heart flush.

"In an hour."

He nods slowly. "And what was he coming over for again? Remind me."

I know what he's playing at, but I follow along anyway. "Calum is having some friends over and he needs to study for his exam to get his contractor license."

"So, he asked to study at your place?"

I nod, feeling a bit like a bobblehead.

Zachariah texted me sometime before midnight. When I first saw his name on the screen, I almost turned off my phone because of sheer instinct to run away. But when I put on a brave face and read his text, I found myself agreeing to let him come over to shelter in place while his house was being used to host a get-together.

I'd texted Emmie first thing this morning to let her know what happened and she wished me luck. I thanked her profusely for it because I knew I needed as much luck as I could get. She also volunteered to call and save me from the ordeal if I needed to, but I assured her I could survive the night.

Pablo wishes me good luck, letting me know he needs to call his mom before dinner so we hang up, but not before he makes me promise to call him tomorrow to let him know how it went.

...

With ten minutes left to spare, I step back into the living room and spin around slowly, taking in all of the cleaning I've managed to do in that hour.

The deep breath I take is long overdue. Finally, I feel like I'm staring at a home again, and not just a shell of one I pretend to call my own.

I flip the washing machine on right as there's a knock at the door signaling Zachariah's arrival. My hands slide down my clothes, smoothing everything into place. Maybe it's a strange rush of confidence, but I walk to the front door with more ease than I imagined.

The smell wafts through the door before I even open it. When I glance down at the white plastic bags in his hands, my heart flutters at the memories this conjures.

"Is that from Gina's? Please tell me that's from Gina's."

"The one and only." He holds the bags in one hand and uses the other to push the door open, letting himself in.

Because I'm still getting used to being around him again, my first instinct is to offer him something to drink. When he, of course, accepts the offer, I pretend like I have a case of his favorite type of beer sitting in the fridge because "it's my roommate's favorite drink" and not because I picked it up this afternoon.

The bags crinkle behind me as I lean down into the fridge to grab the beers while Zachariah takes out the food. When I turn around, I almost drop them because he's standing closer than I realize. He grabs both of my hands to steady me and avoid any serious collisions.

"Woah," he laughs. "You alright there?"

I nod. "Yup. I'm good."

He looks like he wants to say something but changes his mind at the last second. Turning around, he busies himself with the takeout again and I ignore the flush rising to my cheeks.

"Meat Jun," he says and hands me the plate, switching it out with the beer I hold out to him.

"I haven't gone there in so long," I moan at the sweet smell. It takes me back to the many times we'd gone there before, sitting alone at the tables and occasionally chatting up the owners. They were nice people so it wasn't something we didn't enjoy, but they also gave us free drinks so that was a plus. "You didn't have to."

He shrugs. "My payment for letting me use your apartment."

I can tell he wants to comment on something but forces himself to keep his mouth shut. His eyes flicker around when he thinks I'm not looking, piecing together what parts of the apartment have changed and what things are still the same.

The two of us take our drinks and food into the living room, settling down on different sides—him on the sofa while I take one of the armchairs.

"So, what exactly are you supposed to study for this kind of stuff?" I ask after a few minutes of us eating. The only thing keeping us from plummeting into complete silence is the movie playing in the background and our chewing.

Zachariah briefly helped out his stepdad with work a little under a year before they all left for the Big Island, but none of the specifics came up in conversation. Not that it would have mattered because any talk of construction could be about watching paint drying for all I care.

"I have to take two tests." He points to one section of the mess in front of us, and then to the other. "One is for the law. The second part is more on the specific type of work."

I nod as if any of it registers to me.

"Cool." After looking over it again and being mentally transported back to taking exams in school, I add "This looks miserable."

He punches out a laugh before tossing the notebook he's scribbling in back onto the table.

"You're right. I'm over this." Zachariah pauses. "You still have Super Smash Bros?"

I have to laugh. "I'm offended you even needed to ask."

...

"Remember that Landon guy I told you about that always comes to the bar?"

Zachariah nods, leaning back against the sofa. The two of us are sitting next to each other after playing two hours' worth of the game, and then forcing him to study for at least an hour so we can pretend there was a reason he came here.

"He mentioned it to me one night and it got me thinking. So I went online and read up about it. Started talking to some other locals. And, well, here we are."

I point at the posters on the side.

"That's cool, Alex." He pauses, and when his voice returns, the words come out tentatively. "Is everyone going? Like, the old crew?"

It feels weird to hear someone else call it the old crew. Even though I've come to use that label now and then, part of me rejects it. Hearing somebody else use it makes it feel more final. Like it's out of my hands. That, even though we're all friends again, it'll never be like how it once was.

"At this point, pretty much. I didn't invite that many before because I didn't want anyone to feel obligated, but when someone new finds out, they ask if they can come."

"That's good," he says quickly, too quickly. "That means they care, right?"

"Yeah, I can't complain." I laugh under my breath. "At least if nobody else shows up, I know I'll have like five people on my side."

"I have to make sure I don't have work that day but I'll let you know soon if I can go."

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," I sigh. I do my best to not sound defensive, but I don't want him to feel obligated to show up if he doesn't want to.

Zachariah gives me a puzzled look, borderline offended at the mere suggestion he doesn't want to come out to support me. "What makes you think I don't want to go?"

I shrug, unsure of what to do with my hands. Sitting here under his gaze makes me feel like I'm being inspected under a microscope, every emotion flashing through on full display for only him to see. Not that he needs a device because we've known each other long enough, meaningfully enough, that we know the other without such things.

"I don't know. You just don't seem that into it." When I look back at him, I add to my statement. "Not that you need to. It's perfectly okay if you don't want to go. Things are still in a new place right now so I understand if you don't want to."

He shakes his head and mutters under his breath before....laughing?

"What?" I ask.

"This whole time I thought you didn't want me to go."

Now it's my turn to look puzzled. "What made you think that?"

"For probably the same reasons as you." He gestures to me. "I thought you just sent me the info because Cal was right there and you didn't want to look rude only inviting him or something."

I wait for a beat. "Well, that's dumb. I have no problem being rude if I need to."

He laughs again. "Yeah, I should've figured you wouldn't have a problem with it. Or, if you were bothered, you would've just asked him when I wasn't there."

"Exactly."

I look over at the poster boards. Even though it hasn't been long since we first started planning this, there is a sense of pride that bubbles up inside me when I realize how close they are to finally seeing the light. It's something that's been slowly building, so to see everything come to fruition feels like a weight being lifted off my shoulders.

"You know, for most of my life, I've felt like I've been living two versions of myself." I look back at him, my face somber as I admit something to him I haven't been able to admit to myself for the longest time. "I have this whole Chinese side of my family I used to see every other year for a family reunion. And they're all great and make me feel like one of them, even if I hardly ever see them. And then there's my dad's side of the family that's as Hawaiian as one can get, but they all live on the mainland now so I never get to see them. And I live in this beautiful place and feel so connected to this land like it's a part of me. But I never feel like I'm good enough for any of it. Like I'm not Chinese enough, or Hawaiian enough, or good enough for this island because I don't speak the native language, or because I don't know as much of the history of my people as I should."

Zachariah sits there and listens to me, not showing a sign that he's about to interrupt, but also not showing any sign that he's paying attention to anything else but me.

"Fighting against these people that have come to my home and taken so much from us makes me realize that I am who I am because of those that have come before me. That even though I can only listen to my dad speak our language and nod my head in return, the words still resonate with me. I am a result of all the things that have happened to my people, and I'm just doing my best to make them proud. And though there might be a hell of a lot of people that disagree, just being me is enough."

He waits, letting the words sink in. I take a deep breath after letting them tumble out of me.

"You have every right to accept who you are, no matter what anyone tells you. Whatever you might tell yourself. You always try to do right by your people and your culture, and I think that's enough to be proud of. It's what I always have and always will love about you."

I wipe at the lone tear that threatens to fall down my cheek, catching it before it can reveal itself. "First time we're hanging out alone again and I'm already making myself want to cry."

He gives me a funny look. His leg swings gently to the left, knocking against my own. "Did you think we were supposed to start at square one again?"

"I think there's a sweet spot between brand new friends and..." The words drift off. Even now, I still don't know what to call us, the version of us that existed right before we didn't anymore.

Instead of reacting, Zachariah shifts his eyes back toward the posters. All of the colors swirl around the block letter demanding respect for our land. There's a strange balance of excitement and power, neither one winning out over the other but instead encouraging each side.

"Don't you sometimes wish you could go back in time to when you were a kid? When life was so easy and there wasn't a problem that couldn't be solved with your parents' help?"

It's a feeling that creeps up sometimes when I spend the whole night staring up at the ceiling, trying to remember everything I've done that's brought me to where I am now.

"I get like that sometimes. And when I do, I end up running away with them to the Big Island because it's easier than facing my problems head-on." I'm not sure why he's saying this, or what he expects me to say in return, but I suppose he doesn't since he eventually carries on without giving me room to think of something, "But when you see a problem and your first reaction is to do something about it yourself, that's when you know you're doing something right."

"Something right," I whisper like I'm trying to convince myself. When I look over at him, he gives me an encouraging smile, one I didn't realize until right then that I needed more than anything.