The light of the sundown filters through the windows of the Fiore house—at their Mom's house. Dariel sits next to me on the couch, his thumb brushing circles against the fabric of my jeans.

Minho disappeared upstairs right after dinner without much of a word. In fact, he hasn't spoken at all, except for the few times Lillian asked him something.

Dariel leans closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. I smile automatically. "You okay?"

"Yeah," except I force the word out, using too much energy. "Just tired, I think."

He nods, satisfied enough, and turns back to the TV. He doesn't even like watching TV that much. Says it's a waste of time. But as long as he's next to me, he told me, he's totally fine with it.

Yet I still can't relax. I don't know what's been going on with Minho lately. He's always been a little intense but recently, he's been different. Quieter. Sharper, almost. The thought of Sophie not being real after all has crossed my mind, and I also forgot about it. It's too far-fetched.

Not only am I dating Dariel, but Minho also deserves much better than to suffer through something like this. Besides, what could I have possibly done to make him like me that much? Nothing. I don't think we've ever had a private conversation.

I glance toward the stairs, wondering if I should go check on him. But what would I even say? He reacted off last time I checked if everything was alright between us, and I don't want to make Dariel suspicious. He clearly still doesn't believe the Sophie story, even after Minho started crying. He wouldn't appreciate it if we were in a room together, all alone. Especially for Minho's sake, I don't think it's a good idea.

I shake my head at the thought. He'd also just brush me off, probably make some sarcastic comment. He's good at that.

"Lucy?" Dariel's voice pulls me back to the present.

"Sorry," I say quickly. "What is it?"

"I was asking if you want to stay over tonight," he says, his tone light but hopeful.

I hesitate. Normally, I'd say yes without a second thought. I love being here with him, spending time with his mom. But tonight feels different.

"I don't know," I say slowly. "I think I might just head home."

Dariel frowns, but he doesn't push. "Okay." He leans back. "Let me know when you want me to drive you."

I smile at him. "Will do."

A few minutes pass in silence, the movie playing on, but I can't focus. Eventually, I stand, smoothing my hands over my jeans. I can't hold it.

"I'll be right back." I walk off before Dariel can question me.

I climb the steps quietly, my hand trailing along the banister. When I reach the top, I pause, glancing down the hallway toward Minho's room.

The door is closed, but light spills out from the crack at the bottom.

My fist hesitates right before it hits the door. This is weird. I'm not sure how Minho feels about me randomly knocking on his door, but from every stand point, I imagine he feels awkward.

Either way, I end up knocking.

"Yes?"

"Eh, can we talk for a moment?"

One second of silence before I hear a loud thud, followed by a groan, followed by the piercing shatter of glass, followed by more thuds. I'm too surprised to ask what that was, and before I know it, he has opened the door.

Just a little, though. Enough to push his head through. "Hi," he breathes.

"Hi," I say slowly. "Everything okay in there?"

"Uh-huh."

My eyebrows raises.

He looks back inside his room, then at me. "Eh, it's a bit of a mess. You don't want to see."

"Did you fall over or something? Was that glass?"

"Eh, my hair gel. I got up a bit too fast, so my nightstand fell over, and then I realized I look like shit, so I went to grab my hair gel, but it fell, and then more fell..." he trails off, coughing. "Anyway." Minho straightens as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "What's up?"

"Can I come in?"

He looks alarmed. "Why?"

"Are you hiding something?" I ask suspiciously. A chuckle leaves me. "I can't come in?"

"As I said, it's a mess. It's quite embarrassing."

I shrug. Finally, he steps aside. I pause in the doorway, my eyes sweeping over the disaster inside his room. The nightstand is tipped over, a puddle of liquid glistens on the floor surrounded by shards of glass, and clothes are scattered everywhere.

"You weren't kidding." I step over a crumpled hoodie. "This is impressive."

He rubs the back of his head. "My bad. So, what do you need? Something wrong?"

"That's what I was going to ask you."

Minho blinks. "Me?"

"Yes, you," I say, frowning at his surprise. "You've been acting quite strange, especially after the whole Sophie thing. I never checked up on you after the... emotional moment. So here I am: are you okay? Is something serious going on?"

"I'm just tired. You know, long day and all that." A crooked smile forms on his lips.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Why not?" he shoots back. "I mean, you don't have to worry about me. I'm fine."

"Minho," I say softly, trying a different approach. "I'm not going to judge you or... whatever you're afraid of. Of course you're not forced to tell me at all, but I know your brother needs to work on his emotional communication skills—whatever you want to call it."

"Nope. Seriously, I'm good."

I sigh, letting my arms fall to my sides. "Alright. Be mysterious. But I'll probably keep bugging you. Can't stand sad people around me."

"Noted." He pauses shortly. "Hey, now that you're here, can you still give me advice on Sophie? Dariel isn't here to interrupt."

"Oh, sure—"

"Wait. You should sit down." Minho launches all the clothes off his chair and puts it down behind me. Hesitantly, I lower myself onto it. Minho's wanders around for a second before he sits down on his bed.

"Got any tips for dealing with everything?"

I sit back. "Well, I mean, if she's taken, you can't exactly do much about it. You either wait it out or... move on, I guess." I shrug, feeling a little helpless. "I know that's not what you want to hear, but sometimes it's the only option."

He stares down at his hands like they're suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. "Right. Move on."

"But that doesn't mean you should give up entirely. I mean, maybe there's a chance in the future. If they're not meant to be, it'll end on its own. You just... need to be patient."

"Patience isn't my strongest side. She's..." he sighs. "She's just... different, you know? It's not like I can just turn it off. I've tried, but—" Minho runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "She makes me feel like... like I could be better. I could be a better person around her, but I could also be better than her current boyfriend. Luke. It's stupid."

I'm shocked at the rawness of his words. "That's not stupid at all. It sounds like love. Something you can barely find in our current society."

"Love," he echoes. "Maybe. But it feels like torture."

I don't know what to say to that. There's a vulnerability in his tone that makes me feel like I'm intruding. I can't stop myself from reaching out, resting my hand lightly on his knee. Minho's eyes wide. As subtly as possible, I pull back again. Maybe he's not one for physical touch.

"I'm here if you need to talk," I remind him once again.

"Thank you."

A beat of silence passes between us before he shifts "If... if you were in her shoes, and someone—a friend liked you, but you were with someone else... would you want them to tell you? Or would that just ruin everything? Would Sophie react horribly if I confess?"

"I mean, that's complicated," I hum. "It depends on how close we really are and... and if it would change anything. If I'm happy in my relationship, I don't think I'd want to know. It could just hurt everyone involved."

Minho nods slowly. "Makes sense."

"Are you thinking of confessing?

He freezes for a split second. I swear I see panic flash in his eyes before he shakes his head. "No, no, no. Just... curious. I wouldn't do that to her. She's happy. That's what matters."

I smile gently. "Guess she's lucky to have a secret admirer like you, then. No trouble, just admiration."

"Nah, I think she'd be freaked out. I'm kind of freaked out as well."

"Maybe, but still. Just... be patient. Don't get in the way of their relationship. If you're very desperate, you could hint at your love for her, but don't do too much."

"Got it. Thank you, Luciana."

I smile again. I like the way he always calls me by my full name, even though I always introduce myself as Lucy. It makes me feel unforgotten, somehow.

After a moment, I stand up. "I should get back downstairs. Dariel's probably wondering where I went."

At the mention of his brother, Minho's jaw tightens, but he quickly smooths his expression. "Yeah. You don't want him thinking I'm stealing you away," he jokes.

"Thank you for opening up," I say with a laugh. "I'm sorry Dariel accused you of lying. I hope everything works out with Sophie.

He doesn't respond right away, but just as I'm stepping out, I hear him mutter under his breath, "So do I."

Once I reach the living room, Dariel glances up from the couch. "You were gone a while," he remarks. "Is everything okay?"

"Sorry," I reply. "I went to check on Minho. He's been quiet tonight."

Dariel raises an eyebrow at that, leaning back against the couch. "And?"

I don't speak right away. I don't want to say too much—not just for Minho's sake but because I know how Dariel gets when it comes to his brother. They've always had this silent competition between them, one that neither of them will acknowledge but is impossible to ignore.

Teresa and I have never had that. Is it a brother thing, or is it really just their own fault? It's not the parents, that's for sure. Their father is never around, so he doesn't have much effect on their relationship in that sense. Their mother is the sweetest. That's not it, either.

She sits in the corner of the room. Our eyes meet. And as if she can read my thoughts, she points a low finger at me. I swallow, turning away.

"He's fine," I say finally. "We talked about Sophie for a minute."

"Sophie? Who's Sophie?" Lillian wonders.

"I'll explain later," Dariel offers. He watches me for a moment longer, then turns the TV off. "Ready to go?"

"Go?"

"To your place." He gets off the couch, his shirt flaring along. I grin slightly at the sight. He always look taken care of, smells good, and is attractive in general. "You said you wanted to head home, right?"

"Oh, right. Let's go."

Dariel intertwines his fingers with mine. "Bye, Lillian." I blow a kiss at their mom.

The walk to his car is quiet. Dariel opens my door. I slide into the passenger seat. The drive to my place is also quiet, the radio playing softly in the background. I stare out the window. My thoughts drift back to Minho without control.

Apart from his struggles with Sophie, it looks like there's something else, too. He's too shielded, too defensive even when it's not needed.

I glance at Dariel. As much as I love him, I'm willing to admit that he's too hard on Minho—always has been. Not just from the moment we started dating, but before that as well.

"Did something ever happen between you and Minho?" I wonder out loud.

He doesn't immediately answer, which makes my stomach drop a little. "Why are you asking?"

I bite my lip, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, but I can't ignore the nagging thought in the back of my mind. "I don't know. It just... it seems like there's always been this tension between the two of you. Why?"

"I guess we've never really been close," he says. "We've always been... different. Ever since we were kids. I've never really gotten along with him."

That stings more than I expect it to. Not because I don't know about the tension between them, but because I realize just how deep it runs. Dariel never really talks about his relationship with Minho—at least, not in detail.

I try to soften my voice. "Why didn't you get along?"

"I don't know. We have different ideas of everything. The world, the ideal life, the idea of fun... I don't know. We're just not on one line."

True. Dariel is structured. Easily on time, ready to work a nine-to-five job, no extremely deep thinking. Minho's the opposite of that, most of the time.

"I'm not saying I hate him or anything. I just... I don't know how to be around him sometimes. And I think he doesn't know how to be around me either. But no. Nothing ever happened. Nothing big."

This feels like a delicate conversation. There's so much Dariel isn't saying, so much history, and I can tell he's not ready to lay it all out for me just yet.

I'm curious about that, too. Why is he so closed up? He probably spent too much time with his dad. Minho's more like their mother, Dariel's more like their father.

"Okay," I say. "So you're both kind of frustrated around each other?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Minho will be Minho. He has his way of doing things. His way of... being."

"But you don't agree with it."

He shrugs, a bit helplessly. "No, not at all. But I try my best."

I nod. Dariel feels like he's always has to step in, to take charge of things that Minho never does or won't allow himself to. It's like they're locked in a pattern of needing each other but despising it. If they'd reflect on each other a bit more, then Dariel would be more emotionally available, and Minho's life style would be more structured.

"Are you still upset about Sophie?" I ask, nearly whispering.

His eyes flicker to mine. "I don't know. It's a strange story. There's something he's not telling us. But I guess I'll believe him for now."

I don't know what to say to that, so I remain silent. We arrive at my driveway, where Dariel nearly parks the car. Both of us step out.

"I changed my mind," I sigh out. "I do want to stay with you."

He forces a mocking mask, then laughs out loud, throwing his head back. "Should've expected that. Eh, alright. We'll see if I fit in one of your shirts."

"Oh, hell, no. You're going to rip them apart and that is not happening," I command. He follows me inside. "Stay shirtless."

"Was that your plan all along?"